Bloom

The weakling

McKayla’s voice trembles beside me, but she doesn’t speak. Her blue eyes are wide as she stares at my hands, frozen in awe.

I follow her gaze. My fingers are shaking — not from fear, but from something alive beneath my skin. The tips glow and fade, glow and fade… tiny embers struggling to ignite.

I want to tell her I don’t know what’s happening, that something wild is clawing its way out of me, but the words won’t come.

Then Alpha Azeo’s voice cuts through the silence.

Low. Commanding. Sharp as a blade.

I can’t make out the words, but whatever he says makes McKayla gasp. She grabs my wrists instinctively, trying to steady the tremor. The light flares brighter, red and gold, pulsing like a heartbeat that belongs to someone else.

The crowd presses in — our pack, the visiting Alphas, every wolf staring. A hush falls over the gathering, thick and heavy, the air vibrating with unease.

My breath comes fast, heart hammering. The lights above blur.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch movement — a reflection in the tall glass window beside the stage.

I turn. And freeze.

A reflection stares back. Pale skin. Freckles. Wild red hair.

And eyes — glowing, searing red.

Just like Alpha Azeo’s.

Whispers cut through the silence, sharp and disbelieving.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

Because when I left the house this morning, I didn’t have red eyes.