(GILBERT'S POV)
I walked until the estate disappeared behind the trees and I was certain no one could see me. Then I stopped.
I stripped off my clothes, shoved them into my bag, and closed my eyes. Deep inside me, beneath centuries of control and suppression, something wild stirred awake.
I reached for it.
The shift hit like a wave crashing against the shore—bone snapping into new shapes, muscle twisting and reforming, my skin surrendering to a thick coat of silvery fur.
The change had always been painful, even when I was young. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the silence inside my mind.
Most werewolves had a constant companion—their wolf. A voice in their head that guided them, protected them, comforted them. A primal instinct that was just as much a part of them as their own heartbeat.
But my wolf had gone silent three hundred years ago.
