Trinity lay on the cold marble floor, a fragile figure against the imposing floor-to-ceiling glass wall that led out to the backyard. Her body was wracked with a sensation of foreignness, as if it had betrayed her. From the opulent bedroom above, the shrill voices of Alana and Boris sliced through the air, their argument a violent symphony that vibrated through the very foundation of the grand house. Downstairs, a quiet murmuring rippled through the staff as the maids, accustomed to the household's dramas, exchanged hushed glances. They heard the furious patapulting words of Alana's fight, and they saw Trinity, her small frame curled on the floor, her wolf seemingly unable to contain the overwhelming onslaught of sensations.
Her golden eyes, now alight with a startling new awareness, strained to comprehend the world. A complicated view, indeed. The backyard stretched before her, but her gaze pierced beyond, seeing far further than ever before. Her ears, it felt, were burning with the cacophony of everyone and everything.
The sounds rushed at her without end, a relentless tide she couldn't comprehend.
Even when she tried to fix her new eyes on a single object, it was an impossible task. Her golden gaze attempted to alight on the dying patch of earth that once held the Jade stone, but her sight was too acute. Each blade of grass, the soil once brown now covered in light red hues, the ripples in the small puddles of rainwater on the ground—all of it became a jarring distraction, as if her eyes no longer worked properly. Everything was rushing at her, and she didn't know how to stop it. A whimper escaped her lips as she pressed her hands tighter against her ears, trying to shut out the relentless assault.
Alana stood in the middle of their bedroom, her back to the door as Boris closed it behind them. She raised a hand, her fingers tracing the jagged cut on her forehead. Boris watched, a mixture of anger and dread in his eyes, as the deep split in her skin began to knit itself back together. The wound slowly sealed, the torn tissue and ruptured blood vessels mending at an accelerated rate. He saw her wipe away the final smears of crimson blood with the back of her hand, her expression unreadable.
"What were you thinking?" Boris growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. Never in his life had he been so enraged with his mate.
Their bond vibrated with violent energy, and he refused to close it, wanting her to feel every tremor, to understand that this was not something he would let go.
"I didn't make her go there. I told her to stay at the warrior house," Alana defended, her voice wavering slightly as nervousness began to gnaw at her.
"Do you think I'm stupid? I can feel your guilt. Lie to me one more time and I'll delve into your memories."
Alana licked her lips, her heart hammering. She felt cornered, knowing she didn't possess the strength to erect a mental block formidable enough to stop Boris. If he delved into her memories, he would uncover precisely how deep into debt she had gone.
"I love my daughter!" she screamed, the rising ache in her heart an echo of the pain she had carried for years.
"What do you even mean? She's downstairs, in pain, suffering! Your daughter, our daughter, is down there in a body that she doesn't even understand! You did this to her!" Boris pointed an accusing finger at her, the rage building within him. He tried to keep his voice calm and level, but he fumed internally. He could barely look at his mate. Stepping away, he turned his back to her, wondering how she could have done something so foolish, so reckless, so dangerous, so utterly stupid.
"Not her. Not that imposter wearing my daughter's face—" Alana tried to explain herself, desperate for him to finally understand her side.
"Imposter! I forgive a lot. I overlook a lot. But not with Trinity. You gave birth to her. You held her in your arms. She's your blood, your daughter. And she is how she is made. And there's nothing wrong with her." He felt sick, as if he had only just realized how warped Alana's mind had become, to truly think of Trinity as something so 'other,' to harbor no care for her in her heart, to at least not risk her life.
"You didn't see what I saw. When she came to the hospital. I felt it. The bond. I felt my daughter being suppressed by her human skin. I'm trying to save our daughter. The wolf. What we are." Her eyes glowed gold, as vibrant as the sun, and she felt as if she had finally found her child. "You do not understand what it's like." She wiped away frustrated tears, pushing her hair back, running her hands through it, feeling as though she just couldn't explain it.
"Do you think I didn't notice that her wolf was starting to emerge?"
Sighing in relief, Alana brightened, excited that he had seen it too, that he would understand then, that their true daughter was trying to break free.
"I didn't want her wolf to come out!" he growled, his features becoming sharper, more defined. His shift wanted to emerge, his skin rippled with the need and the urge to shift into his wolf's skin, to lash out and let his anger rain free. But he pushed it down.
"What happens to wolves that emerge at her age, Alana?"
"That's not fair!"
"What happens!" he roared, his composure evaporating as he stepped forward, eating the distance between them. His imposing height towered over her.
"Sometimes—" she began, then paused as he gave her a withering look, warning her to answer truthfully. "Most of the time they die."
Silence descended between them, a thick, suffocating silence filled with accusation and hurt, leaving no room for sound.
"You think death is better? You didn't even ask her. You didn't even tell me! You're so—you're so selfish. You're no one's mother." His words were sharp, like a blade pressed into her heart, slicing at its very essence.
The tears fell harder, but she still didn't give sound to her grief. "I would risk everything for our daughter. But she's not our daughter. If it works, which it is, she would be perfect—"
"Get it through your thick skull! You didn't risk anything. You gave up on your daughter. Trinity is your daughter. It's time to understand that. Because until you do, you won't be coming anywhere near her."
Alana felt as though she was being unjustly prosecuted. She had chosen the most ethical, humane way of emerging Trinity's wolf. It came with risk, but it wasn't as if she had resorted to any of the other fringe methods.
"It's not as if I starved her. I did my research. There are many ways to try to emerge a wolf, and all of them are dangerous. And I still chose the most sensitive one. Emotional triggers can force the shift. I could have starved her, I could have had her beaten. I could have forced her into a perilous struggle, and it would have happened so much faster. But for you and her, I chose the kindest method."
"I should thank you? What if she had died? She still might. But what then? Should I still thank you? Should she?"
Throwing up her hands in complete exhaustion, she answered, because she did have an answer, she had thought this through. "Yes! Because I was brave enough to try. I want to be a mother, and you deprived me of that. I didn't get a choice. So you should thank me. Even if she died."
The sensation rippled over his body without his conscious awareness. Boris's body shifted into his large gray wolf, a low snarl rumbling in his chest. The bond assaulted them both, causing shooting pain to cascade through their minds, a blinding headache. But Boris gave it no thought. His claws dug into the hardwood floors, leaving gaping rivets.
Through the link, he used his beta command, something she would not be able to disobey. "Leave this house, stay away from Trinity and me. Until you are called." In wolf form, his command was a visceral entity that immediately seized control of her wolf, commanding compliance.
Alana's heart stilled in her chest as she felt her body move without her consent, her eyes remaining fixed on her mate, who had commanded her to leave his side. Since the time they were mated, she had never been apart from him. The bond rampaged inside them, and it felt like a beast compared to the pain in her chest from Boris casting her out. She had done everything right. She was being a good mother. She was only trying to save her real daughter. It would benefit Trinity. It would benefit them all. If she was right—and she knew she was—everything would work out. Everyone would get exactly what they wanted and be happy.
"I'm saving our daughter."she said just before she walked out the door.
It took Boris some time to calm down enough to be able to shift back into his human form. Even then, he still waited in their bedroom, sitting on the floor, drowned in his own suffering. He wondered at what point Alana had become so heartless and cruel, or if it had always been there, the bond covering for her sick mindset.
Making his way downstairs, he found Trinity at the back window she used to sit in front of when she couldn't leave the house. Her hands were clamped over her ears, and her eyes were squeezed shut tight, as if she were trying to close the world away.
Boris could feel the bond between them, as if it had always been there. Because of that, he knew he could help. She didn't need to speak to tell him what was wrong. It was as if she'd spent her entire life deaf, and someone had suddenly turned on a boombox. Her mind was being rattled, and if that wasn't enough, her eyes had gone from regular HD to 4K without warning.
Making use of the bond and his beta abilities, he placed mental blocks around her mind—something only parents could do for their children when the newly shifted world came at them too fast to process. He placed the mental shield around her, blocking out everything else until the world became delicate. Not all the way to when she was "defective" with human eyes, but close enough to let her mind relax.
He sat behind her as she still remained curled up, eyes squeezed closed and hands over her ears.
He spoke directly into her mind, his voice as soft as a winter's breeze, not wanting to startle her. "We will be okay," he told her.
Trinity wasn't sure how he did it, but it seemed like the world had stopped, like it no longer kept crushing her. Crawling closer to Boris, she rested her head on his lap. Finally able to breathe, she collapsed into sleep, the strain finally gone.
Author's note:
For my loyal readers, I wonder where you stand. Could you see yourself as Alana or Boris? Maybe you think the truth can be something more nuance?