Azura was yanked backward with enough force to make her head spin.
"What the hell?!"
"Why are you here, sister? Let's go home, okay?"
Jonathan's voice was a flat, emotionless line. He knew damn well why she was here, but he was clearly opting for the 'ignore it and it will go away' method of sibling conflict resolution.
Without waiting for an answer, he tightened his grip on her arm, his knuckles white, and proceeded to drag her out of the pack house like a sack of unwanted potatoes. He marched her over to a sleek black car parked nearby, yanked open the passenger door, and practically shoved her into the seat.
Azura landed with a soft 'oof'. Well, that answered one question. Selena wasn't living with them. Classic disowned-family-member trope. Check.
Jonathan slammed the door shut, got in the driver's seat, and peeled out of the parking area with a screech of tires. The silence in the car was so thick you could've spread it on toast. Azura, desperate for some intel on this dumpster fire of a world, decided to poke the bear.
"Ahem... so, can we talk about something...?"
The only answer was the hum of the engine and the sound of Jonathan's silent, simmering disappointment. He was pouting so hard she was surprised his face didn't collapse in on itself.
He was clearly hoping for an apology, maybe a comforting 'there, there' for his traumatic ordeal of having to watch his sister be... nice to their murderer sister.
Instead, Azura decided to admire the scenery. She pressed her face against the car window, watching the blurry trees and houses whiz by, completely ignoring him.
The car ride, which was usually filled with their boisterous chatter, was now a tomb of awkward silence. Azura, blissfully unaware of the social cues she was trampling on, assumed this was just how they normally drove. She had no idea this was Jonathan's version of a full-blown tantrum.
When they finally arrived at a ridiculously large house, Jonathan unlocked the door and proceeded to stomp inside, his footsteps sounding like a disgruntled giant having a tantrum. He slammed his bedroom door with a final, resounding BANG that shook the pictures on the wall, make her flinched.
Now, Azura's mission: find her bedroom.
Fortunately, it wasn't hard—Azura Williams was apparently a raging narcissist, with framed photos of herself plastered on every available surface, like a shrine to her own face.
And those beautiful photos immediately made Azura curious about her new appearance. She rushed to the massive mirror, her heart pounding with excitement.
"Holy shit."
Her reflection stared back, and Azura's jaw dropped. She was gorgeous. Like, stupidly, unfairly gorgeous. Her face was similar to her old one, but amplified by a thousand—sharper cheekbones, fuller lips, eyes that sparkled like they'd been Photoshopped by God himself.
And her chest. Her previously flat, humble chest was now... well, let's just say she'd gone from airport runway to twin peaks. She cupped them experimentally, her eyes wide.
"These are... these are like... meat buns. Delicious, bouncy meat buns."
She looked like celebrity. No, scratch that, she looked even better than Selena, the porn protagonist. She looked like the kind of woman who'd make a porn star weep with envy.
A cold wave of dread washed over her.
"Oh god, please no," she whispered, her hands flying to her face. "Please tell me this body isn't a slut. Please tell me Azura Williams wasn't banging half the pack like some kind of werewolf Casanova."
She was a virgin in her old world—a proud, slightly awkward virgin. If this body had a body count higher than a serial killer's, she was going to find the nearest mountain, shave her head, and become a monk.
However, soon, in this empty room, the weight of everything—the transmigration, the drama, the sudden realization that she'd left her family behind—crashed down on her like a ton of bricks. She changed into pajamas on autopilot, her movements sluggish, and collapsed onto the bed.
Sleep came quickly, a desperate escape from the reality check that she was now stuck in a porn novel world, far from everyone she loved. Though she tried to look okay, the sadness she buried deep leaked out in silent tears that streamed down her cheeks as she slept.
In the deep, dreamless abyss of her sleep, Azura was blissfully unaware of the strange, disembodied voice that now echoed in the empty corners of her mind. It was a whisper, ancient and curious, slithering through her subconscious like smoke.
'Who is this soul...?'
And far beyond the safety of her ridiculously opulent bedroom, under the cold, watchful eye of the moon, shadows moved in the dense forest surrounding the pack's territory. They were silent, disciplined figures, their forms melting into the darkness. They weren't just hiding; they were hunting.
And they were searching for a woman.