Chapter 138: Ella Shifts

Sinclair

I don't remember much about my first shift. I remember blinding pain, the torment of every bone breaking, every muscle tearing as my body reshaped into a wolf. It felt endless, a certainty of death. I couldn't understand survival, but my father was there, holding, comforting, promising it would be alright. I recall the rumble of his voice more than anything, but never imagined how hard it must have been for him to watch.

Now I understand only too well. It's worse with Ella. All her senses are overwhelming—the world too sharp, bright, and loud.

Her agony is deeper; in becoming her wolf, she's losing our baby, the child she longed for. I'm devastated our son won't survive, and I feel his stress through our bond as Ella's wolf emerges. Worst of all, I can't fix it. I can't protect them from nature's brutality.

I'd gladly take her pain. I'd suffer so she wouldn't… but I can't. I can only be here, easing her distress. When the helicopter lands, I carry Ella to my room, struggling to hold her as her small form jerks and spasms with unnatural strength. She's shivering, and though her wolf is awakening, I fear it may be too late for her fingers and toes.

"Look, baby, look—it's your nest," I say, unwrapping her from my coat and placing her on the bed. She's still in the early stages of her shift, lucid enough to know where she is. This won't last; in a few hours, the pain will consume her. She peeks around the darkened room, then with a pitiful moan, crawls deeper into the pillows, relieved yet heartbroken. I quickly bury her trembling form in blankets and kiss her tear-stained cheek, promising to return soon.

I leave only to fill the bath with warm water, regretting the delay. I'd tried to respect her wishes, to make her escape safer. Instead, she ended up alone and helpless on the frozen mountain.

Ella's weeping and whimpers provide a torturous soundtrack to my self-recrimination. I return to find her writhing under the blankets. When I try to lift her, she resists. "N-no," she cries, pushing my hands away. "I w-want to stay. If I h-have to l-lose him, it sh-should be here."

"I'll bring you back," I vow, realizing my mistake in offering comfort then taking it away—even temporarily. "We have to get you warm first, sweetheart."

But Ella won't cooperate. She fights me fiercely, a tiny hellcat despite her exhaustion. It breaks my heart to be so ruthless, but I know it's for her good. I can't undress her, so I tear her clothes away and drag her to the bath. She splashes in, then cries out as the warm water touches her numb limbs.

She immediately tries to escape, and I hold her down, wishing for another way. I've called the doctor, but until her shift ends, caring for her will be harrowing. She lashes out, calling me a monster, saying she'll never forgive me. I know she's not herself, but the words still hurt.

I can't even purr; the sound would amplify her pain. The city's sounds and scents have already intensified her forest pain, and I try not to add to her suffering. I want to feed her, but it's impossible. Her taste buds will be oversensitive.

Suddenly, Ella's back arches violently; a horrible crack fills the air. We're out of time. She howls as she enters the second stage of her shift; my wolf whines, desperate to ease her torment. I pull her from the bath, return her to the nest, letting her feel my nearness. Her shouts of anger become wails and pleas to stop. I can only hold and pet her, whispering reassurances. "I know, baby. I know it hurts. I promise it will be over soon."

Eventually, Ella looks at me, her pupils dilated, her irises glowing gold rings around pitch-black pools. "I don't want to be a wolf anymore," she whimpers, her fingers digging into my skin. "Just make it stop."

"I would if I could, little one," I answer miserably. "I'm so sorry."

She turns away and seizes up; all her fingers break at once, her mouth opening in a silent wail. "Shh," I croon, "Shh, I know."

By the third hour, her begging has stopped. The pain wracks her body, contorting her into unnatural shapes as she wavers in and out of consciousness, screaming when awake, falling limp into darkness.

My father enters after one such episode, finding me cradling her sleeping, broken body. I rock her and mutter, hoping she'll hear me. "I love you, Ella. You are loved, so so loved."