Rise of the Banished She-Wolf

Evelyn

"Crash!"

Porcelain exploded across the café floor, a white spray of jagged teeth.

Silence snapped into place—forks paused halfway to mouths, breath held like the room itself was afraid to move.

My fingers still hovered in the air, useless, trembling.

Perfect. Another mess. Another reminder I didn’t fit in anywhere, not even among humans pretending life was simple.

“Gray.” The manager’s voice cut like a blade. “What. Is. Wrong. With. You?”

I swallowed the answer I didn’t have. "I'll handle it."

Cold shards bit into my palms as I knelt, blood beading in neat red punctuation. Pain grounded me. Better that sting than the other one—the hollow ache in my chest where a wolf should have lived.

Pretend. Breathe. Don’t break here.

"Clean it up," he barked. "And don't make me come back."

I didn't look up. Didn't give them the satisfaction of watching shame bloom on my face.

Three years since exile, and still, even here, I was a ghost in my own skin.

I dumped the pieces, ripped my apron off, and walked out before the manager could spit another word at my back.

Outside, neon smeared the rain-wet street like bruises. Wind bit through my jacket. I’d survived worse. I always did. Even without a wolf.

I started for the bike, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets, when the corner drunk stepped out and blocked my path.

"Hey there, wild girl," he slurred, reaching for my waist. "Finish your shift? Let me buy you a drink."

I stepped back, heart racing. "Not interested."

His fingers locked around my wrist. "C'mon, sweetheart. I've been watching you all night. Something about you... different. Dangerous." He leaned closer, his breath hot on my face. "I like dangerous."

"Let. Go." My voice dropped an octave, unfamiliar even to myself.

"Make me," he taunted.

So I did. My fist slammed into his chest, sending him stumbling into a table. Glass shattered as he crashed to the ground.

"She attacked me!" he shouted, drawing everyone's attention. "This crazy bitch attacked me!"

People backed away. Phones rose, screens glowing as they filmed. My manager's face appeared in the doorway, pale with fury.

"Police!" someone yelled.

Minutes later, I was shoved into the back of a squad car, the drunk grinning as though he'd already won.

The interrogation room smelled of bleach and stale coffee. I sat across from Officer Davis, my wrists rubbed raw from the cuffs.

"You're twenty-one?" he asked for the third time.

"Yes."

"No guardian?"

"No."

"No family?"

"No."

I’d told that lie so long it fit better than the truth.

The door opened. Heels clicked—sharp, expensive, final.

Victoria Gray. My mother.

She signed my release without meeting my eyes. Only when we stepped outside did she bother to look at me—and then her palm cracked across my cheek.

"Three years," she hissed. "Three years of silence, and this is how you show your face again? Dragged out of a human police station like a common thug?"

I touched my cheek, stunned. "It wasn't—"

"Don't speak." Her eyes cut through me like blades. "You were expelled for a reason. Don't think exile made you wiser. You're still a stain. And stains… stay hidden."

She checked her watch, bored already. "Your grandfather wants you home. Don't make me waste more time cleaning up your messes."

The truth hit me. "So that's why you're here. William sent you."

Her expression didn't change. "Lock yourself up tonight," she said. "It's Full moon today."

I spat a laugh, "You know damn well my wolf left me three years ago."

I walked back to find my Ducati. The engine snarled when I started it. I left her on the sidewalk and pushed the bike until the city lights blurred into one smear of yellow and red.

The road to the outskirts was an open throat. I ran it hard, the wind hauling at my jacket. The moon hung heavy and white above the trees.

Three years. Three years I'd endured this emptiness. Every full moon, I'd waited for my wolf to return, desperate to prove that white wolves weren't cursed like everyone believed. But every time, nothing happened.

I cranked the throttle and flew down the road, trying to outrun my own head—then I saw him.

A body on the roadside. Blood slick, moon cutting silver across his skin. Two figures with guns. Silver glinted. Hunters.

My pulse sharpened.

I should’ve driven away.

But his breath—shallow, stubborn—dragged me forward. I killed the engine, slipped into the trees.

“Who’s there?” The hunter turned. Saw me. Smiled. “You shouldn’t have seen this.”

The silver shot hissed past my ear. Instinct—not wolf, not anymore, just survival—took over. I collided with him, ripped the gun free, dropped him to the dirt.

Same shit they drilled into me on that island three years back. Kill or be killed.

Breathing hard, I turned toward the wounded man. "You'd better be worth it," I muttered.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that made the air feel heavier. Definitely not human. A smell hit me—pine sap, damp earth, something alive and sharp. I pressed my fingers to his side to find the wound.

He jerked. His hand flew up and gripped my wrist.

A white-hot pulse shot through my arm, like someone had struck a match against my bone.

No.

No, no, no—

I yanked my hand back on instinct, but it was too late—my nails had cracked and split. Skin pulled tight as coarse fur burst through in a heartbeat. I was too stunned to speak.

Suddenly, the man's eyes—storm-grey despite the blood—snapped open and locked onto mine.

His voice was barely human, scraped raw:

"Mine."

I barely registered his words, mesmerized by the white fur erupting across my skin like wildfire.

Three years. I'd counted every single day.

Three years of being half a person, of nodding along when they said maybe it was for the best, maybe I was safer this way. Three years of biting my tongue until it bled rather than scream at the unfairness of it all.

But my wolf was stirring now, stretching like she was waking from a long sleep. And with her came the memory of who I used to be.

They were wrong about a lot of things. And I was done being their victim.