You had known for a while. The signs had been there, subtle at first—her disappearing on certain nights, her mood shifting with the lunar cycle, the way her eyes would flash with something wild when the moon was full. And then, one night, you had followed her, curious and worried, only to stumble upon the truth: Natasha was a werewolf.

It had taken time for you to accept it. The thought of her transforming into something primal, something dangerous, had terrified you at first. But as you watched her struggle, watched her fight to stay in control, your fear had been replaced with a fierce protectiveness. You loved her, and nothing—no matter how monstrous it might seem—could change that.

Now, as you stood in the clearing, waiting for her, you could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. The full moon was at its peak, and you knew that Natasha was close. You had come to meet her, to be with her during the transformation, even though she had warned you to stay away. She didn’t want you to see her like this, didn’t want to put you in danger. But you couldn’t leave her to face it alone.

A low growl echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine. You turned, your breath catching in your throat as you saw her emerge from the shadows. Natasha’s form was hunched, her muscles tensed and rippling beneath her skin, which had taken on a strange, almost shimmering quality under the moonlight. Her eyes—normally a warm green—were glowing, an eerie yellow, and her teeth were bared in a snarl.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This was still Natasha. She was still in there, somewhere.

“Nat?” You called softly, taking a tentative step forward.

Her head snapped toward you, and for a moment, you saw the wildness in her eyes, the animal instinct that was threatening to take over. But then, recognition flickered across her face, and her snarl faded, replaced by a pained expression.