Chapter 100 Loosing control
Malia's POV
It all started in Pack Lit class.
Professor Donovan was mid-lecture, droning about hierarchical structures in the traditional wolf pack compared to the modern cohesive community. His voice, which usually is clear and compelling, sound like he was far away, muffled, as if I was hearing him underwater.
I blinked hard, trying to focus on my notes. The letters on the page danced, elements of words were shifting into unpronounceable forms. My pen was broomstick too heavy too much too.
"—and as we can see in the Crescent Moon Accords of 1847, the integration of lineages was faced with the greatest opposition—"
Resistance. Abomination. Mistake.
These were not the words that invaded my mind—not from the classroom, but from within my own brain. Layered, unrelenting.
She doesn't belong. They cry out. Never did. Never will.
I pressed my palms against my temples, awaiting them to seep out. The pressure behind my eyes worsened – sharp, stinging, as if something was attempting to dig its way into my head from the out-side- in.
"—especially in situations where territorial lines were hazy and the purity of the bloodline was in question—"
The professor's voice cracked into pieces. Ilistened to every third word, then every fifth word, then just to static and to those other voices—the brutal ones, the faceless ones.
Mongrel. Pretender. They are watching. They know.
My sight became blurry. The classroom slanted to one side. I held on to the side of my desk, knuckles white as I tried to hold on to something firm.
All around me, students were taking notes, asking questions, living their quotidian reality, one in which their ears were not assailed by voices, their eyes were not forced to split, and in which everything made sense.
I was the only one shattering.
The girl seated next to me - Charlotte, the one who’d moved seats to get away from me - glanced over. Her eyes widened a little, mouth opening like she was going to ask if I was okay.
I couldn't let her see. I couldn't let anyone see.
"Excuse me," I managed to say, my voice distorted and too loud. Several students turned to look.
Professor Donovan stopped in mid sentence. "Miss Reed?"
"I'm sorry," I gasped, already stuffing my notebook into my bag with trembling hands. "Sorry. I just....I need--"
I didn't finish the sentence. Just grabbed my stuff and took off.
The hallway was too bright, fluorescents stabbing my eyes like knives. I thudded, my shoulder hitting the wall and I used it to steady myself as I half-walked, half-ran to the nearest bathroom.
The voices became louder.
Run. Hide. They'll see. They'll know what you are. They know what you are.
My heart was pounding against my ribs—too fast, too hard, each beat painful in my chest. Sweat broke out on my forehead despite the chill of the corridor. My hands were shaking so much I could barely hold my bag.
I pushed the bathroom door open with more force than I needed to. It hit the wall with a bang, the noise rebounding off tile.
Empty. Thank god, empty.
I dropped my bag, ran to the closest sink, and clutched the porcelain ledge with both hands. Cold. Solid, real.
Breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay. You’re fine. This is just anxiety, just stress, just—
I glanced up at the mirror. And screamed.
The image that looked back was not mine.
The face belonged to me the same cheekbones, the same auburn hair.But the eyes—
Golden, glowing. Feral.
And behind me, in the mirror. Shadows. Moving. Taking shape.
The woman without a face that I so often saw in my nightmares was standing right behind me to my left. White dress. Blank where her features should be. But I could sense her smile—icy, all knowing and triumphant.
To my right is a man with silver claws. Closer than before. So close now that I should be able to feel his breath on my neck.
Not real not real not real they’re not real—I spun around.
The bathroom was empty.
Just white tile and fluorescent lights, and the faint scent of industrial cleaner. I looked back at the mirror.
They were still there. Still watching. The woman tilted her head—that horrible, unnatural angle that no neck should ever turn.
The man raised a hand. Silver claws gleamed under the harsh lights. They looked sharp enough to slice through bone. She’s breaking, the woman’s voice said right into my ear as though her mouth was right next to mine even though her lips never parted, even though she wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. Finally breaking. Just like we knew she would.
"No," I said softly. "No, you’re not — you’re just in my head. Just nightmares. Just—"
Are we?
The man’s claws inched closer in the mirror. They were coming at me. I could feel them reaching for my throat—just like in the dreams, just like in every nightmare that’s ever wrenched me awake screaming.
My wolf surged inside me. Violent. Panicked. I was trying to break out of it I fight, I run I do anything but stand here locked in place between Reality and whatever hell this is.
Pain blazed through my fingertips. I looked down.
Claws. My claws. Breaking through skin, black, and curved and wrong wrong wrong.
I was shifting. Here. Now. In the middle of the day, in a campus bathroom, where anyone could walk in and see—
The bathroom door opened.
I snapped my head upwards, my eyes wild, my claws still out, every muscle trembling in fear.
A girl stood in the doorway. Freshman, maybe. Blonde ponytail. Campus sweatshirt. She took one look at me — my golden eyes, my claws, my face twisted in panic and froze.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Are you—" she started.
I cut her off.
I pushed past her, claws retracting painfully inside of my fingers, leaving bloody crescents in my palms. She staggered back to the doorjamb, her eyes wide, too stunned to utter a word.
I ran.
Down the hall,I went past students who shrieked as they pressed into walls to get away from me, I got past a janitor who yelled something that went in one ear and out the other. My vision narrowed. I was breathing in these really loud, really rough, animal breaths.
They saw. She saw. Everyone is going to find out. Everyone's going to see what you are.
I came out the side exit of the building and I was greeted by the cold autumn air which was not enough to bring down my hot and sweaty skin. My legs took over and I was running across campus away from people, away from anyone who might be able to hurt me or be able to see me.
I had no idea where I was headed. Just knew I had to get up, had to run, had to get away from the voices and the visions and the awful certainty that was driving me mad.
The quad flashed past. The library. The student center. A few people turned to look at me interested, worried, panicked — and yet I continued on my way.
The trail bent toward the trees at the campus border—at the small patch of woods that students weren’t supposed to wander into without permission but that all of them did, anyway. Trees rose like sentinels, gave shadows and sanctuary and sacred stillness.
I dived straight into them without a thought.
My clothes, my hair, were snatched at by branches. I didn’t slow down. I just pushed further with no trail, no path, going through bushes and leaves.
My Wolf was still thrashing inside me. Still trying to break free. I could feel it—the change lingering right under my skin, my muscles on the verge of reshaping, my bones on the brink of cracking and reforming.
No. Not here. Not now. Not like this.
I tripped over a root and plummeted to my knees. I hardly noticed the pain that shot through my legs, with everything else.
They were still here these voices. Softer now but tenacious.
Weak. Cracked. Out of place.
Like a kid, I pressed my hands over my ears, as if that would stop the sounds that were coming from inside my head.
“Stop,” I whispered. And then louder: “Stop. Stop. Please—”
The silence of the woods closed in on us—only the sound of wind rustling through leaves, the occasional bird call far away and my own ragged breath.
I was alone. Absolutely, utterly alone.
And the voices inside my head whispered this is exactly what I deserve. I tucked my body tight against the dirt, arms wrapped around my knees, and finally—finally—let myself break.
The sobs came silent and violent, rattling my whole body. Tears that I’d been bottling up for weeks and months on end flowed until I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t do anything but cry, shudder and question how much longer I was going to be able to keep pretending that I was okay.
How much longer before everybody else just knew what I already knew?
That I was breaking apart.
That the nightmares were invading the real world.
Like maybe-- just maybe-- I really didn't belong here, after all..The forest, at least, gave no answers.
Shadows. Just shadows and silence.
Just me alone with the voices that wouldn’t stop.