Michael readied himself for the punch—
the one he knew, without a single shred of doubt, was about to break every bone in his body.
The only real regret gnawing at him wasn't dying.
It was the blood.
So much of it. Everywhere. Painted across bark, soaked into the dirt, misted into the air. He wouldn't be around to clean it up, and that meant hunters.
Hunters meant questions. Questions meant James.
"Damn," he muttered weakly.
"That's sloppy."
Guess he couldn't do everything.
He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end—
—and it never came.
James' massive fist stopped dead in midair.
Muscles still screaming. Claws trembling. Knuckles inches from Michael's skull.
Something—
someone—had caught it.
Michael cracked one eye open.
A slender hand was wrapped around James' wrist.
Not shaking.
Not straining.
Just… there.
"Well I'll be fucked," Michael breathed, a crooked grin tugging at his lips despite the fact he was one bad thought away from death.
"Never thought your kind would save me."
The grip tightened.
"Don't flatter yourself," a calm, irritated voice replied. "You just happened to be standing where I arrived."
Michael's vision focused.
Luna.
She stood like the situation was nothing more than a mild inconvenience—silver hair spilling down her back, moonlight catching in eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
Her boots were planted in cracked earth, posture relaxed, spine straight, as a twelve-foot Alpha tried very hard to cave her skull in with raw force alone.
James growled.
The beast recognized her.
It remembered her hands.
Her strikes.
The way she'd beaten it bloody yesterday.
It wanted revenge.
Luna glanced at him, unimpressed.
She sighed.
"I leave you alone for one day," she said flatly, "one fucking day—"
Her eyes hardened.
"—and you're already in this deep."
James roared and swung.
She tilted her head aside, his fist cutting past her face with enough force to flatten trees behind her. She didn't even blink.
Bored.
She twisted his wrist—
crack
Something dislocated.
Before the beast could react, she stepped inside his reach and drove her elbow into his ribs.
The impact sent a shockwave through his body, knocking the breath clean out of him.
Her knee slammed into his thigh.
The leg buckled.
Then her palm struck his chest.
Once.
Not hard.
Not flashy.
Precise.
James felt it immediately—something foreign slipping into his body, cold and invasive. The beast inside him howled, suddenly restrained, shackled from the inside out.
His pupils dilated as his massive frame began to shrink, muscle collapsing inward as the transformation was forcibly reversed.
He hit the ground unconscious before it even finished.
Silence reclaimed the clearing.
Luna looked down at the very naked, very human James sprawled in the dirt.
"…Unbelievable," she muttered.
She bent down, slung him over her shoulder like he weighed nothing, and straightened.
Only then did she look at Michael.
Her stare made his skin crawl.
"Stay out of my way," she said coldly. "Next time, I won't stop the punch."
Michael lifted two fingers weakly. "Noted. Loud and clear."
She was gone in a blur—James over her shoulder, vanishing into the forest like a ghost.
Michael stayed there for a long moment, back pressed against a tree, lungs burning, body screaming.
God, he was tired.
He forced himself upright with a groan.
"Someone has to clean up all that blood," he muttered.
Raising his hand, every drop in the clearing answered.
Blood lifted from bark and soil, from shattered leaves and broken earth, floating toward him in shimmering crimson ribbons.
He pulled his own blood back into his veins first—patching wounds, sealing cracks—while his mist spread low and thick, swallowing James' scent whole.
The remaining blood thinned, dissipating into vapor.
It took every ounce of willpower not to drink it.
If James had been human when he bled, Michael would've drained the forest dry.
But werewolf blood—
that shit was poison.
He exhaled slowly.
Hope you're okay, idiot.
POV CHANGE
James felt like shit.
That was the first coherent thought he managed as consciousness dragged itself back into his skull.
His head throbbed.
His body felt heavy. Wrong.
He tried to stretch—
Metal rattled.
His eyes snapped open.
Chains.
His wrists were bound above him, thick silver cuffs cinched tight, engraved with old runes etched deep into the metal.
Not decorative. Functional. Each symbol hummed faintly, bleeding heat into his skin—anti-shapeshift glyphs, suppression seals layered over one another like scars.
His ankles were restrained too, shackled to the floor with shorter chains that allowed movement but denied leverage.
Every link was oversized, forged thick and brutal, designed to restrain something that wasn't human.
James frowned.
This wasn't his house.
The air smelled wrong—oil and rust mixed with incense and old stone. Cold iron and burning coal. Blood, faint but ever-present.
He looked around.
A cage.
Not bars—beams.
Massive iron supports reinforced with rivets and steel plates, bolted into a floor of blackened stone. The walls beyond were a grotesque fusion of eras: torch sconces burning with steady blue flame mounted beside exposed steam pipes hissing softly, gears turning behind grated windows like something ripped straight from an industrial foundry.
Chains crisscrossed the cage, some anchored to the ceiling, others wrapped around him like a spider's web.
A few weren't even touching him—just there, suspended, waiting.
Every chain carried different markings.
Some were silver-threaded.
Others inlaid with black salt.
A few etched with scripture so old it hurt to look at.
Failsafes.
Redundancies.
Overkill.
James swallowed.
"Where am I…?" he muttered, voice rough.
No answer came.
Just the sound of metal settling.
Like a place built to hold kings—
or monsters—
until they decided whether to kill them.
He would try to remember the event which lead to this, he went out with his friend, Michael did a 180 and try to slime him out, and he lost control, than mostly everything else was blank, last thing he remember was seing Luna face.
Where th fuck was he.
He groaned a bit, he try to move but the chains were tight around him,when he try to move, they tightened around him, the silver tightening around his skin.
"HAAA" He groaned as he could feel the silver burning his skin, that shit hurt like no other, he felt as if he would be scarred for life if this went on.
However he didnt know where he was, so his self control right now was to find where he was, and hopefully escape back him.
He refuse to stay in those chains, his teeth became fangs and his brow eyes would begin to shine a golden color, the chain were tightening around him, yet he didnt care, his muscle would bulge, not caring about anything.
As he was about to hulk out, tear free of the chains and trash this entire place, anger boiling over and drowning out reason—
He heard footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Unhurried.
Not the sound of guards rushing in panic.
The door groaned open.
Darkness spilled in first, thick and oppressive, before his eyes adjusted—night vision snapping online automatically as his pupils elongated, glowing faintly, wolfish.
James lifted his head.
…oh.
Yeah.
He wasn't fighting his way out right now.
The first man through the doorway barely fit.
He was a wall of scar tissue and muscle, easily six and a half feet tall even in human form, shoulders like iron slabs forged for war. One eye was gone—and worse, he didn't bother with an eyepatch.
The empty socket was just there, ugly and unapologetic.
He wore it like a badge of honor.
The shadows around his feet moved wrong.
They didn't cling to him—they listened.
James felt it instinctively, deep in his gut:
jumping into this man's shadow would be a very bad idea.
Behind him came the second.
And that one was worse.
He looked… normal. Too normal.
Calm eyes. Faint, polite smile. Hands folded behind his back like he was visiting a sick friend instead of a chained monster in a reinforced cage.
James swallowed.
Yeah.
These people were dangerous.
"Well," the second man said mildly, tilting his head, voice warm and conversational. "You're awake. That's good. I hate talking to unconscious people. Feels rude."
James tensed, chains tightening around his limbs with a metallic shriek.
"Where the fuck am I?" he demanded, voice rough and edged with a growl. "And who the hell are you two?"
The first man answered.
"Quiet."
Just one word—
—and something pressed down on James's chest.
Not physical. Something older. Predatory.
It felt like a wolf staring him down, dominance crashing into his will, forcing his instincts to kneel.
James bared his teeth, fury spiking.
The second man smiled apologetically.
"He's not fond of small talk. I am, though."
He stepped closer, boots echoing softly against stone and steel.
"I'm Elric Moonward. This charming statue is Bronn Ashfang." His gaze flicked to the chains, the glow in James's eyes. "And you are currently in a holding cell."
James frowned.
"A jail?"
Then irritation flared hot and fast.
"The fuck did I do?" he snapped. "I didn't hurt anyone. I'm a law-abiding citizen."
Bronn's remaining eye narrowed.
"This is not a human jail," he said flatly. "You are here because you are a threat."
James yanked against the chains, snarling as silver burned deeper into his skin.
"I can control myself—!"
"You cannot," Bronn cut in instantly. "You lost control. That is enough."
"No, it's not!" James shot back. "I need to go home. I have people waiting—"
Bronn moved.
James barely saw it.
A massive foot slammed into his stomach.
The impact ripped him off the wall despite the chains. Ribs shattered.
Organs screamed. Blood erupted from his mouth like a burst pipe.
A tooth clattered across the stone floor.
James coughed violently, choking, crimson dripping from his lips as he glared up at Bronn with pure, feral hatred.
Elric sighed.
"Bronn. Easy," he said gently. "He's confused. He still thinks this is a misunderstanding."
James spat blood to the side, chest heaving.
"The fuck did I do to deserve this bullshit," he growled, rage rolling off him in waves.
His wounds were healing—slowly, painfully—despite the runes fighting him every step of the way. Muscles bulged against restraints not meant to be resisted.
Elric crouched slightly, meeting James's eyes.
"Oh no," he said softly. "It's not you."
Something slid into James's mind.
Not forceful.
Not violent.
Curious.
James sucked in a sharp breath as the presence brushed his thoughts—memories flickering uncontrollably: laughter, the night out, Michael's grin twisting wrong, the sudden shift, the loss of control—
Then—
A wolf appeared.
A towering, twelve-foot monstrosity of teeth and fury.
It looked down at Elric—
—and bit.
Elric screamed.
Blood poured from his nose and mouth as psychic whiplash slammed back into him, the backlash of trying to invade a mind that bit back.
Bronn's eye snapped wide.
"Are you okay?" he barked, already reaching for his weapon, body shifting to attack.
Elric raised a trembling hand.
Bronn stopped instantly.
"It seems," Elric said, forcing himself upright, body still reeling, "that your mind is… more fortified than I anticipated."
James snarled weakly, eyes blazing.
Elric felt it then.
His beast.
Not raging.
Cowering.
Something about this was very, very wrong.
And then—
He remembered.
FLASHBACK
"Make sure he is properly tied down," Luna said calmly, setting James's unconscious body onto the floor.
Bronn and Elric bowed immediately.
"Yes, Lady Luna."
She looked down at James, silver eyes unreadable.
"I would recommend not riling him up," she added. "He may prove more than the two of you can handle."
With that, she turned and walked away, silver hair flowing behind her, otherworldly and untouchable.
PRESENT
Back then, Elric hadn't understood what she meant.
Now—watching this boy resist layered runes, force power through suppression seals, glare at them like a cornered god—
He understood perfectly.
It seemed the lady had been right.
James wasn't having any of that bullshit.
He was mad.
Kidnapped. Chained. Thrown into a cage like some rabid animal—for no real reason.
Whoever thought this was a good idea had officially volunteered to get their shit rocked.
The chains cracked as he struggled.
Not loudly. Not enough for an untrained eye to notice.
But Bronn saw it.
From the corner of his remaining eye, he caught the faintest fractures spiderwebbing across the metal links, hairline cracks forming where there absolutely shouldn't be any.
The boy was resisting.
And that made a slow, dangerous smile creep onto Bronn's scarred face.
"So…"
The man's fist began to envelop itself in shadows, darkness crawling over his knuckles like living smoke. He cracked his neck once, casually, like he was warming up before a workout.
"You are going to be a problem."
James's eyes burned gold.
Not metaphorically—literally.
They glowed like molten metal, hungry, locked onto Bronn as if ready to swallow him whole.
Light fur had begun to creep over his hands, his feet, his chest, his back—patchy, uneven, forced out under suppression.
The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
The runes carved into the chains flared brighter, searing into his skin as they continued to suppress his wild side.
Pain screamed through his nerves.
James didn't give a slither of a fuck.
He fought through it.
"Why don't you get closer and find out!" he snarled, bloodlust burning in his eyes.
There was nothing human left in his expression now—only something primal, feral, hungry.
Bronn stepped closer.
Slow. Confident.
His fist drew back, shadow-wrapped and ready to cave in bone and skull, fully intending to show this boy just how little of a chance he had.
He swung.
The chains cracked again as James lunged forward, sharp teeth snapping, aiming to dig straight into Bronn's hand—
And then—
The temperature dropped.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
The air went cold and heavy, pressing down on everyone in the room. Every instinct screamed at once—don't move, don't breathe, don't even swallow—because if any of them did, their head might roll clean off their body.
Everyone froze.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow.
Calm.
Unhurried.
But to them, it sounded like death walking closer.
The jail door creaked open.
James's eyes snapped toward the entrance.
A man stepped inside.
He was massive—towering at six-foot-five, built like a war monument. His muscles were compact, dense, the kind that didn't come from vanity but from survival.
He wore the traditional werewolf attire—Viking-style leathers layered with thick animal fur.
Around his neck hung a necklace made of wolf teeth.
A very big one.
His presence alone commanded respect.
Bronn and Elric bowed immediately, instinct overriding pride.
Even James felt the urge to bow—
And immediately rejected it.
'I bow to no one.'
Something deep inside him refused, systemically, violently, to kneel for anyone.
The man's steel-gray eyes settled on James.
Defiant. Chained. Half-shifted.
James felt like prey under a predator's gaze.
Shit was scary.
"…So this is him," the man said quietly.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Authority bled from every syllable.
His gaze swept once across the room—the cracked chains, James's form, Bronn frozen mid-strike, Elric still pale from backlash.
"Second-in-Command," Elric said respectfully.
The man's attention returned to James.
James swallowed hard.
Then—
"Remove the chains."
Bronn snapped his head up.
"Sir—"
"That was not a suggestion."
Bronn clenched his jaw, then stepped back without another word.
Elric moved quickly, kneeling beside the restraints. He began chanting, voice low and rhythmic, words flowing in a language James didn't immediately understand.
But it felt familiar.
Too familiar.
'Is that Latin?'
That had to be Latin.
The man glanced at James like he was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Then turned his back.
"Council's waiting," he said, already walking toward the exit. "You're coming."
James blinked.
The man spoke like he already knew James would follow.
For a brief moment, a dangerous thought crossed his mind.
I could run.
He could smell freedom. Feel it. His speed was good—really good. He could probably lose them if he pushed hard enough.
The thought died instantly.
Visions flashed through his mind—impaled, torn apart, killed without effort.
The man could kill him.
No doubt. No hesitation.
James swallowed his saliva and followed.
As they left the room, Bronn looked mildly annoyed, like his fun had been ruined.
"Tch. We were just starting to enjoy ourselves."
Elric didn't respond.
His eyes stayed on the floor.
On the chains.
Several links were broken.
Not bent.
Not weakened.
Broken.
Elric swallowed.
If the man hadn't intervened…
He exhaled slowly, unease settling deep in his gut.
"…Lady Luna," he murmured under his breath, "you were right."
A/N Chapter 14 is extra long, probably be here Wednesday or Tuesday.