C8 Cinderella among the wolves

The talisman around my neck blazed with a ghostly silver light, searing against my skin like molten fire. My inner beast whimpered, retreating to the farthest corner of my consciousness as the magic surged and rippled outward. The ground beneath my paws blackened and cracked, steam hissing into the air.

Wolves scattered, their snarls fading into stunned silence. People leapt aside, fear etched into their faces, while even the ethereal floating lights flickered and pulled back as though afraid to touch me. A shiver coursed down my spine. This wasn’t just rejection; it was terror—pure, primal terror.

I reached the edge of the lawn where Fangley and Clawley stood frozen, their goblets of wine trembling in their hands. Their eyes widened in sheer disbelief, reflecting my own growing horror.

Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t just a botched transformation. It wasn’t just misshapen paws or a broken shift. No, this was something far worse. The air around me vibrated with unnatural energy, and deep in my gut, a dark truth clawed its way to the surface.

The one destined to be my mate—my supposed protector—wanted me dead.

Alpha Gundahar’s voice thundered across the lawn, his words cutting through the night like a blade. “In the name of Fenrir, I command you all—hunt the abomination!”

Panic exploded in my chest, and I bolted. My paws pounded the earth as I sprinted toward the driveway, every muscle in my body burning with desperation. Behind me, chaos erupted. Machine-gun fire cracked the air, sharp and deafening. I veered left, ducking behind a tall hedge, and plunged into the dense forest bordering the compound.

The woods welcomed me with a ghostly quiet, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant howls of my pursuers. Moonlight filtered weakly through the canopy, but my vision shifted. Colors sharpened, the shadows peeling back to reveal a world bathed in unnatural brightness. My wolf—no, whatever I was—saw the forest in vivid, terrifying clarity.

I needed a plan. Fast.

At the far end of the woods lay a road. Beyond that road was a meadow dotted with poppies. If I could lure the foreign wolves into the field, the pollen might disorient them long enough for me to escape. It was a fragile plan, but it was all I had.

I stuck to the shadows, my breath hitching as I pushed myself to run faster. The wind howled past me, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. My paws churned the ground into clouds of dust, and my pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the forest’s hum.

But I couldn’t ignore the sound of pursuit—labored breaths, pounding paws, snapping branches. They were closing in, fast.

Ahead, a patch of blackberry shrubs loomed. I dove for cover, grimacing as the sharp branches tore at my snout. On the edge of my vision, movement caught my eye. A massive white wolf charged toward me, a black wolf flanking him. Their eyes burned with malice, their growls promising death.

The white wolf lunged, his jaws snapping at my shoulder. I veered sharply left, but it was no use. They weren’t chasing me—they were herding me. Forcing me back toward the mixer.

Rage bubbled in my chest, hotter and fiercer than anything I’d ever felt. I bared my teeth, a warning growl tearing from my throat. But the pale wolf’s icy blue eyes, so reminiscent of Gundahar’s, didn’t waver. His loathing was absolute.

If I didn’t act, he’d kill me.

He pounced, slamming me to the ground. Pain shot through my side as his companion bit down on my tail. The fire in my chest exploded, scorching away fear and hesitation.

I opened my mouth to bark, but instead, a torrent of fire erupted from my jaws.

The white wolf yelped and leapt back, his fur singed and his eyes wide with shock. The black wolf turned tail and fled, his whines fading into the trees. I scrambled to my feet, my legs trembling but defiant.

I stood there, panting, smoke curling from my nostrils. The flames had silenced the forest, leaving only the echo of my pulse and the distant crackle of burning leaves. Around me, glowing eyes stared from the shadows, their owners too stunned—or too afraid—to move.

I snarled again, the sound low and feral. The wolves flinched, their confidence crumbling.

Then I felt it. A strange, alien sensation along my back. My hackles rose as something unfurled from my shoulders. Slowly, I glanced to the side.

They weren’t shadows or illusions. They were wings—leathery, massive, and braced with spindly, bony frames.

Wings.

I wasn’t just a wolf anymore. I was something far worse.

My breath hitched as my wings stretched wide, slicing through the dense forest air. Each beat sent a shockwave through my body, urging me upward, away from the chaos below. I was flying. Truly flying.

For a moment, an elation unlike anything I’d ever felt surged through me. My heart pounded with a wild rhythm, one part exhilaration, one part desperation. I didn’t need to run anymore—not from them, not from their claws or teeth. I was above it all, my wings carving a path through the moonlit sky.

The wolves below hesitated, their glowing eyes flickering with fear and uncertainty. Their snarls softened into uneasy whimpers as my shadow passed over them. I let out a roar—a guttural sound that seemed to ignite the very air around me. Flames burst from my mouth, licking the treetops and scattering the undergrowth in a blaze of light.

I felt invincible.

But reality snapped back like a whip. The motorbikes revved somewhere below, their engines a guttural growl of pursuit. They were closing in. My triumph turned to a grim resolve. The magical boundary was my only hope now. If I could breach it, I might still make it out alive.

“Ayla!” A voice called from the chaos below—familiar, insidious. Beowulf. His motorbike roared beneath me as he shouted up into the night, his words slithering into my ears. “Come down. Let’s talk this through.”

“Talk?” I snarled through clenched teeth. “You lost that privilege years ago.”

A bitter laugh tore free from my throat, burning like acid. I arched my neck and let out another jet of flames, scorching the ground near his tires. He swerved violently, nearly crashing into a tree. Good.

My wings carried me higher, slicing through the crisp night air. The full moon guided my path, illuminating the stretch of road that separated me from the wards. Just a little further. Freedom dangled tantalizingly close, but my chest tightened with every beat of my wings. My time was running out.

Then his voice came again, sharper this time, laced with malice. “Ayla Gerrison, stop this nonsense. We have your mother. Return now, and she won’t get hurt.”

The world seemed to shatter around me.

No. No, they wouldn’t—couldn’t.

The words struck me harder than any claw or bullet ever could. My heart plummeted, tangled in a net of fear and doubt. They were bluffing. They had to be. My mother was innocent—just an ordinary woman caught in the web of their cruelty. They wouldn’t hurt her. Would they?

A piercing scream tore through the night, wrenching me from my thoughts. My ears flattened against my head as the sound slammed into me like a blade. It was her. It was Mum.

My wings faltered, trembling under the weight of my panic. The air that had once buoyed me up now felt like a crushing force, dragging me down. I lost control. Gravity seized me, yanking me from the sky.

I fell hard. The ground rose to meet me with a sickening crunch. Pain shot through my body, sharp and unforgiving, and my vision blurred into darkness.

The last thing I heard before the void claimed me was the sound of footsteps approaching, and the echo of my mother’s scream lingering in the air like a curse.