Julian drags himself to his healer's cottage in the woods, which is really just asking for trouble in any supernatural universe worth its salt. After a day of navigating pack politics (read: high school drama with more teeth and territorial marking), he's beyond ready for some quality alone time with his herb collection. Because apparently being the pack's token mute omega means he gets stuck with all the Pinterest-worthy witchy chores while everyone else is out living their best supernatural lives.
Note to self: Start a TikTok channel - "Day in the Life of a Sassy Mute Omega Healer." First video: Why Alpha Lenny needs to invest in proper storage because these mason jars are giving "failed witch starter kit" vibes. Bonus content: How to organize wolfsbane by zodiac sign, as requested by literally no one.
The cottage, at least, offers blessed silence. No concerned looks, no awkward attempts at sign language from well-meaning pack members who clearly learned ASL from watching a single YouTube video. Just Julian, his plants, and the crushing weight of destiny or whatever cosmic force decided to make him the mystical GPS for a lost wolf boy. Seriously, couldn't the universe have given him something more practical, like the ability to know when someone's about to finish the coffee without making a new pot?
He lights his pathetically aesthetic bedside candle (because apparently the supernatural community is committed to maintaining their aesthetic even if it means living like it's 1899), and collapses onto his bed. The sheets smell like lavender and sage, which would be more impressive if it wasn't just because he spilled half his herb stores last week during what he's now calling "The Great Shelf Collapse of 2025." At least his room smells like a Lush store had a baby with a medieval apothecary.
Additional note: Maybe the universe could send a handyman instead of cryptic wolf visions? Just a thought.
His mind, predictably, drifts to those eyes again—the ones he's been painting obsessively like some supernatural romance protagonist who never got the memo about healthy coping mechanisms. The walls of his cottage have become a gallery of golden-green eyes, which would probably be concerning if anyone in this pack knew anything about mental health that wasn't directly related to full moon aggression management. At this point, he's one vision away from starting an Etsy shop specializing in "mystically inspired eyeball art."
Yet another note: Maybe time to admit this whole mystical connection thing is getting out of hand. Also, running low on green paint. Again. Maybe the universe could have chosen a mate with less complicated eye colors? Like nice, simple brown? Or better yet, someone who communicates through normal channels, like Instagram DMs?
With a mental eye-roll at his own cosmic meet-cute situation (because seriously, universe? A mute omega and a lost wolf? Way to be subtle), Julian reaches out with his consciousness. It feels like sending a friend request to the void, hoping the void doesn't leave him on read. He's searching for wolf-boy, his mysterious mind-mate who's probably wondering why the universe subscribed him to these weird psychic notifications without his consent. Premium subscription to Supernatural Connection™, now with added emotional baggage and random cravings for raw meat.
The connection hits like mainlining Red Bull straight to the soul, complete with the metaphysical equivalent of heart palpitations. Suddenly, Julian's experiencing life as a very confused werewolf who definitely missed orientation day at Supernatural Being University. The wolf's body feels like trying to parallel park a tank while wearing oven mitts—all power and zero finesse. Julian stumbles around in this new form, noting the aesthetic black and silver fur that looks straight out of a fantasy novel cover. At least the universe has good taste in wolf aesthetics, even if its matchmaking skills are questionable.
Mental note: Appreciate the universe's commitment to aesthetic coordination. At least my spiritual wolfmate isn't a basic brown, he thinks, before immediately feeling guilty about fur-color prejudice and making a mental note to check his supernatural privilege.
The sensory overload is intense—every smell is a story, every sound a symphony, and every movement a dance of predatory grace that Julian's borrowed body only partially remembers the steps to. It's like being thrown into the deep end of the wolf pool with only doggy-paddle experience (pun absolutely intended, and he's not sorry). He's pretty sure this isn't what people mean when they talk about "out-of-body experiences," but hey, he'll take what he can get.
Then comes the hunger—not your standard "forgot lunch" hunger, but full-on "Nature Documentary Narrator: And here we see the predator stalking its prey" hunger. The wolf part is absolutely living for this Discovery Channel moment, while the human part is having an existential crisis about the circle of life and wondering if there's such a thing as vegetarian werewolves. PETA would have a field day with this.
Julian watches through shared consciousness as wolf-boy takes down some unfortunate forest creature. The primal thrill of the hunt mingles with a distinct undertone of "Oh god, what am I doing?" that suggests wolf-boy hasn't quite come to terms with his new dietary requirements. It's like watching someone try sushi for the first time, except way more violent and with significantly more fur.
Mental note: Add "Processing Your First Hunt" and "Ethical Hunting for the Reluctant Werewolf" to the Welcome to Werewolf Life pamphlet I should probably start writing. Maybe throw in a section about dealing with fur in uncomfortable places—because that's definitely a conversation the romance novels skip over. Also, note to self: Start support group for supernatural beings with dietary restrictions.
Finally, he makes his move. Hey there, Lost Boy. I'd say this is awkward, but we're way past that. I'm your friendly neighborhood omega healer, and you look like you could use a supernatural life coach. Or at least someone to explain why you suddenly have an urge to chase squirrels and mark territory. Don't worry, the territorial thing gets less embarrassing... eventually.
The wolf freezes mid-feast, giving off strong "did my dinner just start a therapy session?" vibes. Those golden-green eyes (the ones Julian's been painting like a supernatural stalker) widen in shock. "Who... who are you?"
Just your future bestie/possible soulmate (no pressure), currently chilling at Moon Shadow pack. Ask for Julian. I'm the one serving looks and sass in ASL while everyone else is having howling competitions. Think of me as your personal "So You Think You Can Wolf" mentor. Bonus: I come with an extensive collection of herbal remedies and questionable supernatural puns.
The connection snaps like a cheap phone charger, and Julian face-plants into his pillow, wondering why mystical connections can't come with better WiFi or at least some kind of spiritual surge protector. His head spins with residual wolf-thoughts and the lingering taste of raw rabbit (which, gross, but also weirdly not as gross as he expected). He makes a mental note to add "Adjusting to New Dietary Preferences: From Medium Rare to Just Raw" to his growing list of werewolf self-help topics.
Obviously, that's when the pack scouts find him, because the universe loves its dramatic timing and apparently couldn't wait five minutes for him to recover from his mystical Zoom call. Because heaven forbid he have one supernatural experience without an audience.
"Julian, your Meemaw's been looking everywhere for you," one says, radiating concerned golden retriever energy. "Are you okay? You look like you just went ten rounds with a vampire's conscience."
Julian manages a weak smile and signs: Just peachy. Nothing to see here. Just your local omega having an out-of-body experience with a hot wolf. Totally normal Tuesday. Maybe we could normalize supernatural experiences not requiring an audience? Or at least schedule them better?
Back at the packhouse—which is giving serious supernatural HGTV vibes with its perfect blend of modern comfort and ancient pack symbolism—Julian finds himself surrounded by concerned faces. Alpha Lenny and Luna Elsa, the pack's power couple who definitely need their own reality show (working title: "Keeping Up with the Alphas"), stand at the center of the gathering. Meemaw, bless her patient soul, takes her usual position as Julian's translator, ready to turn his sass into something more diplomatically appropriate.
Julian's hands fly through the signs: "Plot twist: our mystery wolf is actually your long-lost nephew, currently having his own werewolf awakening in Silverbern, North Carolina. And before you ask, yes, he's got the special birthmark. Because apparently, we're doing the whole 'chosen one' trope. Should I start planning the welcome party, or are we going to spend the next hour processing feelings? I've got a Pinterest board ready either way."
Meemaw pauses and gives me a "WTF" look before translating for him.
The room goes quieter than a vampire at a garlic festival. Alpha Lenny's voice has that gravelly quality that screams 'repressed emotional backstory.' "Silverbern... where my sister Serenity..." He trails off, probably remembering he's supposed to maintain that stoic alpha image even while having earth-shattering family revelations.
Julian signs rapidly: "Yes, we've got the full supernatural drama bingo here—missing sister, evil ex, secret baby, mysterious birthmark. Can we focus on the part where there's a confused baby wolf probably freaking out about his sudden urge to chase squirrels? Time-sensitive situation here, people! Unless you want to explain to the local wildlife why they need to temporarily relocate."
The pack mobilizes like someone announced a full moon flash mob. Julian watches with a mix of amusement and exasperation as warriors start pulling weapons from seemingly nowhere (seriously, where do they keep all this stuff?), while the more administratively inclined pack members start creating spreadsheets for the rescue mission. Because apparently, even supernatural operations need proper documentation. Someone's actually making a PowerPoint presentation about optimal rescue routes.
That night, Julian attempts another mental connection with Ethan, finding him in what looks like a hospital room designed by someone who really hates color and joy. Hey there, future pack member. Don't freak out, but I'm that voice in your head that's not a sign of mental breakdown. Think of me as your supernatural GPS—recalculating route to werewolf acceptance. Turn left at denial, proceed through anger, and merge onto acceptance.
"Why me?" Ethan's mental voice carries notes of fear, confusion, and a hint of 'why couldn't I just have normal quarter-life crisis like everyone else?'
Because the universe has a weird sense of humor and apparently thought what this story really needed was another chosen one narrative. But hey, at least you get cool powers and a built-in support system. Plus, free therapy sessions with your friendly neighborhood mute omega. We even have a loyalty program—every tenth existential crisis comes with a free calming tea blend.
As the rescue team prepares to leave, Luna Elsa approaches Julian with an offer to join the scouting team. He signs back: "Thanks, but someone needs to stay here and prepare for our new arrival. Besides, I've reached my quota of mystical wolf-whispering for the week. Also, someone needs to keep Eli from reorganizing the herb storage by aesthetic appeal again. Last time he tried to arrange the wolfsbane by color gradient, three people got rashes."
Julian busies himself with preparations, arranging his cottage like he's staging it for "Supernatural Home and Garden." He organizes herbs (alphabetically this time, not by "vibes" like last month's failed system), and generally pretends he's not overthinking every detail of Ethan's eventual arrival. He's one Pinterest board away from starting a supernatural interior design blog.
As night falls, Julian sits cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by carefully arranged crystals (because apparently, that's what magical healing requires these days). He closes his eyes, sending one last thought into the universe: Hurry up, wolf-boy. Your destiny's getting impatient, and I'm running out of shelf space for all these healing herbs I'm stress-collecting. Also, the pack's running out of dramatic entrance ideas, and I can only witness so many slow-motion forest runs before I lose it. At least bring some decent shelving units when you come.
Last note of the night: Maybe take down some of the eye paintings before Ethan arrives. Don't want to come across as too stalker-ish on day one. Save that for at least week two of supernatural courtship. Also, maybe start a support group for supernaturally matchmade couples with communication issues. We could call it "Howls & Healing: A Support Group for the Cosmically Challenged."