Vesper was terrified.

Ever since she had been brought back from the brink of death, her deep wounds healing and her strength oh so slowly returning, the coywolf paced back and forth in the patient’s room of the guest house. She would cease her anxious movements only to let herself be tended to or to eat. She was in pain, and being cooped up in a building wasn’t helping her out, though she wasn’t sure she would trust herself out among the rest of the clan just yet; her temper was getting shorter, her body quivering, and her heart racing. If she were human, she would be drenched in sweat.

Her abdomen clenched again, and she gritted her teeth together tightly, ears flattening and small body quivering. Different parts of her body had been acting strange, muscles cramping and joints cracking, as if some force were within her and trying to find a place of weakness.

She was fucking terrified—because she knew what this meant.

No, no, no, no. This is not fucking happening. It can’t happen. This was never supposed to happen.

The denial only made her panic more. She was fighting against an enemy she knew she could not beat. Even the worst of her foes were mortal, could be overcome, but Vesper was battling a virus.

She remembered that first warning in the back of her mind—the warning from the red-pied bitch whose arrogance and prejudice had matched hers: “If you wish to stay clear of our little ‘virus,’ stay away from any fighting.” And it had been in the back of her mind as she scrapped with the cream-colored brat, spilling blood onto her yawning wounds, gasping at the sting of fur and claws and grass. But no, her pride had gotten ahead of her, and while she had been spared of death, a deeper consequence ran through her veins.

The coywolf let out a whimper as her abdomen cramped once more, and she cursed herself for the show of weakness, though there was no one else in the room. She never cried, she never— But this was too much for her to bear. This pain was too strange for her to bear. Her body was warping, betraying her, and it was all she could to do hunker on the floor, whining and fighting. She would not succumb to it—she would battle it every step of the way, for days and weeks if she had to. It would be the hell she subjected herself to, if only, if only—

Her weak whimpering sharpened into a snarl of pain. She couldn’t understand how frightened a luperci pup would feel, changing for the first time—though she realized that they would have parents to talk them through it, and their bodies were born with the potential. It would be a little scary, but nothing compared to the pain and fear she was going through now.

She was suddenly very conscious that she was alone, and for the first time in her life, that bothered her.

She clamped her mouth shut on her pitiful whimpers as a sharp pain jolted down into the ligaments of her paws, claws digging deeply into the floorboards. Her blue eyes fell upon them suddenly, and she retracted her claws with a wince and another shudder. “Fuck, no…”

As if she could run away from her own lengthening claws, as if she could run from her very blood, Vesper scrambled back. She struck her shoulders on the bed, yelping and dropping away again as her wounds were knocked into, pulling on a stitch. Blood blossomed on the bandages wrapped around her small form, and she sucked her breath in quickly, but her attention was quickly diverted when her hips tensed.

Claws were one thing—but as she could feel her joints popping, her bones lengthening, she shivered and her mind went blank. Her clenching abdomen was jerked upwards as her hind legs grew, her forelimbs quickly transforming on their own as well. The bones in her toes grew as well, tipped with the claws that had caught her off guard and started the change. She snarled and arched her back, imagining her vertebrae crack.

Closing her eyes only magnified her other senses: the auditory, disgusting pop of joints as well as the tactile sensation of the change. When she opened her eyes again, however, she wished she hadn’t; her perspective had changed, and she was staring at trembling hands. Her body curled in on itself, but there was considerably more length to contend with.

“No,” Vesper murmured once more, broken. She lifted her hands to her face again then shifted, glancing at her tail as it curled close to her haunches. She was more in a crouch than a seated position, wobbling on her hind paws, the one with the missing toes as unbalanced as it had been when she first received the injury. The balance she’d taken seasons to cultivate, to practice, to hone her skills and to build her pride over something she was good at—all wasted, now that she had two fewer legs and no idea what she was anymore.

As she turned her head, fur—hair—fell into her eyes. It was the dark tawny of her dorsal stripe, streaked with the coal that dappled the rest of her pelt. Somehow the sight of this long hair filled her with rage—and that rage flared, flamed, consuming her pain and fear and weakness. Like a clumsy puppy, she clenched her hand tightly around that hair and jerked.

Hair ripped. She snarled, but she tore again. The hair fell onto the floor, and she looked frantically around at the room. Quickly, clumsily, she stood. She swayed and she fell, gripping the bedpost, growling and reaching out with another too-long arm for something glittering on the other side of the room. She took her first steps, stumbling, back hunched, limbs quivering.

She gripped it—some blade, she didn’t care what for, to cut bandages or stitches—and she put it to her head. She sawed her mane away, making a mess, and cut her palm.

Staring at the blood, Vesper froze. She dropped the sharp instrument and staggered backwards, sitting on the bed. And she drew her knees up to her chest, adopting the position of vulnerability quickly in this new shape. Blood coursed down from wounds reopened by the trauma of the change, and absently she realized that she would look horrible to Enkiel when he appeared again.

The coywolf buried her muzzle against her arms, looked at her hands again, and broke down as quietly as she could. Happy birthday, Ves…