Sold To The Alphas I Hate - Chapter 160

Chapter 160: Eira’s First Shift- III
Kael’s POV

The night was quiet, but my chest was anything but.

I stood in the garden of the estate, the numerous lights brightening the great expanse of lawn.

The others lingered close, tense, their eyes on her. Eira. Just as tense as me.

She was, kneeling on the ground helplessly, pale in the moonlight, her breaths coming shallow and fast. I had known this would be brutal for her—her shift was delayed for far too long. A wolf caged in human flesh is like a storm trapped in a glass jar; when it finally breaks free, it destroys everything in its way.

I went to her, while others stayed behind to not scare her or she might run away again.

I knelt next to her carefully. “Eira, I know it’s painful, but don’t resist it. It’s your wolf coming out and soon it will be fine.”

In response, a light pained cry tore through her mouth, the sweat had drenched her skin entirely, the veins on her body popped out as if ready to burst any moment.

“Focus on where your body is leading you to, allow the flow,” I told her, my hand reaching gently to caress her hair. “Breathe.”

After a few moments, a loud cry tore through the stillness, sharp enough to reach every corner of the estate. The guards at the distance got alerted to it, but they didn’t come to this side. They understood what it was.

Her pained cry pierced straight into my chest.

I knew her skin must feel like it was on fire, her body must feel like it was going to snap into millions of pieces as every inch of her body was going to change, going to mold into entirely different forms. Every werewolf had experienced it during a shift, but hers was more painful, and my heart hurt for her.

But I knew now it was the time to let her endure it.

I stood up and moved back. Soon the cracking started. Bones snapping, breaking, twisting. Her spine arched back until I thought it would shatter in two. Her body pushed ahead, her hands clawing at the ground, her fingers leaving deep gouges in the soil.

I looked at my brothers, every one of them as if they were in pain as well.

“Eira…” Roman’s voice reached me, ready to come to her.

But I silenced him with a raised hand. No one was to interfere. If we touched her now, she’d lose what little hold she had on herself.

Soon, her scream twisted into a growl, low and guttural, as her ribs expanded beneath her skin. The sound of her lungs straining filled the air along with her dress tearing apart. Blood dripped from her mouth as her teeth elongated into fangs, tearing through her gums. I clenched my fists at my sides, every instinct in me roaring to stop her pain, but I couldn’t. No one could.

Her skin split along her arms as fur forced its way through. She tore at herself, hands raking across her body as though trying to rip the agony out with her nails—nails that were no longer human but claws glinting in the moonlight. Her body convulsed violently, sweat and blood staining the earth beneath her.

The garden itself seemed to hold its breath. Every statue, every tree, every shadow watched as she broke apart. My ears rang with the endless cracking—shoulders dislocating, bones stretching, muscles tearing and knitting anew. Her voice rose and fell, human screams shattering into wolfish snarls.

I had seen many first shifts. I had guided some myself. But never like this. Never this late. Never this brutal. This was not a girl becoming a wolf; this was a wolf avenging years of being chained.

My eyes turned moist, taking everything in me to stop myself from not going to her.

I will, once she is shifted, I assured myself.

Her eyes flashed gold through the haze of tears and pain, and for a moment she looked right at me. It wasn’t Eira anymore—it was her wolf, furious and alive. The air around us vibrated with it.

Finally, with one last sickening crack, she collapsed forward. Her body trembled once more, and then where she had been writhing, a wolf stood.

For the past few days, I had been wondering what kind of a wolf she was. And finally I got the answer.

The most beautiful wolf I had ever seen stood before me.

Silver.

Her fur shimmered like liquid moonlight, each strand catching the glow and scattering it as though the night itself had draped her in starlight. The pain that had twisted her moments ago seemed erased, replaced by a radiance that was both wild and untamed yet breathtaking in its beauty. Her body was lean, strong, every curve of muscle beneath that silver coat sculpted with perfect balance of grace and power.

Her eyes—golden and burning—pierced the darkness. Fierce yet unyieldingly alive, they reflected the fire of her spirit and the endless hunger of her wolf.

And upon her forehead, glowing faintly beneath the silver strands, was the mark.

What’s this mark? I couldn’t help but wonder. I never saw any wolf carrying such mark.

It resembled a flame—its tail tapering down between her eyes while the upper end spread into delicate arcs, as if fire had been shaped into an eternal bloom.

It looks like a sacred red symbol, sharp yet fluid, as though painted by the divine hand of the Moon Goddess herself. The mark flared crimson under the moonlight, pulsing faintly as though alive, carrying with it an aura that made the air hum.

To any who gazed upon it, the meaning was clear: this was no ordinary wolf.

Sacred. Ethereal. Untouchable.

A wolf of silver flame and golden fire, marked by destiny itself.

As I looked at the other four, they were just as stunned to look at her. I offered them an assuring glance to tell she was alright.

Now she had shifted, it called for the usual way for the celebration. All of us shifted into our wolf forms, our clothes scattered on the ground below.

My wolf was Black, Roman’s gunmetal grey, Lucian’s molten bronze, Jason’s moonlight blue, and among the most unique in colour and rare one was Rafe’s wolf.