Grace turns, and I see the moment she understands what's happening. "Willow? Baby?"
Bones shift beneath skin, and fur ripples along Willow's arms and cheeks. It's too fast, too sudden—triggered not by danger, but by emotion. The first shift is always unpredictable, but it's rare for it to happen so abruptly.
Grace panics. "No, baby, not yet. Not now." But Willow is already halfway changed, caught between girl and wolf, whimpering in confusion and fear.
I step in calmly, gently easing Grace back. "It's okay. It's normal. She's just shifting for the first time."
"But she's too young—she's not ready—" Grace is near tears, her hands trembling as she reaches for her sister.
I place myself between them, not to separate but to guide. "Grace, listen to me. She needs to complete the shift. Trying to stop it will only hurt her."
I kneel beside Willow, speaking softly. "You're safe, pup. You're strong. Let it happen. Breathe with me."
Willow's eyes, wide with fear but trusting, lock onto mine. I breathe deeply, exaggeratedly, and she tries to mimic me through her whimpers.
"That's it. Let your body do what it knows how to do."
After a few agonizing minutes, Willow shifts fully into a small, silvery wolf pup with big, frightened eyes. She whines and pads to me, and I pick her up gently, cradling her against my chest.
Grace is stunned, frozen in place, her face pale. I hold Willow close and say, "She did good. This is something to celebrate, not fear."
Grace takes a deep breath, then another. Her expression transforms from shock to wonder as she truly sees her sister in wolf form for the first time.
"Oh my god," she whispers, stepping closer. "She's beautiful."
Grace reaches out with trembling fingers, gently stroking Willow's silvery fur. The little wolf pup's tail gives a tentative wag, and Grace's face breaks into a smile of pure amazement.
"Look at you," she murmurs, scratching behind Willow's ears. "You're the most beautiful wolf I've ever seen." She meets my eyes over Willow's head, her own shining with tears and pride. "I'm so proud of you, Willow. So, so proud."
Slowly, Willow's body begins to shift back, the process smoother than the first transformation.
When she's fully human again, she's naked and exhausted, her small body trembling with the effort.
I wrap her in the lavender blanket I bought, tucking it around her while Grace kneels beside us, holding her sister's hand.
"I turned into a wolf," Willow whispers, awed and exhausted. "Did you see me, Grace? I was a wolf."
Grace nods, tears in her eyes. "I saw you, baby. You were beautiful."
"I'm tired," Willow murmurs, her eyelids drooping.
"That's normal," I assure them both. "The first shift takes a lot of energy. She needs rest."
Grace picks Willow up, blanket and all, and carries her toward the stairs. "I'll tuck her in," she says, her voice steady despite the storm I can see in her eyes.
I nod, giving them space. "I'll be here."
???
When Grace comes back downstairs twenty minutes later, I'm sitting on the couch, the potted plant on the table beside me. I look up, sensing her approach, the turmoil of emotions she's barely containing.
She sits down beside me, hands wringing in her lap. "I'm sorry I snapped. About the gifts." She takes a shaky breath. "And... thank you. For everything tonight. With Willow."
I regard her softly. "You don't have to thank me. I want to be here. For both of you."
Her eyes well with tears. "I'm not used to this. People helping. Wanting things to stay the same." She stares at her hands. "It's good, but it scares me."
I take a chance. "What happened, Grace? What are you and Willow running from?"
She hesitates, then exhales slowly. "It was about a year ago. Hunters came for Willow's family—her mom and our dad. They were killed. Brutally." Her voice catches. "I saw enough to know we couldn't stay. They didn't know Willow had shifted yet, but I couldn't take the risk. I grabbed her and ran."
She pauses, voice wavering. "We've been moving ever since. Cheap motels, odd jobs, always one eye over my shoulder. I thought maybe we lost them, but I never stopped waiting for them to find us again."
She swallows hard. "I'm human. I don't have claws, or instincts, or a pack.
I've been doing my best, but sometimes it feels like it's not enough.
Like I'm not enough. And when I heard about this place—about the Sanctuary—I didn't think.
I just drove. I needed something solid. Somewhere safe. For her."
I listen without interrupting, my heart aching for what she's been through. For the weight she's carried alone for so long.
"You are enough," I tell her, the words rough with emotion. "You've kept her alive. Kept her safe. That's everything, Grace."
She starts to cry—quiet, silent tears that aren't about pain, but about release.
I don't say anything more. I pull her into my arms, letting her bury her face against my chest. Her tears soak through my shirt, but I don't move.
I hold her like she's something sacred. Like she's not broken, just tired.
I feel her breath warm against my chest, the gentle rise and fall of her body gradually syncing with mine. The scent of her hair—something floral and faint—fills my senses. My wolf stirs, protective and possessive in equal measure. Mine , it whispers. Ours to protect .
She pulls back slightly, looks up at me, eyes shimmering in the low light. I lean forward, slowly. Giving her time to speak up. To pull away.
She doesn't.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, we share a breath—the air between us charged with something neither of us is ready to name. I brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her cheek.
Our lips meet—soft, searching, hesitant. But when she kisses me back, it's with a hunger that steals my breath. My hands come up to frame her face, thumbs brushing away the dampness on her cheeks. Her fingers clutch at my shirt, pulling me closer.
When we pull apart, Grace whispers, "What are we doing?"
I answer, voice low: "Whatever you're ready for."
She doesn't say anything else. She just leans into me, not kissing, but being held. And for now, that's enough. I wrap my arms around her, resting my chin on top of her head, and we sit together in the quiet.
The potted plant sits on the table, small but alive. Ready to grow roots, if given the chance.