Chapter 12 Withdrawal Symptoms
(Thalia's POV)
Something is wrong with the light.
I wake to sunlight streaming through my window, but it's not just bright… it's aggressive, stabbing into my eyes with physical force. I squeeze them shut and pull the duvet over my head, but even through the heavy fabric I can see golden halos, pulsing patterns that make no sense.
My head pounds. My skin feels too tight, like it doesn't quite fit over my bones anymore. And everything, everything is so loud.
The hum of traffic fifteen floors below sounds like it's happening in my room. I can hear Petra's footsteps in the hallway… not just the sound but the rhythm, the slight hesitation before she knocks. I can hear the building's pipes groaning, the elevator cables moving, someone's television three apartments away playing the morning news.
"Miss Thornewood?" Petra's knock is gentle but it might as well be gunfire. "Your mother requests your presence at breakfast in twenty minutes."
I try to answer but my throat is dry, my tongue thick. "I'll be there."
The words come out hoarse, wrong. Did I always sound like that?
I force myself out of bed and immediately regret it. The carpet feels strange under my feet… I can feel every individual fiber, sense the texture with impossible clarity. I stumble toward the bathroom, catching myself on the doorframe. My hand leaves an impression in the wood.
I stare at the small indentation, at the shape of my fingers pressed into solid oak like it's clay.
What's happening to me?
The bathroom mirror shows someone I barely recognize. My eyes are bloodshot, pupils dilated to the point where the hazel is almost gone. My skin looks pale but somehow luminous, like there's light trapped beneath it trying to get out. And when I lean closer, I swear my eyes flash gold for just a second.
I splash cold water on my face, gripping the marble sink. The stone cracks under my fingers.
"No, no, no." I release it immediately, staring at the spiderweb fractures spreading across the expensive marble. "This isn't happening."
But it is. The suppressants. They're leaving my system and whatever was locked away for nineteen years is clawing its way to the surface.
I have twenty minutes to make myself presentable enough to face Morrigan. Twenty minutes to hide the fact that I'm falling apart at the seams.
I manage it, barely. Makeup to cover the pallor. Sunglasses to hide my eyes even though wearing them indoors will raise questions. A loose dress that doesn't require much coordination to put on because my hands won't stop shaking.
The walk to the breakfast room feels like miles. Every sense is dialed up to unbearable levels. I can smell everything… Petra's lavender soap, the coffee brewing in the kitchen, Morrigan's perfume three rooms away, and underneath it all, the scent of wolves. Pack members who visited last night left traces everywhere, territorial markers I never noticed before but now assault me with their intensity.
Morrigan is already seated when I arrive, reading something on her tablet while picking at a croissant. She looks up as I enter, her expression shifting from distracted to concerned in an instant.
"Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?"
"Headache." I slide into my chair carefully, hyperaware of my own strength. "The light hurts."
"You should have said something. I would have postponed breakfast." She sets down her tablet. "Are you feeling ill?"
"Just tired. Last night was..." I reach for the teapot, trying to keep my movements controlled. "Overwhelming."
"It was a success." She pours herself more coffee with steady hands while mine tremble around the teapot handle. "Lord Blackthorn was particularly impressed. And Lady Volkov mentioned she'd like to discuss trade agreements once you're officially married."
I'm not listening. I'm focused entirely on pouring tea without incident, on keeping my grip light enough that the delicate porcelain doesn't shatter. The liquid streams into my cup… hot enough that I can feel the heat radiating from several inches away.
"Thalia? Are you listening to me?"
"Yes. Lord Blackthorn. Trade agreements." I set the teapot down with exaggerated care. "I'm listening."
She studies me over the rim of her coffee cup. "You're acting strange."
"I'm exhausted. I barely slept." I reach for my teacup, wrapping both hands around it for stability. "Being paraded around like a prize mare takes more energy than I… "
The cup explodes.
One moment I'm holding it, the next it's fragmenting in my grip… porcelain shards and hot tea spraying across the table. I jerk backward, staring at my hands covered in tea and blood from small cuts.
"What on earth… " Morrigan is on her feet instantly.
"I don't know. It just… it broke." I'm holding my hands away from my body, watching blood well from tiny cuts. But even as I watch, the cuts are closing. Healing in real-time, skin knitting back together until there's nothing but tea-stained palms.
Morrigan sees it too. Her expression shifts from concern to something calculating.
"Petra!" Her voice cuts through my panic. "Bring the first aid kit. And a towel."
"I'm fine." I stand, needing to move, to get away from her sharp eyes. "I just gripped it too hard. Clumsy."
"That's the third accident you've had this week." Morrigan rounds the table, reaching for my hands. "Let me see."
"There's nothing to see. I'm fine." I pull away before she can touch me. "I just need to be more careful."
"Thalia… "
"I said I'm fine!" The words come out sharper, louder than intended. Something in my voice makes Morrigan step back, her eyes widening slightly.
For just a second, she looks afraid.
Petra appears with supplies, her gaze darting between us. "Is everything alright?"
"Miss Thornewood had a minor accident." Morrigan's voice is controlled again, professional. "Please clean this up. And Thalia, go change. You're covered in tea."
I don't need to be told twice. I flee the breakfast room, taking the stairs two at a time… moving faster than I should be able to, my body responding with superhuman efficiency.
In my room, I strip off the tea-soaked dress and stare at my hands again. Clean. Unmarked. Like nothing happened.
But something did happen. Something is happening. And it's getting worse.
I spend the rest of the morning trying to act normal while everything around me intensifies. The world is too bright, too loud, too much. I can hear conversations happening in other parts of the penthouse. I can smell what the kitchen staff is preparing for lunch three hours before it's ready. When I try to open my bedroom door, I nearly rip it off its hinges.
The daydreams start after lunch.
I'm sitting in the study pretending to read wedding magazines Petra left for me when suddenly I'm not here anymore. I'm running through a forest, my breath coming in rapid pants that aren't quite human. The ground rushes beneath me… not feet but paws, large and powerful, eating up distance with effortless speed. I can smell everything: rabbits in the underbrush, deer a mile away, the metallic tang of a stream.
"Miss Thornewood?"
I snap back to reality so violently I knock over the side table. Petra is standing in the doorway, concern etched across her features.
"You were calling out. Are you sure you're feeling well?"
"I'm fine." I right the table, trying to calm my racing heart. "Just dozed off. Bad dream."
"Perhaps you should rest properly. You look pale."
"I'm fine," I repeat, but the words are starting to sound hollow even to me.
She doesn't look convinced but retreats anyway, leaving me alone with magazines full of wedding dresses and my rapidly fragmenting sanity.
The afternoon is worse. The daydreams intensify, coming faster and more vivid. I'll be looking at flower arrangements one moment and hunting prey the next. I'll be discussing catering options with Petra and suddenly I'm standing on a cliff overlooking vast territory, wind in my fur, freedom singing in my bones.
And through it all, the mate bond pulls. It was an ache before… now it's agony. A constant, gnawing need that makes me want to claw my way out of this penthouse and run until I find him. Until I find Lucien and this terrible, wonderful, impossible thing between us makes sense again.
By evening, I'm desperate enough to try research.
I lock myself in my room with my laptop and search for anything about werewolf transformation. But it's all useless… human mythology mixed with movie fiction, nothing that explains what's actually happening to me. Forums full of people role-playing, wikis about legends, Reddit threads debating whether werewolves could theoretically exist.
None of it helps. None of it is real.
I'm about to close the laptop when another daydream hits, stronger than before.
I'm running again but this time I'm not alone. Another wolf runs beside me… larger, darker, with eyes that gleam gold in scattered moonlight. Lucien. I know him the way I know my own heartbeat. We're hunting together, moving in perfect synchronization, and for the first time in my life I feel complete.
The daydream shatters. I'm back in my room, gasping, the mate bond pulling so hard it physically hurts.
I need to see him. Need to talk to him. Need someone who understands what's happening because I'm terrified and alone and Morrigan will just pump me full of more suppressants if she realizes how close I am to shifting.
But there's no way to reach him. No phone number, no address, no way to contact the man who's supposed to be my mate while I'm trapped in a penthouse fortress surrounded by guards who would kill him on sight.
A soft knock interrupts my spiral. "Miss Thornewood? Your mother requests your presence in her office."
Of course she does. Because apparently today wasn't difficult enough.
I find Morrigan behind her massive desk, reading glasses perched on her nose as she reviews documents. She doesn't look up when I enter.
"Sit."
I sit, hyperaware of my own body, of the strength coiled in muscles that shouldn't be this strong. Of eyes that keep threatening to flash gold. Of teeth that feel slightly too sharp.
"The Ashfords have invited you to tea tomorrow afternoon," Morrigan says without preamble. "You'll attend. It's a good opportunity to strengthen pack relations."
"Fine."
Now she does look up, studying me over her glasses. "You've been acting strange all day. Petra says you nearly destroyed the study earlier. Knocked over furniture."
"I told you. I'm tired."
"Tired doesn't explain increased strength or healing cuts in seconds." She sets down her pen with deliberate precision. "When was the last time you took your vitamins?"
The question sends ice through my veins. She knows. Or suspects.
"This morning." The lie comes easily now. "Same as always."
"Are you certain? Because your behavior suggests otherwise." She leans back, fingers steepled. "Heightened senses, increased strength, healing factor, vivid dreams… these are all symptoms of suppressant withdrawal."
"I took them." I meet her gaze, forcing my voice steady. "Maybe they're not as effective anymore. You said yourself my wolf is strong. Maybe it's breaking through despite the suppressants."
It's a calculated gamble, giving her an explanation that doesn't involve admitting I flushed the pills.
She considers this, expression unreadable. "Possible. We may need to adjust the dosage." She makes a note on her tablet. "I'll contact the pharmacy. In the meantime, if the symptoms worsen, tell me immediately."
"Of course."
"You're dismissed. Try to rest. Tomorrow will be another long day."
I escape before she can ask more questions, before my eyes betray me or my control slips further. Back in my room, I lean against the door and slide to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees.
This is only day two without the suppressants. If Morrigan was telling the truth about the dangers of late shifting, I'm in serious trouble. But if Lucien was right and the suppressants were the real danger, then what I'm experiencing now is just the beginning of becoming who I really am.
I don't know which scares me more.
The mate bond thrums, constant and insistent. I close my eyes and try to reach through it again, knowing it's probably useless but needing to try anyway.
I'm still here. Still fighting. And I don't know how much longer I can hold this together.
No response comes, but the bond pulses warmth, steady and sure. Somewhere out there, Lucien exists. Somewhere out there is someone who might understand what I'm going through.
I just need to survive long enough to find him again.
Outside my window, the sun sets over London. And inside me, something wild and powerful and utterly terrifying continues to wake up.