My little fierce mate

Was I special? The thought wouldn’t stop echoing in my mind. Then it made sense — if Kate was sealed, that meant I had to be careful when shifting in places I didn’t feel safe. Being special was the last thing I wanted right now. Because special always came with a price. ~•~•~•~• THE NEXT MORNING I woke to the faint hum of the city beyond the inn walls — horse hooves, faint laughter, pots clanging in the kitchen downstairs. It was morning already. I rolled on the bed, the thin sheets tangled around my legs, groaning as the sunlight stabbed through the cracked curtains. Part of me wanted to stay hidden there, curled up, pretending the world outside didn’t exist. But the other part — the one Kate had somehow reignited — whispered, “Get up. Move. Keep fighting.” With a long sigh, I dragged my body up from the mattress. My limbs ached, not from sleep, but from the transformation that still lingered in my bones. Every joint hummed with the ghost of that power, that wild, shattering pain that had changed me forever. But I was alive. I was me. I was… different. I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the floorboards, and for a moment I thought of him, the stranger. The way he’d looked at me the last time, that flash of something unspoken in his eyes. The kind of gaze that burns even when you try to forget it. But then I pushed the thought away. I couldn’t afford to think about him, not when I didn’t even have breakfast money. If I stayed in this bed all day, I’d rot — and worse, I’d prove everyone right. That I was the weak one. The unwanted one. So I stood. The hallway smelled faintly of old wood and cheap perfume when I stepped out. The floorboards creaked as I made my way downstairs, clutching my small bag like it was my armor. At the counter, the innkeeper was already awake, wiping down the counter with practiced ease. “Good morning, sir,” I greeted softly, offering a small smile. “And… thank you for yesterday.” He looked up from his ledger, his lined face breaking into a slow grin. His dimples appeared — deep, warm, almost out of place on someone with such tired eyes. “Anything for a cute girl,” he said lightly, his voice carrying a note of quiet kindness. Then his expression softened. “But don’t mistake kindness for weakness, kid. The world out there doesn’t go easy on people like you — so you stand strong.” The words hit deeper than I expected. No one had ever said something like that to me. My father’s voice was always cold, sharp like the edge of a broken bottle. My sister’s laughter — cruel, echoing — had been the soundtrack of my childhood. Even the pack’s whispers still clung to me: “Wolf-less. Weak. Worthless.” But this man, with his worn hands and gentle dimples, spoke to me like I mattered. I lowered my eyes, voice trembling slightly. “Thank you… you don’t know what that means to me.” He didn’t respond, just nodded once before turning back to his counter. But that moment stayed with me — like a flicker of light in a life that had always been shadow. The air outside bit at my skin the second I stepped out of the inn. The city was awake now — filled with the clatter of carts, the hiss of roasting food, the rhythmic footsteps of strangers who didn’t know my name. But that was the beauty of it. No one here knew me. No one whispered about my bloodline or the mate I’d lost or the shame I carried. Here, I could start over. I could be Ella — not the outcast, not the wolf-less girl — just… me. I started walking. The uneven stones beneath my sandals slapped softly as I scanned shopfronts and door signs. The smell of fried food made my stomach twist. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, but hunger could wait. What I needed was work. ~•~•~• Three rejections later, my hope began to dim. Each restaurant said the same thing — “We’re not hiring,” or “You don’t have experience,” or the worst one: a dismissive look that said, you don’t belong here. I was about to give up when I saw it — a large building with bold brown letters that read: Dallas Diner’s. The smell of grilled meat hit me the moment I stepped inside. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, forks clinking, waitresses weaving gracefully through tables. My breath caught. I had never seen so many humans in one place. It was overwhelming — all that life, all that noise. I hovered near the door for a few seconds, uncertain, until a man behind the counter caught my attention. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour. His hair was dark and a little messy, like he’d run his hand through it one too many times. And his eyes — sharp, steady, assessing. “Help you?” His tone was clipped but not unkind. I swallowed hard. “I… I’m looking for a job, sir. As a waitress. Or anything, really.” He looked at me — slowly — his gaze traveling from my worn shoes to the hem of my faded shirt. Not in judgment, but as if he were weighing me on invisible scales. I shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t have experience, but I learn fast.” He arched a brow, unimpressed. “We get a dozen of you every week, kid.” Before I could reply, a waitress stumbled behind him, nearly dropping a full tray of drinks. Instinct took over — my hands shot out, catching the tray before it crashed. The waitress gasped, her eyes wide. “Oh my God — thank you!” The man just stared at me, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, slowly, he smirked. “Well,” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter, “maybe you’re not as hopeless as you look.” My cheeks warmed. “Give me a chance. I’ll prove it.” He studied me for a beat longer, then exhaled sharply, grabbing a notepad and scribbling something before tearing the paper out. “Fine. Trial shift. Don’t make me regret it.” My fingers trembled slightly as I took the note. “When?” He looked up. “Tonight.” That one word lit something inside me. I left the diner clutching the note like it was made of gold. The sunlight hit my face, and for the first time in a long while, I smiled — not because someone made me, but because I felt it. Maybe things were finally shifting for me. ~•~•~•~• As the sun dipped behind the roofs, the city transformed. Street lamps flickered to life. The hum of day softened into a lull of voices, laughter, and the scent of night markets. I stood before the diner again, my palms sweaty, my heart pacing faster than my steps. The same man stood inside, giving orders. His presence filled the space like gravity itself — calm but commanding. He looked up as I walked in and nodded once. “Apron’s hanging on the hook. Let’s move.” No “good luck.” No warm smile. Just purpose. I liked that. The apron felt heavy as I tied it around my waist, like the weight of a new beginning. The waitress from earlier passed by and whispered, “Don’t let him scare you. He’s all bark, no bite.” I smiled faintly at the irony. If only she knew I’d met creatures who actually bark and bite. Still, her words steadied me. When the man approached again, his gaze was sharp, testing. “You ready?” I lifted my chin. “Yes, sir.” He nodded. “Good. Let’s see if you sink or swim.” And then chaos swallowed me whole. Orders flying, trays clattering, voices blending into one endless hum. Every movement had a rhythm, every mistake a price. But I found my pace. My hands learned fast. My instincts took over. The first few hours were brutal — sweat running down my neck, my arms sore from carrying trays — but beneath the exhaustion, something warm pulsed in my chest. Pride. For the first time, I wasn’t running from something. I was running toward it. By the time the shift ended, my legs felt like jelly. I collapsed onto a stool near the back, exhaling hard. The man — the manager, I realized now — walked over, drying his hands with a towel. “You didn’t drown,” he said simply. I looked up, smiling weakly. “Barely.” He let out a short chuckle, the sound rare and deep. “You did good for a first timer. Come back tomorrow, same time.” For a moment, I thought I misheard. “You mean… I got the job?” He shrugged. “If you show up, yeah.” And then he walked away, just like that — as if he hadn’t just changed everything for me. ~•~•~• Outside, the air was cool against my skin. The moon was rising again — big, full, and golden. I stood beneath it, staring up, my breath fogging the night. Kate’s voice brushed faintly through my mind, sleepy but proud. “You did well today, Ella.” “Thanks,” I whispered, smiling softly. But as I looked at the moon, I felt something else — a pulse, a pull deep inside my chest. For just a heartbeat, I swore I felt him — that same quiet energy that had burned in Jake’s eyes, wild and watchful. It made my heart skip. Then it was gone, leaving me with only the wind and my quiet smile. Maybe one day, our paths would cross again. But not yet. Right now, this was my story. My rise. My freedom. And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of being special anymore.