A steward guided us, twenty-four fresh Royal Pack members, in a silent column through the palace's back gates and down a flagstone path that snaked toward the forest's edge. The city and its spotlights faded behind us, replaced by the rustle of ancient evergreens crowding together like spectators at a blood sport. On the grassy verge, torches had been driven into the earth, their flames wavering in the violet dusk.
I shivered, my stomach clenching with the memory of Josh's eyes on my naked body during my first shift at sixteen—how he'd licked his lips when my clothes tore away, how his father had forced me to stay human longer than the others, pretending it was "training." My hands trembled now. The crowd pressed against a low stone wall that separated the ceremonial green from the forest proper. In the thinning light, the King and Queen stood at the front, their postures rigid and inevitable.
Derick waited at the side with Matt, Nicki, and his warriors. He caught my eye and gave a small, private nod. My chest tightened—would he still want me when he saw my wolf? Josh had called it "scrawny" and "pathetic,", all while he circled, critiquing every movement.
The steward called for silence: "You have spoken the oath. Now shed your skin and show your true self to the Alpha." I flexed my hands, sweat beading at my hairline despite the cool air. I tried to anchor myself: the sweet rot of moss beneath my feet, the distant screech of a night bird, the pressure building in my bones as the moon topped the tree line—not the memory of Josh's breath on my neck, not the humiliation of being the last one standing human while everyone else ran free.
King Theo raised his arms. "The time is now."
I inhaled slowly as my skin prickled with an unbearable itch that started between my shoulder blades and raced outward. The full moon climbed higher, pulling at something inside me that swelled against my human form like air in an overfilled balloon. My muscles twitched, my jaw ached, and my fingertips tingled with the desperate need to elongate, to claw, to release. I'd always been fast to shift, even as a child in Blackwater—my only real advantage—but tonight the pressure built so intensely I feared I might burst from my own skin.
The dam broke. My vision blurred, then shattered into fragments. Pain lanced through every joint and tendon, bright and precise, but I surrendered to the sweet relief of it. My shoulders twisted, arms shortening, hands splaying into broad black paws. The bones of my spine convulsed, then stretched, pulling my body long and low. Fur erupted across my skin—the blessed scratching of a thousand internal claws finally set free.
I hit the ground, claws scoring the grass, but unlike every shift before, there was no disorientation—only rightness, as if I'd finally slipped into skin that had been waiting for me all along. The world reassembled itself in shades of midnight and emerald, each scent a story I could suddenly read. The moon pulsed above, and I felt its pull like a tide in my blood, my muscles coiling with strength I'd never been allowed to acknowledge. I gave my body a shake, tested my weight—so much more substantial than I'd ever felt in Josh's territory—and then, on a wild impulse, barked once—sharp and commanding, a sound that belonged to a wolf who feared nothing.
Gasps erupted from the crowd. Derick's pride glowed in my head, a pulse of golden heat. I looked down at myself: not the scrawny creature Josh had mocked, but sleek and black as oil, with a regal dusting of silver along my flanks, and paws built to hunt, to run, to fight. My tail lashed, an unruly banner of defiance. When I caught my reflection in the torch-lit pond beside the King, I barely recognized the creature staring back—eyes blazing a deep, feral green, shoulders broad with power that had always been mine.
My ears flattened against my skull without conscious thought. My tail lowered, not tucked between my legs but held at a respectful angle that exposed my vulnerable flank. I padded toward King Theo, each deliberate step bringing me closer to his towering presence that made my wolf want to roll onto her back and bare her throat. When I reached him, my body knew what to do—my head dipped, neck exposed, as my snout touched his outstretched palm. His hand settled atop my skull, heavy and warm, and something primal in me relaxed at his touch, my muscles loosening as his fingers threaded through my fur.
"Good," he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "Very good."
The moment he released me, the world opened up. The urge to run surged through my muscles, but something stronger held me in place as Derick's wolf—massive and cinnamon-brown, his mane thick and wild—padded toward me. When he pressed his warm flank against mine, my wolf recognized her other half. Our fur mingled, black against russet, and my scent merged with his until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began. My heart thundered against my ribs, and I knew with bone-deep certainty: this was pack, this was home.
Down the line, the next new wolf attempted the shift. A blond boy, barely sixteen, hands shaking as he tried to control his fear. His bones popped audibly, the pain written across his face. He crumpled to the grass, body convulsing as the transformation took hold. For a terrifying moment, it looked as if he'd fail—his limbs wouldn't settle, fur erupting in awkward patches, jaws distending with a whimpering yelp.
Derick's father strode to the boy, knelt, and pressed a steadying hand to his back. "Breathe," King Theo rumbled, his voice gentle despite its depth. "Slow. Let it happen." The King's thumb traced small circles between the boy's shoulder blades, his other hand cupping the teen's contorting jaw with surprising tenderness. The boy's eyes—now gold and glassy—locked on the King, who nodded encouragement, staying beside him through each painful spasm. With a supreme effort, the boy pushed through. The wolf that emerged was spindly and uncertain, but standing. King Theo's hand lingered on the young wolf's scruff, giving a reassuring squeeze before he leaned down to whisper something that made the wolf's ears perk forward.
One by one, the rest of the initiates followed: some with grace, others with raw, ugly determination. A girl with braided hair collapsed mid-shift, sobbing through half-formed jaws. King Theo was there instantly, his massive frame somehow gentle as he cradled her trembling form, murmuring steady instructions while his eyes never left hers. When two initiates clung to each other for comfort as their bodies melted and reformed, the King knelt between them, one hand on each of their backs, his presence a shelter until they sorted themselves into wolves.
Every time someone faltered, Derick or the King was there—sometimes both, moving with a speed and precision that made clear why this line had ruled for centuries. King Theo knelt beside a trembling boy whose bones were only half-shifted, placed one large hand over the boy's heart, and whispered something that made the pain in the child's eyes recede. When a girl's shift stalled halfway, leaving her caught between forms, the King lifted her gently into his arms, cradling her against his chest until her body remembered its true shape.
The last to attempt the shift was a girl from a rival pack, her hair the color of wildfire and her eyes a stony gray. She hesitated, looking up at the wall of watching faces, and for a second I felt an unexpected kinship with her: the terror of not belonging, of failing in public. Then she set her jaw and closed her eyes. The change hit her hard—her spine arched at an impossible angle, a whimper escaping her clenched teeth. King Theo was at her side in an instant, his massive frame somehow making a shelter around her smaller one. "I've got you," he murmured, supporting her weight as her legs gave way. "The pack has you." When she finally found her four legs, she limped to him, tail tucked, waiting for judgment.
He scratched gently behind her ears, then pressed his forehead briefly to hers in a gesture of acceptance that made her eyes widen with surprise. "Welcome, child. You did well."
As if on cue, the entire crowd went silent. For a heartbeat, nothing moved but the wind. Then, one by one, the watching wolves dropped their human facades. Bones crunched. Clothes fell away in shreds. A hundred, two hundred, maybe more—every member of the Royal Pack shedding their skins, filling the clearing with wolves of every size and color. The air was thick with the scents of fur and sweat and anticipation.
For the first time, I understood what it meant to be part of a true pack—not just a title, but a communion of bodies and instincts and shared memory. I let myself sink into it, the new senses, the wildness, the promise that I could lose myself and still never be alone again.
Nicki, now transformed, bounded to my side, her coat a mad patchwork of silver and gray. She butted her head against mine, eyes shining with mischief, and for once I responded in kind, snapping playfully at her ear. She danced away, tail high, and I laughed, the sound emerging as a guttural, joyous bark.
Derick's wolf nuzzled at my neck, his presence warm and protective. I felt, through the bond, his pride in me, his love, and his certainty that we belonged here, together. I pressed against him, and we watched as the last of the initiates finished their transformations, every one of them finally standing on four legs.
The King lifted his head and let out a howl, deep and resonant, a sound that shook the leaves from the trees. One by one, the others joined in. The noise was indescribable—part lament, part exultation, part threat to anything foolish enough to trespass in our woods. It was the oldest music I'd ever known, and it vibrated through me until I thought my bones might liquefy.
For a long moment, we just stood there, a tidal wave of bodies pressed close and humming with energy. Then, with a single leap, the King launched himself into the forest, his massive form vanishing among the trees. The rest of us followed, a flood of fur and muscle and shared destiny, racing after our Alpha into the heart of the wild.
I gave chase, not because I had to, but because for the first time in my life, I wanted to.
The forest blurred past. Each stride sent a shock up my legs, my paws carving divots in the leaf-litter. The air was frigid, but the exertion stoked a furnace inside my chest. The smells—sap, crushed moss, the clean metallic tang of pack magic—rushed over me in waves. I kept pace with Derick, our bodies weaving through the thicket in perfect sync. His tail brushed mine with each turn, a wordless reassurance that he was with me, that I wasn't running alone.
Somewhere behind us, Nicki's wolf yipped with the pure joy of movement. She was easy to spot—a streak of russet fur with snow-white paws, her entire body built for mischief. She overtook me on the right, then veered across my path, shoulder-checking me with a grunt. I nearly lost my footing, but she doubled back, darting close enough to nudge my muzzle with hers before dashing off again. I would have rolled my eyes if wolves were built for sarcasm. Instead, I poured on speed, stretching my legs until the world shrank to the beat of my heart and the crunch of dirt beneath my paws.
The King led us deeper into the woods, his route a masterclass in brutality. We leaped over downed trunks, slithered under low-hanging branches, crashed through icy puddles that numbed my feet and splattered my fur. The first mile was chaos—bodies colliding, some initiates stumbling or breaking off in confusion. But slowly, order asserted itself. The pack arranged into tiers: the strongest at the front, the young and unsteady toward the middle, the old wolves forming a protective barrier at the rear. Even in this primal state, the Royal Pack's discipline held.
After the third stream crossing, the moon vanished behind a cloud. For a moment, the path was darkness and panic. My ears pinned back as I listened for danger, old reflexes screaming at me to dive for cover, to flatten myself against the cold earth and wait for Josh's boot to drive the breath from my lungs. I faltered. My stride stuttered. But then Derick drew up alongside, his shoulder brushing mine, and I realized I wasn't afraid—not of the dark, not of the pack, not even of the King. With a single huff of breath, I found my rhythm again.
We ran for miles. Time lost meaning. I forgot about the palace, the rules, the etiquette lessons. I forgot Josh's voice, and even when it crept back in—"You're weak, you're nothing, you don't deserve to lead"—it was drowned out by the song of the pack, by Derick's presence at my side, by the unyielding certainty that I had not been chosen by accident.
The final stretch took us up a granite ridge, slick with moss and ice. I slipped twice, but caught myself. At the summit, the world fell away: the city's lights twinkled in the distance, the forest stretched to infinity, and above it all, the moon blazed in lonely glory. I turned, breath ragged, and saw the King watching from below. He tipped his head back and howled. The sound struck me in the gut—an exultation, not a command.
I joined in. So did Derick, then Nicki, then the rest of the pack, until the sky itself seemed to vibrate with our voices. I sang until my throat burned, until my legs trembled, until the stars began to fade in the east.
When the howl died, I looked to Derick. He didn't say anything—couldn't, in this form—but his gaze told me everything. I'd passed the test, and in doing so, had shed the last remnants of who I used to be.
As the pack settled, panting and happy, I took one last look at the moon. I belonged. I was Silvermoon, now and forever. And nothing—not the past, not Josh, not even the ghosts I carried—could take that from me.