I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

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Lucas's Perspective

The night bled slowly into silver as the full moon lifted itself above the jagged treeline, its glow washing through the branches like a tide no one could stop. Each shaft of light spilled across the forest floor in pale rivers, painting everything with a ghostly shimmer. The air itself seemed to grow heavier under its presence, thrumming with a pressure only those of us cursed and blessed by it could recognize.

I didn't need to look at Isaac to know the moon was already clawing at him. The signs were written in his body as clearly as if I'd carved them myself: the uneven hitch of his breath, the frantic stutter of his heartbeat fighting to stay steady, the sheen of sweat glistening even in the cool night air. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, his jaw locked in place as though he could trap the wolf by sheer force of will. But the beast was there all the same, pounding against the fragile walls of his control.

Before the silence stretched too tight, Malia broke it with low, measured words. "If we're not going to use the chains," she said, her voice calm but edged with challenge, "then we use this."

She crouched gracefully, fingers brushing the dirt and leaves until they closed around a rough, fist‑sized stone. Without hesitation, she extended it toward Isaac.

The look he gave her—part disbelief, part desperation—made it clear he thought she was toying with him. But when her hand didn't waver, he accepted it. Slowly. Uneasily. Both his hands wrapped around the stone, clutching it as though it might suddenly vanish.

"Focus on that stone," Malia told him. Her tone was steady, but I heard something deliberate in it, like she'd practiced these words before or someone had once spoken them to her. "Picture that it's something that matters to you. Anything. Something worth fighting for, something you can't let go of. Something that matters enough to keep you human when everything else wants to rip you apart."

Isaac's throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he nodded. His eyes sank shut, and he squeezed down on the rock until his knuckles shone bloodless.

The moon wheeled higher, dragging with it the inevitable weight of transformation. I kept my eyes on Isaac, refusing to blink or look away, because every tiny shift mattered. The twitch of his jaw. The faint tremble in his arms. The rhythm of his shoulders as he struggled against a pull older and more powerful than anything he'd ever learned to fight. His sweat dampened his hair and streaked his skin, the strain etched across his features so deep it pained me to watch. He was giving everything he had to resist—and it still wasn't enough.

Time slowed, each minute stretching, grinding. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Nothing but Isaac's ragged effort and the pulse of the moon watching from above.

And then, with a sound too small for such a failure, the stone slipped from his grasp. It struck the ground with a dull thud that echoed in my chest like a verdict.

Isaac's eyes snapped open, their glow an supernatural, blazing yellow. His breath shredded into snarls. His teeth bared in an animal grimace as his body convulsed, bones shifting and claws erupting through his fingertips. He writhed not as a boy trying but as a wolf claiming what had always been his.

Isaac—the Isaac we knew—was gone. In his place was the wolf.

The first thing he did was find me. His gaze locked on mine, blazing wild, but beneath the feral chaos I caught the faintest instinctive pause. The beast knew what he was seeing. Knew what I was. Alpha. Not prey. Not challenge.

So instead, the wolf turned toward Malia.

With an earsplitting snarl, he lunged. His claws carved through the empty air where she had been only a heartbeat before. Malia flowed aside with ease, her movements effortless, precise—like she had rehearsed this dance her entire life. Isaac's next strike was more violent, charged like a storm surge, but just as clumsy, failing to even graze her.

"Not bad for a first time," Malia drawled, her tone carrying both bite and patience. She twisted from his reach again and glanced toward me. "What now? Chain him until morning?"

I shook my head slowly, firmly. "No. We're trying to teach him control. Chains will only drag him back to his trauma, scar him deeper. That'll make it worse, not better."

Isaac snarled like thunder and swiped again, his claws tearing bark from the nearest tree trunk. Malia bent low and rolled aside in a fluid motion that kept her untouched.

Her eyes cut toward me sharply. "Then what are we supposed to do?"

"Fight him," I said, my voice like steel. "Push him until he either breaks or burns through the energy. Sometimes clarity only comes when the fire runs its course."

Malia's lips twisted into a humorless smirk, and I saw the flicker of excitement light up her expression. "Now you're talking."

And with that, the change rippled over her. Her eyes flared a brilliant golden yellow. Her claws curved into gleaming extensions of her hands, fangs catching the silver light. Her whole frame seemed to sharpen with sudden predatory grace.

For a single breath the forest fell still, as though it knew what was coming and dared not interrupt. The weight of silence pressed down like the air before lightning strikes.

Then the stillness shattered.

Malia lunged, colliding with Isaac's feral form, and in the clearing beneath the watchful, merciless moon—the real fight began.