The silence between them?
Awkward as fuck.
James was trying—
And failing—
To produce anything that even remotely resembled a normal conversation.
For some reason, he felt like he had a permanent "Do Not Speak To Me" sign taped somewhere on his body.
Invisible.
But very much there.
Shit was so awkward he became hyper-aware of everything.
The crunch of dirt beneath his shoes.
The soft rustle of leaves swaying overhead.
The constant, rhythmic chirping of crickets in the background—
Loud.
Too loud.
For the love of—why are they so loud?
For crying out loud, he was breathing manually right now.
In.
Out.
In—
Nope. Wrong rhythm.
Out—
Shit.
He needed to say something.
Anything.
Because if this silence stretched any longer, his brain was going to sabotage him in ways that would be socially unrecoverable.
"…So…," he started, already feeling the regret creep in before the sentence even finished forming.
Think.
Think faster.
"You always sneak up on people like that, or am I just special?"
…
Yeah.
Cringe.
As.
Fuck.
But listen—
He needed dialogue.
Ever since he got dragged into this whole mess, he felt less like a person and more like… something else.
And while, yeah, he'd always been a little wild—
Right now?
This was different.
This was him actively holding something back.
Clamping down on instinct.
On impulse.
On the urge to just—
React.
Caius simply watched him.
Unmoving.
Unbothered.
His brown hair shifted slightly with the breeze, loose strands brushing against his forehead. His amber eyes remained locked onto James, steady and invasive, like he wasn't just looking at him—
But through him.
He casually pulled out his notebook again.
Wrote something down.
Took a slow breath.
Still staring.
Still saying—
Absolutely nothing.
James exhaled slowly through his nose.
"…Ah. Yeah," he muttered. "Strong, silent type."
Was he really getting the silent treatment?
Already?
In this bitch?
This was starting to feel a little unfair.
Then—
Something shifted.
His nose twitched.
Once.
Twice.
Then again—
Faster.
On instinct, he sniffed the air.
Again.
Again.
Again.
There—
A scent.
New.
Different.
It was coming from Caius.
But it wasn't like anything he'd consciously recognized before.
It wasn't physical.
It wasn't blood.
It wasn't sweat.
It was—
Something else.
Weirdly enough…
Even though it was unfamiliar—
He knew what it was.
The same way you just know fire burns.
The same way you just know when someone's watching you.
It clicked.
Pieces fell into place.
He'd smelled it before—
On Thane.
On Aldric.
On Bronn.
Back when everything was noise and confusion and instinct.
Back when he didn't understand what the hell his senses were trying to tell him.
But now?
Now he did.
"…You're not angry at me."
That slipped out before he could stop it.
And honestly?
That was new.
Because based on how this guy was acting?
James was about 80% sure he was being silently judged into oblivion.
Caius tilted his head slightly.
A small, curious motion.
"Should I be?" he asked.
And he meant it.
There was no sarcasm.
No edge.
Just… genuine curiosity.
"Well, you look like you are..."
"I am not," he added plainly.
Blunt.
Honest.
Unfiltered.
Then, as if that wasn't enough, he pulled out the notebook again.
Wrote something.
"…It seems you have not gotten used to enhanced empathy yet."
James blinked.
"Enhanced what?"
"We can sense other creatures' emotions," Caius said, glancing up briefly. "Intent. Instinct. Subtle fluctuations."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"When were you turned?"
Straight to business.
No warm-up.
No cushion.
James scratched the back of his head.
"Uh… four days ago," he said. "Five in a few hours."
Caius went still.
Not visibly dramatic.
No widened eyes.
No exaggerated reaction.
But something—
Shifted.
Because that?
That was not what he expected.
He had been prepared for a pup.
Sure.
But a few weeks old.
Maybe a few months.
Possibly a year, if things were bad.
But—
Four days?
…
That explained a lot.
Why James felt unstable.
Why his presence was so loud.
Why others saw him as a liability.
He had inherited something dangerous.
Something rare.
The instincts were there.
The power was there.
But the control?
Nonexistent.
It was like handing a toddler a loaded weapon.
Or—
More accurately—
Giving Hulk-level strength to someone who still tripped over their own feet.
Caius studied him more carefully now.
More critically.
Then—
He made a decision.
"You need to control your aura."
James blinked.
"…My what?"
Confusion.
Immediate.
Obvious.
Caius could practically smell it.
That—and a mix of embarrassment and something quieter.
Uncertainty.
Yeah.
James had no idea what he was talking about.
So Caius adjusted.
Simplified.
"Your aura," he repeated calmly. "Right now, you are broadcasting like a wild animal."
James frowned.
"I'm literally just standing here."
"No," Caius said flatly. "You are not."
From Caius' perspective—
It was obvious.
Around James' body, there was something—
Invisible.
But loud.
Oppressive.
Violent.
A presence that bled outward in waves.
If one focused—
Really focused—
You could see it.
A shape.
A form.
Towering nearly twelve feet tall.
A beast.
Rabid.
Its form flickered like heat distortion, unstable and shifting, yet undeniably there. Its maw hung open in a silent snarl, rows of jagged teeth bared as low, guttural growls seemed to vibrate through the air itself. Its muscles twitched beneath phantom flesh, coiled and ready, like it was one breath away from launching forward and tearing everything in reach apart.
Hungry.
Feral.
Unrestrained.
Caius' amber eyes glowed faintly.
Not out of fear.
But focus.
Interest.
That aura—
It wasn't weak.
It wasn't unremarkable.
It was ferocious.
And that was the problem.
Caius had spent years learning how to suppress his own presence.
To dull it.
Control it.
Refine it so it didn't provoke unnecessary conflict.
Because in a pack—
Presence mattered.
And right now?
James' presence was basically screaming:
Fight me.
Tear me apart.
Let's see who survives.
And surrounded by werewolves?
Yeah.
That was a fantastic way to get his ass beat on a daily basis.
Which—
Now that he thought about it—
Explained something.
"That," Caius said calmly, glancing back at James, "is likely why Kaela was eager to spar with you."
A small pause.
"You are provoking challenges."
He closed his notebook.
"…Unintentionally."
James paused.
Actually thinking about it.
"…I don't feel like I'm doing anything."
"You are," Caius replied simply.
No judgment.
No edge.
Just—
Fact.
Then—
A shift.
Subtle.
But there.
Caius' gaze sharpened slightly, studying him with a bit more intent.
"When was the last time you ate?"
James opened his mouth—
Paused.
"…Uh."
Oh.
That was—
Yeah.
That was a problem.
"I had eggs," he said slowly. "Like… four days ago."
Silence.
Heavy.
Not dramatic—
Just concerning.
"And how many times have you used your wolf?"
James blinked.
"…Do we count me using it without transforming?"
"Anything that requires active focus."
"…Right."
He actually had to think about it.
There was the first time.
Then the fight with Michael.
That made two.
Then the jail situation—
Yeah, that definitely counted.
Three.
Then Kaela folding him like a chair—
That was four transformations.
Wait—
No.
He said full transformations.
Okay.
Three.
Then abilities—
There was the rabbit.
The emotional sensing just now.
That weird moment in the forest earlier—
"…Like three full transformations," James said slowly, "and… three uses of abilities."
"…I see."
That explained a lot.
Caius' expression didn't change much—
But something behind his eyes clicked into place.
"How much have you healed?"
James frowned slightly, thinking.
"Well… I got hit with silver," he started casually, like that was a normal sentence. "Had my hand broken. Luna basically blew my back out—like, crushed my spine. Bronn dislocated both my shoulders."
A pause.
"And Kaela…"
He scratched his cheek.
"…I think she broke everything."
…
He stopped.
Mid-thought.
Something clicking a second too late.
"…Wait."
James looked down at himself.
Flexed his fingers.
Rolled his shoulders.
Twisted slightly at the waist.
No pain.
No stiffness.
No damage.
Nothing.
Like none of it ever happened.
"…I should be dead."
Meanwhile—
Caius' brow furrowed.
Silver.
That alone was enough to make most wolves struggle.
Healing from that took time.
Effort.
Energy.
A lot of energy.
And James?
He was walking around like nothing happened.
That wasn't normal.
Not even close.
But more importantly—
It confirmed something else.
The first year.
The most critical period in a turned wolf's life.
It was when they adapted.
When the human and the beast learned to coexist.
When instincts were shaped.
Refined.
Balanced.
Or—
Broken.
If that year was peaceful?
They stabilized.
Learned control.
Grew properly.
But if it wasn't?
If it was constant violence—
Survival—
Conflict—
Then the result was something else entirely.
Stronger.
Sharper.
But wild.
Forged in chaos.
And James?
Caius glanced at him again.
Four days.
In four days—
Two fights with Luna.
A hunter encounter. {He assumes it's a hunter since Silver was involved}
Capture.
Jail.
More fighting.
And Kaela.
…
Yeah.
That explained the aura.
That explained the instability.
That explained everything.
He needed to detox.
Immediately.
Caius turned without another word.
"Follow me."
James blinked.
"…You gonna elaborate, or—?"
"Walk."
…
James exhaled.
"Yeah, okay. That's fair."
And just like that—
They moved.
—
The deeper they went into the pack's territory—
The more everything changed.
They entered deeper into the camp, into the market area.
Cabins stood alongside longhouses, forming a rough but intentional layout. Some structures were built from thick, aged logs, their surfaces worn smooth over time, roofs slanted and sturdy with smoke lazily curling from stone chimneys. Others had sharper designs—reinforced beams, carved supports, architectural tweaks that spoke of generations refining what worked and discarding what didn't.
It wasn't modern.
But hey, it got the job done.
Fire pits burned low across the area, their embers glowing a deep orange, casting warm, flickering light that danced across the ground and painted shadows against wood and stone.
And people—
Everywhere.
Voices filled the air.
Laughter.
Conversation.
Movement.
A low, constant hum of activity that made the entire place feel like it had a heartbeat.
James slowed slightly, eyes flicking around.
Taking it in.
To the left—
A group stood around a large wooden stall, thick slabs of freshly cut meat laid out across the surface. The scent hit him instantly—rich, raw, fresh.
"Just hunted this morning!" one of the men called out proudly, holding up a cut. "Still warm if you cook it right!"
"Bullshit, you just want to overcharge," someone shot back.
"Quality costs, my friend!"
To the right—
Another setup.
Hot food.
Real food.
Large iron pots hung over open flames, steam rising in thick curls. The smell alone was enough to make something in James' stomach twist violently.
Seasoned meat.
Broth.
Spices.
Rich.
Heavy.
James was salivating by now.
A woman ladled out a bowl, handing it off with a grin.
"Eat before it gets cold, you'll complain either way."
"I always complain," the man replied, already digging in.
"Yeah, but at least now you'll be full while doing it."
Further ahead—
Trade.
Bartering.
People exchanging goods—tools, pelts, handmade items. Nothing wasted. Everything had value.
"Two pelts for that knife."
"Three."
"Two and I don't tell anyone you nearly lost a hand last hunt."
"…You drive a hard bargain."
Kids ran through the open spaces, faster than any normal child had a right to be, laughter trailing behind them as they weaved between adults who barely reacted—clearly used to it.
Some wolves lounged near fires, relaxed but alert, conversations flowing easily.
Others trained in the distance—sparring, moving, pushing each other.
No one was idle.
No one was useless.
It was—
A society.
James blinked slowly.
"…What the hell."
Because this?
This wasn't what he expected.
Not even close.
A/N This is basically 2k long, Next chapter is probably him meeting his cabin mate.
Something I will add, the werewolf enhances empathy made its way into how they act, since they can sense each other emotion pratically anytime, they growed to be more straight forward with how they are, if a werewolf doesnt like you, they would say it to your face.
They are blunt.