James followed the man.
Not willingly.
Not happily.
But he followed.
His eyes moved constantly, scanning everything, memorizing angles, turns, distances.
If he was going to escape, he would need the layout burned into his brain.
The hallway stretched long and cold, stone walls reinforced with iron beams bolted deep into the structure.
The air smelled like metal, oil, damp earth… and old blood. Not fresh. Old. Baked into stone.
There weren't many prisoners.
And the ones that were there?
They didn't look innocent.
One man in a cell to the left had claw marks across his own face, muttering to himself in a language that wasn't human.
Another sat completely still in the dark, eyes glowing faint green, chains wrapped not only around his limbs but around his neck like a leashed animal.
Every cell had runes carved into the frames.
Some had one.
Some had two.
All hummed faintly.
To a human, it would've been silent.
To James?
It sounded like static drilling into his skull. A low, constant vibration buzzing in the air. He could smell the ink used in the carvings — iron ash mixed with something bitter and sacred.
Then he saw it.
A cell that stood out.
It didn't sit level with the others.
It descended.
Stone stairs led downward into darkness, deeper underground.
Unlike the other cells, which had minimal markings, this one had dozens upon dozens of seals layered over one another. Overlapping. Reinforced.
Some fresh. Some ancient.
The air near it was colder.
He caught the scent instantly.
Silver.
Pure silver.
The bars weren't iron.
They were forged from solid silver beams, thick and dull, etched with runes so dense they looked like veins crawling across the surface.
Two guards stood outside it. Not relaxed. Not bored.
Alert.
Their hands never left their weapons.
James watched as one of them dipped a cloth into a bowl and wiped the bars carefully.
The smell hit him hard.
Wolfsbane.
Fresh.
His nose twitched.
What kind of fucking monster needed all that?
Silver bars. Dozens of runes. Wolfsbane reapplied manually. Armed guards.
His curiosity flared.
He slowed slightly, trying to look deeper into the descending dark.
"I would suggest you stop."
James froze.
The man in front hadn't raised his voice.
Hadn't even turned fully around.
But he knew.
James looked at him.
Steel-gray eyes met his.
And because James wasn't suicidal, he decided to listen.
"Would be nice to know the name of the man escorting me," James said casually, trying to gather information. So far, in his head, this guy was just tall and strong guy.
The man studied him for a second, measuring.
"You may refer to me as Thane Silverclaw."
James blinked.
"So like… do I have to say the whole thing? Or can I just say Thane?"
He had calmed down a lot since the cage. His eyes were back to normal. His muscles no longer bulged against his skin.
He also hadn't noticed — or didn't care — that he was basically wearing a loincloth. His clothes had been shredded during the transformation.
"We are not that close," the man said calmly.
"So Thane's a no-go."
The glare he received in return answered that.
"Mister Silverclaw it is then."
No response.
James followed behind him like an obedient puppy.
When they exited the prison structure, the air changed.
Open.
Cool.
Alive.
James's senses expanded outward automatically.
And what he saw — what he noticed — was insane.
This wasn't just a base.
It was a settlement.
A full society.
Wooden houses built with thick logs and hand-carved beams stood alongside sturdier stone structures reinforced with animal bone and metal plating.
Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying scents of roasted meat, burning cedar, and something herbal he couldn't immediately identify.
The architecture was strange — Viking in structure, with steep roofs and carved totems along the beams, but blended with Native American influence.
Some homes had dreamcatcher-like charms hanging near entrances. Others had carved wolf heads mounted above doorframes.
The ground was packed dirt, but carefully maintained.
He could see footprints layered over one another — some human, some not.
People moved freely.
Children ran past carrying wooden practice swords.
Two women were arguing near a well, their accents different but their posture equally predatory.
The clothing varied.
Some wore leather and fur. Others wore woven fabrics decorated with beadwork and symbols. He saw necklaces made of wolf fangs — small ones, large ones, some polished, some raw.
Status symbols.
Definitely.
His nose picked up everything.
Sweat.
Steel.
Cooked venison.
Freshly sharpened blades.
Hidden aggression.
Every single person he passed carried a weapon.
Axes.
Daggers.
Short swords.
Even bows slung casually over shoulders.
And beneath the curiosity in their eyes?
A wildness.
He could hear their heartbeats — faster than humans. Stronger.
He could see the subtle tension in their muscles.
These weren't civilians.
These were wolves pretending to be civilized.
Skin tones varied — white, black, Asian — didn't matter.
The scent underneath was the same.
Wolf.
James realized something else.
No one here feared him.
They were curious.
Measuring.
Judging.
But not afraid.
Which meant they were strong.
Very strong.
He inhaled slowly.
The entire place felt like controlled savagery.
Organized violence.
A kingdom pretending to be a village.
And he was walking straight into its center.
He glanced at Thane Silverclaw's broad back.
Yeah.
Running would've been stupid.
Very stupid.
And just like that, he felt it.
Their gaze.
It wasn't subtle. It wasn't curious anymore.
It was calculating.
James could almost physically feel his chances of escape shrinking by the second.
He had counted roughly two hundred people just from sight alone.
Two hundred visible.
Two hundred armed.
Two hundred wolves pretending to stand casually.
But his nose told a different story.
There were more.
Way more.
The wind shifted slightly, and with it came layers of scent — overlapping, distinct, alive. Smoke, leather, sweat, iron… and beneath all of it, the same native scent.
The scent of this place. Of belonging.
He couldn't see them all.
But he could smell them.
Behind the houses. Inside them.
Beneath them. Further out past the treeline.
Probably in the thousands.
And that didn't make sense.
'How the hell can I even tell there is so many of them?'
He shouldn't be able to do this. Not accurately.
Not like this.
Yet somehow, as he inhaled, his brain just… calculated.
Grouped similar scent patterns.
Separated individuals.
Estimated density.
Ran numbers.
His cognitive function had been boosted. Not slightly.
A great deal.
It was like his mind had unlocked another gear.
"We are here."
James snapped back to reality.
He hadn't even realized they had walked into what appeared to be the center of the settlement.
A massive circular clearing stretched around him, the dirt more compacted here, as if this was a place of gathering. Of judgment.
Of execution.
In front of him were stairs.
Seven steps.
Exactly seven.
They were carved from stone, smoothed by time and use. Each step slightly wider than the one below it, leading up to a raised platform.
At the top—
A man sat waiting.
James had to tilt his head up slightly.
The man was easily 6'5.
At this point, James was beginning to think werewolves were just naturally very fucking tall.
Then his eyes briefly landed on a 5'4 man somewhere in the crowd and he mentally corrected himself.
Okay.
Maybe anomalies do happen.
But that wasn't important right now.
What mattered was the man on the platform.
He wasn't as tall as Silverclaw.
But his presence?
It crushed.
The air around the platform felt heavier. Thicker.
Harder to breathe.
Like standing too close to a bonfire — not because of heat, but because your body instinctively knew this thing in front of you could devour you whole.
The man was ripped.
Not sculpted pretty.
Carved by war.
Scars ran across his chest — deep, jagged ones. Some thin and precise. Others brutal and messy.
There were scars near his eyes too, one slicing through his brow, another grazing the side of his cheek.
Both eyes worked.
But damn.
His body was a battlefield memorial.
Around his neck hung a necklace.
Five teeth.
Four were wolf fangs.
The one in the center—
Was massive.
Longer. Thicker. Curved differently.
It didn't feel wolf.
It felt foreign.
Predatory in a different way.
It looked like it came from a lion.
Speaking of lion—
The man wore a lion hide draped over his shoulders, Hercules style.
The fur still thick and golden despite age. The lion's head rested over one shoulder, its jaws frozen open.
One of the lion's fangs was missing.
James' eyes flicked back to the necklace.
The third tooth in the middle.
Yeah.
That didn't feel wolf at all.
The man's skin was tan, sun-kissed as if he spent more time outside than in. His hair was black with streaks of gray running through it, not from age, but from stress and survival.
Mid-thirties, maybe.
Not balding.
Plenty of hair.
Some of it braided in a loose Viking style near the sides.
Amber eyes.
Not glowing.
But bright.
Sharp.
Hungry.
Thane bowed.
"I brought the prisoner as you asked."
James looked around.
Everyone was bowing.
And he did mean everyone.
The two women near the well.
The children.
The guards.
Even the wolves who looked like they'd rather bite someone's throat out than kneel.
They all bowed.
The man on the platform looked bored.
Not impressed.
Not angry.
Just… unimpressed.
There were four others standing slightly behind and to the sides of him.
Older.
Much older.
Sixty. Maybe seventy.
But age hadn't dulled them.
If anything, it had sharpened them.
One had a scar slashing across the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked as if it had been broken more than once.
Another was a tall black elderly man whose eyes were completely white.
Blind.
James assumed.
But something about the way the man's head angled slightly toward him made him question that assumption.
The third looked like a war veteran — shoulders still broad, forearms thick with old strength.
Of the elders, he looked like the one who still carried the most raw physical power.
The last…
Looked like he already had one foot in the grave.
Skin thin.
Breathing slow.
But his eyes?
Sharp as a blade.
James assumed they were elders.
The air around the platform grew more oppressive the longer he stood there.
It pressed against his skin.
Against his lungs.
His instincts screamed two conflicting commands:
Bow.
Or fight.
The man's amber eyes locked onto his.
It wasn't just eye contact.
It was appraisal.
Like he was livestock being inspected before purchase.
Or slaughter.
The man stood.
The movement was smooth.
Controlled.
Heavy.
"You did well, Thane."
A simple nod.
James blinked—
And suddenly the man wasn't on the platform anymore.
His senses had tracked him moving.
But his body hadn't processed it fast enough.
One second seven steps away.
Next second—
Right in front of him.
A hand gripped his cheek.
Warm.
Calloused.
Strong.
James froze.
His eyes had just now registered how close the man was.
"And you must be the one Luna brought in."
His voice wasn't loud.
Didn't need to be.
It carried weight on its own.
James' mind blanked for half a second.
Luna?
…Huh.
As the man glared at him, something invisible slammed into James.
It wasn't physical.
Not exactly.
But it felt heavier than anything he had ever experienced.
His will—
It felt like it was being crushed.
Dominated.
Bent.
The pressure came down on him like the entire sky had decided to rest on his shoulders.
Like the air itself had weight. Like gravity had multiplied just for him.
His knees trembled.
Not out of fear.
Out of force.
He looked up at the man and what he saw wasn't just a leader.
He saw a predator.
A massive, apex predator staring down at something small and insignificant.
Something edible.
Something that could not possibly win.
It wasn't just strength.
It was overwhelming force.
Power given human form.
It wrapped around his lungs and squeezed.
Suffocating.
The more he resisted it—
The worse it became.
His muscles strained as if he were holding up a mountain.
His spine felt like it was being compressed inch by inch.
His heartbeat thudded violently in his ears.
Bow.
The command wasn't spoken.
It was instinct.
It echoed inside his skull.
Bow.
Bow.
Bow.
His human instincts screamed at him.
Submit.
Look down.
Break eye contact.
Show weakness so the predator doesn't tear your throat out.
His gaze trembled—
But it did not drop.
He stared straight into the man's amber eyes.
Every survival instinct in his body told him he was making a mistake.
'I BOW TO NO ONE.'
That voice came back.
That animalistic, feral, prideful voice.
His eyes flashed gold.
His pupils narrowed.
His canines extended, sharper and longer than before, pushing past his lips.
The beast inside him refused.
Refused to kneel.
Refused to break.
The man's lips slowly curled upward.
A smile.
His eyes dropped briefly to the extra pair of canines.
Interest.
And then—
The pressure doubled.
The ground beneath James' feet cracked.
Stone splintered outward from where he stood.
A sharp, wet warmth ran down from his nose.
Blood.
Dripping.
His brain felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.
Like something invisible had reached into his skull and was trying to crush it from the inside.
His vision blurred.
His ears rang.
For a split second, he genuinely thought—
This is it.
I'm about to get lobotomized by eye contact.
His pride screamed at him to keep standing.
His body screamed at him to kneel.
He felt like his bones were about to snap.
Like his skull was about to cave in.
And still—
He didn't bow.
Then—
It vanished.
Completely.
Like someone flipped a switch.
James staggered, sucking in air violently.
Holy shit.
He felt like he had just been seconds away from death.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The man threw his head back and laughed.
Full-bodied.
Unrestrained.
The oppressive monster from seconds ago now looked genuinely entertained.
"You got some guts. I like that."
James was still trying to remember how breathing worked.
The same man who almost turned his brain into paste was smiling at him like he'd just watched a funny show.
The emotional whiplash was unreal.
The elders were watching closely.
Judging.
Measuring.
"This boy is dangerous," one of them said calmly.
"He is wild and nearly broke out of his bindings… and a newly turned Alpha."
Alpha.
James didn't fully understand why that word carried so much weight.
But he could smell the reaction.
Some scents sharpened.
Excitement.
Challenge.
Others shifted darker.
Threat.
Elimination.
Some wanted to fight him.
Some wanted to kill him.
He felt like a lamb standing in the center of wolves debating whether to train it—
Or slaughter it.
The man— the Chief — looked at him again.
Assessing.
"He's just a pup," he said casually. "Worst case scenario, I can just kill him."
The way he said it.
So easy.
So relaxed.
Did not make James feel any better.
Because deep down—
He knew the man wasn't bluffing.
Thane Silverclaw sighed softly.
"That does not solve the fact that the boy is unable to control himself. He is more a liability than anything right now."
Practical.
Cold.
Logical.
Thane didn't want hunters sniffing around because of an unstable new Alpha.
"What werewolf could control their first encounter with the beast their first time?" the Chief said with a grin.
Thane's jaw tightened slightly.
He looked like a man who had had this conversation before.
Many times.
"Miss Luna was able to do it on her first try."
There it was.
The shift.
The Chief blinked.
"Oh my… she did, didn't she?"
The smile that spread across his face was immediate.
Blinding.
Proud.
That oppressive Alpha presence?
Gone.
In its place—
A father.
A very proud, very smug father.
"That completely left my mind," he said, clearly lying through his teeth.
His grin widened.
"Guess she got that from her dad."
James stood there, blood still drying under his nose, lungs still burning—
And the man who nearly killed him was now radiating peak girl-dad energy.
It was absurd.
The elders looked tired.
Someone cleared their throat.
"Chief Aldric," one of them said carefully, "as much as Miss Luna's talents are nothing to scoff at… we have someone to judge."
The shift was immediate again.
The warmth drained.
The grin faded.
Amber eyes slid back to James.
Sharp.
Evaluating.
Slightly annoyed that his daughter appreciation session had been interrupted.
Chief Aldric looked at him once more.
This time not as prey.
Not as entertainment.
But as a decision waiting to be made.