I woke with a throbbing exhaustion, the remnants of restless sleep clinging to me. The wolf within stirred, restless even in the daylight. "Quiet," I grumbled, "Just… be quiet."
"Not in my job description," she retorted, her voice a phantom echo in my mind. ( *Italics represent Lyra's inner monologue, the wolf's voice.*)
I sighed. This was my first day navigating this new, impossible reality.
I found my mother in the kitchen, already packing. The urgency in her movements mirrored the turmoil in my own chest. "Mum," I began, "What happened? Last night… why are we wolves?"
"I told you all this last night, darling!" Lyra’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“Oh, *shut up* please!” I snapped, unable to bear her constant chatter.
My mother’s expression was grave. “Our entire maternal line… we’re wolves. Your father isn’t. If anyone discovers our existence, we’ll be hunted – experimented on, or worse.” She continued, outlining a history of secrecy, of survival. The details blurred, overwhelming in their scope.
“Ryan knew,” she added, “He turned three years ago. He had the same nightmares you did.”
A flicker of hope ignited within me. If the nightmares meant this transformation was inevitable, maybe they would fade.
“We’re moving,” she stated, her tone brisk. “To America. Your grandparents live with a pack, a haven for our kind. We leave tomorrow. Today is for packing.”
“But Mum, why move?” I protested, the question hanging in the air.
She brushed it aside. “Later.” Instead, she fixed me with a stern gaze. “You need to connect with your wolf. Build a rapport. If you aren't on speaking terms, you'll have problems. I’ve given you the day off from school. You both need to establish control—not dominance, but *control*.”
I retreated upstairs, desperate for space.
“So… new best friend,” the wolf chirped. “We need nicknames!”
“I’d rather we didn’t,” I replied, exhaustion weighing on me.
“How about ‘Muppet’ and ‘Beautiful’?” she suggested, a playful lilt in her voice.
“Look, I’m not the one who needs the nickname. *You* need a name.” I pushed aside her flippant suggestions.
After a lengthy back-and-forth, we struck a compromise. I would maintain control, but she could choose her own name.
“Can I call myself Tilly?” she finally decided.
“Sure.”
She retreated into a quiet slumber, granting me a reprieve. I packed my belongings, lost in thought, when Ryan finally emerged.
“Hey sis,” he said, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh god, you look wrecked.”
“Don’t even start,” I replied, “At least the nightmares will be gone now.”
“YOU TURNED?! And you didn’t wake me!” He embraced me tightly, then sprinted back to his room, boxes already flying out. I laughed, watching his frantic energy. Only Ryan.
~~~
The ferry crossing felt interminable. Three hours to Dover, then hours more crammed into a cabin. Boredom gnawed at me. I ran around the edges of the deck, testing my newfound speed, until exhaustion claimed me.
I occupied myself with my new phone for hours, until the ferry finally docked in America. A week later, we arrived at our new home. I hugged my grandparents, the warmth of their embrace washing over me. It was strange, comforting to be surrounded by others of our kind.
My new room was vast, opulent. My grandparents’ wealth afforded us luxuries we’d never known. Ryan had claimed the largest room, but I didn’t mind. Mine was still spacious, dominated by a massive window overlooking a sprawling landscape. The bed was positioned to take advantage of it. A desk stood by the door, adorned with paintings my mother had created.
I hadn’t heard much from Tilly lately, and I hadn’t missed her chatter. Until she burst back into my consciousness…
“Lyra! Lyra! Lyra! We’ve found our mate!”