The thin, grey blanket remained pulled tight around Mariela's legs as she sat huddled on the edge of the bed. A cigarette, burning down to the filter, was clutched in her hand. She took a slow, trembling drag, the smoke tasting like ash and fear. With a practiced, jerky motion, she tapped the long cylinder of gray ash into the repurposed coke can resting on the nightstand beside her.
Mariela knew she didn't have much time. She had rehearsed the words, the single, terrifying word she had to say.
The door swung inward with a soft click, and Jordan stood framed in the doorway, a shadow against the dim light of the hall. The sheer force of his presence, the scent of pine and raw earth, made her gut twist. For her, this place felt no different than the real world—all sex and coercion, no different than her life before. Unlike others, Mariela had an easier time adjusting to the transactional nature of her new existence.
His eyes, the color of wet stone, raked over her. He smiled—slow, predatory. "Strip," he commanded with one entitled word.
Mariela's breath hitched. Her hand was shaking too violently to bring the cigarette up again, and she stared blankly at the orange ember glowing at its tip. Fear made her heart hammer wildly in her chest.
"No," she whispered. The word was too small. She wanted to scream it, to throw her rejection in his face, but saying the word was its own struggle.
Jordan tilted his head, his smile vanishing. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop. "No?" His voice was a low rumble, the first hint of a growl vibrating in his chest as he repeated her refusal, equal parts amused and irritated. The last thing he wanted after a long day of training was the refusal of his favorite toy.
As she struggled to find her voice, the cigarette slipped from her numb fingers. It landed soundlessly beside her thigh, its glowing tip pressing directly into the thin cotton sheet. But still, her eyes remained locked with his, choosing him as the most dangerous threat in the room.
She forced her gaze to meet his, ignoring the growing plume of white smoke. "There is no benefit for me. So there's no point!" There was supposed to be a payoff, and currently, he wasn't living up to his side of the bargain. She no longer worried about the droves of hot-blooded wolves. No, the even days were her true enemy: the silver whip that lashed across her back. That was the only thing tormenting her, and he had done nothing to lessen her burden.
The growl intensified. "Defective," he snarled, spitting the word like a curse. "My cock is your benefit. Your existence has one purpose. So spread your legs and be silent."
He moved then, crossing the distance in two swift strides. He clamped his hand around her wrist with brutal, iron-strong force.
Mariela cried out, but her eyes were locked on the small, dark stain the cigarette was leaving. A thin trail of smoke was curling upwards, the ember eating away the white fabric, tracing a slow, irreversible path.
"Let go of me!" she cried, struggling uselessly.
With sickening efficiency, he wrenched her off the bed, spun her around, and slammed her forward. Her face was instantly buried in the sheets, the smell of lavender and sex muffling a choked cry.
The fire. Even with her face pressed into the pillow, she could see the glow reflected in the corner of her eye, the sheet now beginning to smolder. Her body trembled in fear as the glowing orange became bigger and more aggressive, licking toward her.
He released her wrist, and she heard the sharp, tearing sound of fabric as her worn cotton shirt was ripped open.
A clawed finger—hard, calloused, and deliberate—pressed firmly against a line of still-healing, ridged tissue between her shoulder blades. She gasped, the pain sharp and sickening, a fresh throb over old agony as he expertly agitated her scabbing wounds that had not had time to fully heal.
"This," Jordan's voice was a cold rasp against her ear, indicating the long, dark tracks left by the silver whip. "means you don't say no." The pressure on the scab tissue increased until she whimpered. All she could focus on was the spreading burn hole near her head, a dark, spreading stain consuming the cloth. "This means you don't have a choice." His voice dropped to a terrible, final whisper as the fire caught the thin blanket beneath the sheet. "This means you are worthless."
The smoke plume turned thick and acrid. The crackling, hissing sound of the burning fabric was alarmingly close. Mariela, pinned and broken, stared into the small, growing orange glow of the flame. It was now directly beside the pillow, licking outward.
The heat was intense, searing the corner of her eye. The proximity of the fire—the pure, mindless destruction creeping toward her face—triggered a bone-deep, primal panic far surpassing the fear Jordan had inflicted. Her worthless world was literally burning her alive.
Then, a new sensation hit her—a horrifying, tearing agony that began in her core and radiated outward. It was not the pain of the whip marks, but a deep, structural violation.
A strangled, wet scream tore from her lungs.
Jordan immediately sensed the change in her struggle, a shift from human despair to something wild and violent. He yanked his hand back, stepping a pace away in confusion and irritation. "No fucking way!" Jordan quickly grabbed the burning sheets, pulling it away from her transforming figure as he quickly snuffed out the spreading flames.
She couldn't stop. A sound like grinding gravel and splintering kindling filled the room—the terrible sound of her own body being violently reconstructed.
Mariela's back arched impossibly high off the mattress. Her small, sharp shoulder blades separated and drove outward, tearing through the remaining tatters of her shirt. Her spine seemed to compress and then lengthen with a sickening series of pops.
Her hands, still pressed against the sheets, swelled instantly. The fine bones in her wrists and fingers fractured and melded, reforming into heavier, padding paws. The knuckles cracked, the sound like dry twigs snapping, and sharp, black claws erupted from her fingertips, digging deep into the scorched sheets.
A wave of liquid heat surged through her legs. Her shins shortened while her thigh muscles bulged, twisting her knees backward into the signature crook of a canine hock. The femurs groaned under the strain of the shift, forcing her body weight onto her hands. She was shrinking and lengthening at the same time, her body rearranging itself on the axes of a predator.
The most horrific change came to her face. She let out one final, drawn-out human howl of pure, blinding pain as her jaw stretched forward. Teeth snapped and regrew, becoming long, razor-sharp canines. Her skull elongated and reformed, covered instantly by a coat of mottled, dark gray fur, coarse and thick.
Jordan watched, stunned. The transformation was ragged, brutal, and horrifyingly successful. He couldn't understand how a defective, unblessed by the goddess, could suddenly have a wolf spirit.
Where Mariela had been, a shaking, gray wolf now stood, low to the mattress that dipped around her new imposing weight. It was smaller than Jordan's own massive wolf form would be, but its teeth were bared, wet with her own blood, and its body was coiled to spring.
Jordan tensed, instinctively ready to be attacked by what he just helped create. He was the Master holding her chains, a direct threat. He hoped, guiltily, desperately, that she would kill him, that the violence would offer some perverse absolution.
But as the new wolf stood there, framed by the spreading smoke, a sudden, blinding wave of awareness—a hot, irresistible pull—slammed into Jordan's chest. It was the scent of her, the recognition that bypassed his intellect and slammed into his blood: Mate.
"Mine," the word slipped from his lips, an accusation of joy but also immense grief.
The realization—the woman he had ruined, the defective Jordan tormented, she is my destiny—sent a paralyzing spike of horror and self-loathing through him. Because even in this moment, he didn't know her name. He had been between her legs a numerous amount of times but didn't know the name of the defective that was now his Mate, his destined partner given to him by the Goddess herself.
Then, through the sudden, fresh link of the Mate Bond, a sound ripped through Jordan's mind. It was not a snarl, not a threat, but a sound infinitely more terrifying, high-pitched and completely unhinged: Hysterical laughter.
It wasn't Mariela's soft human voice, but the sound of pure, primal, broken amusement flooding the deepest chambers of his mind. The wolf shook its massive head once, smoke rising from its fur, and laughed at him, at the bond, at the cosmic joke of it all.
The small bedroom filled with the smell of burning cloth, ash, and bitter, shared destiny.
A muffled chuckle echoed in the sterile halls of the clinic as Nurse Becky heard about the newest defective that had managed to awaken her dormant wolf. This would make the eighth defective to manifest their wolves. It was an unheard-of phenomenon, something that she and her team wanted to study in great significance. She read the newest name on her list: Mariela Dawson.
Nurse Becky looked up from the account given by Jordan Cliffmount, a slight frown on her face. "At this rate, we won't have many defectives left. They will become full-blooded wolves."
Dr. Quincy, overhearing the comment as he adjusted his glasses, approached the small cluster of medical staff. He looked directly at Alana. "It's an even day. I suggest we all gather at the punishment grounds and observe the defectives. Take notes on their emotional states, breathing, and heart rate. A group of us should go." Even though he was her supervisor, Alana was still the Beta Female, which gave her a certain level of respect and control, whether it was earned or not.
Alana nodded crisply, her eyes already scanning a list in her hand. "That is a good idea. Make sure everyone knows they are to stay out of the way. We're strictly observing!" She went over the list of defectives that were now wolves once more, wondering if she could glean anything that could help her force Trinity's shift into completion.
Authors note:
Thanks for everyone that's sticking with me. Happy holidays. I'm going to be putting out new chapters within the next couple of days. Hopefully I'll get better at updating more frequently. Fingers crossed.