Sierra
Sierra's shrieks echoed in the guest cabin as another silver streak spread in her hair, rippling across her scalp like fire.
The pain burned from her scalp to her spine, as if liquid silver was being poured into her veins. Sierra gripped the bed edges, knuckles white, body bowing as another wave of agony crashed into her. Three days since arriving at Timber Ridge, she was worsening by the hour.
"Just hang in there, Sierra," Maya said, applying cold cloth to her forehead. "Just breathe through it."
Breathing seemed like a luxury. Each inhale felt like breathing fire, each exhale like glass shards tearing through her. Finally the wound on her side stopped bleeding after Maya abandoned traditional werewolf healing methods and used stitches Sierra's body should have rejected, but somehow had accepted.
As the latest surge subsided, Sierra fell back against sweat-soaked pillows, utterly drained. She could hardly recognize herself in the wall mirror, her gaunt face framed by hair that was almost half-silver.
"Water," she rasped, throat sore from screaming.
Maya quickly lifted a cup, supporting Sierra's head. The cool liquid brought instant relief; yet within seconds, Sierra's stomach revolted. She turned her head in time and vomitted over the bed's edge.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, embarrassed despite everything.
"Don't," Maya said firmly, cleaning without fuss. "This isn't your fault."
But wasn't it? Sierra wondered faintly. If she had been stronger, smarter, if she had recognized Dominic was going to reject her, perhaps this torment could have been avoided. If she had been less naïve or trusting...
Her thoughts dissolved as a familiar tingling sensation announced the beginning of involuntary partial shift. Sierra whimpered, knowing what was coming.
"Maya, stand back," she croaked.
Maya shifted away as Sierra's left arm transformed, bones breaking and reforming, fur springing out on skin pulsing with silver light. The change stopped at the shoulder this time, leaving only a wolf's paw attached to her otherwise human body. A terrifying sight that challenged everything she'd been taught about werewolf biology. Shifting was supposed to be all or nothing. Partial shifting was thought impossible, only a horror story told to frighten pups.
Yet here she was proving the impossible was real.
"The moon is coming up," Maya stated, looking at the night sky. "Let's get you outside. It helped last night."
They had discovered by chance that moonlight seemed to relieve Sierra's symptoms, calming the raging war within her being. Something about the moon's silver light provided temporary relief. Maya suggested that since the moon governs all werewolf transformations, it could maybe correct whatever was happening to Sierra.
Sierra, with Maya's assistance, stumbled to the small porch behind the cabin, collapsing onto the cushioned bench facing the rising moon. As first moonlight rays hit her skin she sighed, feeling the burning sensation subside. The tingling in her partially transformed arm began fading before reverting to human form.
"Better?" Maya asked, tucking a blanket around Sierra's shoulder.
Sierra gave a weak nod. "It's the only thing that helps."
They sat in silence, watching the moon climb higher. Despite feeling drained, Sierra's thoughts were busy, analyzing her symptoms with the detached clinical thinking she had used as a healer.
"This isn't normal rejection sickness," she finally said. "Something else is happening."
Maya hesitated before answering. "I reached out to someone who might help. Alpha Rowan approved it under these circumstances."
Sierra turned to her friend. "Who?"
"Dr. Eliza Roberts. She runs the human clinic in Silver Creek, but she knows about us. She's one of the few humans both packs trust."
Sierra had heard of Dr. Roberts, a smart doctor who discovered werewolves by accident years ago when a seriously injured pack member shifted on her operating table. Rather than reveal them, she had become a priceless asset for werewolves, incorporating wolf traditions and healing practices with contemporary medicine.
"A human doctor? What could she do that you can't?"
"She has tech we don't. She can look inside you and measure what's happening at a level we can't with traditional methods." Maya leaned forward, expression pleading. "Please Sierra. You're worse, not better. We need to figure out what's happening before..."
She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
Sierra closed her eyes, allowing moonlight to wash over her. "When?"
"She'll arrive at midnight. Rowan arranged for her to come through back trails to avoid attention."
A gentle rap drew their attention. One of the guards assigned to the cabin poked his head onto the porch.
"There's someone here to see you, Maya. Says it's urgent."
Maya frowned. "Dr. Roberts isn't due for hours."
The guard shook his head. "It's not the doctor. It's... well, you should come see."
Maya shot Sierra a worried glance before following the guard inside. Sierra stayed on the porch, her body too weak to brave the trek and unwilling to leave the moonlight's calming embrace. Muffled voices drifted through the door, turning into what sounded like an argument. Moments later, Maya reappeared, concern marring her face.
"What is it?" Sierra inquired.
"A messenger from Silver Moon. Official capacity." Maya's voice dropped to a whisper. "He demands to speak to you in person. Says he has information about your condition."
Sierra's heart raced. Could Dominic have sent someone? Or was Victor behind this?
"Did he give a name?"
"Elder Grayson."
Sierra's eyes widened with surprise. Elder Grayson was respected by everyone; famous for his vast knowledge of werewolf history and his decent stand on pack politics. If he had come himself, risking potential cross-pack tensions...
"I will see him," Sierra proclaimed.
Maya appeared hesitant. "Are you sure? You're in no condition—"
"If Elder Grayson came all the way here himself, it's important." Sierra summoned strength to sit more upright, appearing better than she felt. "But let him come out here. I need the moon."
Minutes later, the old werewolf came onto the porch, a serious look on his weathered face at seeing Sierra's changed appearance. Elder Grayson always reminded Sierra of an extremely old oak tree; solid, unyielding, grounded in tradition, but with timelessness to it.
"Sierra Blackwood," he said, with tragedy in his voice, "what have they done to you!"
Something in his voice gave her unease. Not sympathy or shock, but recognition, as if he had expected to see her like this.
"You know what is happening to me," Sierra stated.
The elder nodded slowly. "When I heard about the silver light, the streak in your hair, I guessed. But seeing you now..." He pulled out a small leather-bound book from inside his coat. "There are records, ancient records, of similar cases. Rare, so rare, they now exist only in legends, rather than medical texts."
Sierra leaned in, despite exhaustion. "What am I turning into?"
"That depends," Elder Grayson moved slowly, "on if you survive the change." He paused. "Your Grandmother should be here. She knows more about this than anyone."
"My grandmother? What does she have to do with this?"
Before Elder Grayson could answer, the sound of a vehicle approaching interrupted. Headlights swept through trees, illuminating the area, as a rugged Jeep pulled up beside the cabin.
"I think that's Dr. Roberts," Maya said, relief evident in her body language.
A tall woman with short gray hair stepped out, carrying two large medical cases and moving with brisk competence. She quickly scanned the porch scene, her curious gaze landing on Sierra in professional study.
"You must be my patient," she said, walking to Sierra unhesitatingly, no fear or horror at the silver streaks in Sierra's hair or occasional flickers of light beneath her skin, just curiosity.
"I'm Dr. Roberts. Maya tells me you have some interesting symptoms?"
"That's one way to put it," Sierra managed weakly.
The doctor set down her cases and started a basic exam. She checked Sierra's wrist pulse, looked in her eyes using a penlight, then felt lymph nodes in her neck with gentle but confident touch.
"Fascinating," she mumbled. "You have a strong but erratic pulse, elevated temperature well beyond a normal werewolf's." She looked at Elder Grayson. "You from Silver Moon?"
The elderly wolf nodded. "I came to offer perspective based on ancient records."
"Good. I'm going to need every bit of help I can get." Dr. Roberts opened one case and pulled out ultra-modern equipment Sierra had never seen. "This is a mobile cellular analyzer, it allows me to analyze blood samples at the molecular level. I need to understand what's happening internally."
Sierra presented her arm, watching with oddly detached interest as the doctor took several blood vials. The usual crimson blood had a distinct silvery sheen.
"Have you treated a rejected mate before?" Sierra asked as the doctor worked.
"Three, over the years," the doctor replied, "but none with symptoms like yours. Normally, rejection is intoxicating emotional trauma. It can result in anxiety, depression, loss of appetite, maybe insomnia, or occasional mild fever. Nothing like..." she indicated Sierra's silver-streaked hair and the faint glow pulsing under her skin, "...nothing like this."
Dr. Roberts loaded a blood sample into her analyzer, hooking it to a tablet. Complex readings began scrolling across the screen. It meant nothing to Sierra, but apparently alarmed Dr. Roberts, her eyebrows climbing to her hairline.
"This can't be right," she said under her breath and reset the machine before starting another test. The readings came back the same. Dr. Roberts took another sample from another vein, but the result was identical.
Sierra felt coldness unrelated to her condition. "What's wrong?"
Dr. Roberts stared at her apparatus while rapidly typing orders, running diagnostic after diagnostic. Her professional disposition began slipping, displaying genuine shock. She looked up from readings to Sierra, then back.
"These readings are not just abnormal for a werewolf," Dr. Roberts whispered, not looking away from her device, "they are impossible for any living creature."