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laurel-finch · 14 hours

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'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch14: Learning

Summary: Pack life takes an unusual twist... Referenced Episodes: None. CW: Minor gore. Major lore. Word Count: 7138 words. Recommended Song: Back In The Saddle -- Aerosmith Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter.

Caeden was surprisingly competent when it came to fighting, though he refused to explain why. He had deep scars running across his dark shoulders in a twisting pattern that gave me chills. Seeing him fight... he had a certain cold viciousness about him that made me doubt my easy victory the day we played capture the flag. I watched carefully as he stood at the edge of the ring where Andrew and Calliope scuffled together.

I scowled with my arms folded tightly against my torso and reclined in a newly bought lounge chair as I watched my pack members scamper across the lawn or tussle with one another. Booth had taken it upon himself to educate the others on fighting- few of them were capable fighters. At this point, I was more than ready to let him kick my ass in the ring, just so long as I could do something. I hadn't been on a run in weeks, and it was beginning to show. I could practically feel my muscles dampening. I would be sore after my next run, that much was certain.

I huffed and reached for my book on a small table beside me, ruffling the pages with my thumb. I really wasn't in the mood for reading, but I felt like I needed to do something with my hands. I sat up slowly and rolled my shoulders, enjoying the feeling of the harsh sun beating down on my exposed shoulders. We were well into spring now, and the weather was beginning to show it.

I stood and stretched my arms high over my head, feeling my bad shoulder pop. I flinched and brought my arms back down, rolling my shoulder once more. My shoulder was healing well. It was still sore and scarred, but the skin was beginning to heal over the top of it, closing the exposed wound. I expected that by the end of the week, it would be healed enough for me to start using it as I had before, though maybe with a little extra care.

I tucked my book under my arm and reached for my crutch – I only needed one now, thank God. Having to rely on an object to assist me was a new feeling. Any injuries I had previously had left me out of the game for maybe a day or two. The perks of healing quickly, I suppose, unless the damage was caused by silver.

I hobbled up the steps of the back porch and relished the shade of the lip of the roof overhanging the back door. I loved the sun, it made me feel warm, safe even, but it was sometimes too much. Blistering. The moon, however... gave me a sense of hope and purpose.

It was always odd to me, how much of a pull the moon had on skinwalkers. The closer to the full moon, the more excited I got and the more I wanted to go out and run. Sure, skinwalkers were cousins to werewolves, but we weren't the same, not even close.

I wondered how many of the old skinwalker legends were true. Were we really witches in the early ages of our species? The Navajo had always said we were evil and did harm to our fellow man. Had we always been wolves? Or were we once some odd cross between man and animal in our early days, like our cousins the werewolves?

I cared little for the concept of deities, but I know that would be one of the many questions I would ask God if I ever had the chance to speak to him. That, and maybe why he felt the need to make humans so defenseless. I mean honestly, it's one thing to give a monster built-in weapons, but to leave a creature so defenseless that it feels the need to perfect the art of killing? That's ten times worse.

The door to the rickety old barn was open, pushed aside on rolling hinges to let sunlight spill into the dingy single room. I glanced from the fights to the door. No one acknowledged me as I stood up and hobbled across the lawn with one crutch– maybe I preferred it that way.

Clanking from within the barn drew my attention. I leaned against the large doorway and watched Booth march around with a quizzical expression on my face. Finally, the graying male looked up with tired blue eyes and grumbled.

"Andrew was complaining about the pickup acting funny when he went out for groceries," the older man grumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Figured I'd come take a look while Caeden's managing the fights."

I hummed quietly and sidled up to Booth, his eyes never leaving the truck. "What do you think's the matter with it?" I questioned. Booth huffed and crossed his burly arms.

"Probably nothing," he scoffed. "Andrew doesn't know a truck from a moped. Wouldn't be surprised if he's driving it a bit rough."

I frowned a bit and rested my crutch against the rusted car door. The pickup only seated two people, with plenty of room in the pickup bed to host more. "Andrew's a pretty careful driver, Doesn't know much about trucks, but he's safe. I think if he says there's a problem, it's worth looking into."

Booth grumbled and moved the tools from the hood, placing them on the straw and dirt-covered barn floor. "Pop the hood, would you?" he asked. I nodded and climbed carefully into the cab, and popped the hood for Booth.

I sat in the cab of the rusted old pickup while Booth leaned over the engine. My hands slid over the steering wheel reverently, squeezing the worn grooves where my uncle’s hands had sat ages ago. Firm hands that molded the world into a place that embraced him with vigor. It was a temperament I would never have.

“What’s going through that head of yours, dove?” Booth asked. My eyes flicked up to look through the windshield. The lifted hood of the truck blocked him from view. His tone was soft, despite the worn texture of his throat that led to gruff words. Soft, doting, affectionate. Did I deserve that?

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

He hesitated. I could practically feel the way his thoughts roamed, searching for the right answer to my ambiguous question. “Elaborate?” he pressed.

“Like… I don’t know, I just sometimes wonder if- if taking on a pack was the right decision,” I answered in one shaky breath. “It’s not like I’m around much, at this point, and I never… never wanted a pack to begin with. Ever. I just never had an interest in it.”

I dropped my gaze as Booth slowly lowered the hood of the truck. His eyes settled on me in the cab, twisted in the seat in such a way that I could cradle my arms around myself without stressing my injuries further than I already had. I exhaled a deep sigh. “Sometimes I just… I come home to- to people in my house- my uncle’s house, and I just wish I was alone. I wish I wasn’t responsible for anyone but myself.” I paused and lifted my gaze to meet his. “Does that… make me a bad person?”

Booth shook his head, not even stopping to think first. “I think it makes you pretty human- or, close enough to it.” I cracked a timid smile. “It’s alright to want to be alone every once in a while.”

“Do you think we’re a normal pack?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know a normal pack if it hit me over the head. I’ve only ever known scavengers and Chikaltio, and this is nothing like that. You’re more of a friend than a boss. I think we’re all pretty happy with the dynamic, even if you’re gone a lot.”

I didn’t answer. He held my stare for a few long moments before turning his attention back to the engine. “Might be time to sell it for scrap.”

I pursed my lips. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would be getting rid of the truck willingly, no matter how much rust adorned its once smooth surface. It was my uncle’s, one of the few things I had left of him other than the house. A house which now felt more like someone else’s home than his. Clothes that weren’t his, furniture he would’ve hated, new residents deciding everything. My skin itched.

"Where are we gonna get another one?" Booth asked as he stood rockily on old legs. "I'm sure the government would take notice to us paying that much money. They aren't blind to credit card theft, y'know."

"Then we take from multiple accounts," I offered. "Five hundred here, three thousand there. Not too much, but enough." Stealing money was a rough business, we could only take as much as we needed to get by. I didn't like it, but it was necessary – we couldn't exactly get normal jobs, could we? Booth wiped his hands on his oil-splotched jeans and ran a calloused hand through his silvering hair. "I don't like it – stealing from people like that. It's not honest," I said, hoping he would pose some alternative.

"Since when is anyone honest? We sure aren't, and I'll bet my life that no one else is. Not the President, not the Pope, not even God. Hell, if God was honest maybe the world wouldn't be such a shithole," he retorted as he began filling his toolbox once more and locked the lid. "I don't much like the idea of honesty. It's flawed. No one's ever truly honest. If you say you are, you're lying." And with that, Booth swept up his tools and marched out the open barn door, leaving me alone in my bewildered thoughts.

—

Three weeks into my healing process, my leg was feeling much better. I still kept bandages on it, but I could at least walk without the crutch. Sasha demanded I keep a can nearby, in case I needed it, though I hardly used it. A few too many times, she smacked me with a dish towel for my stubbornness.

It was Calliope's night to lead a hunt and she had chosen to drag Andrew along with her. He wasn't too fond of hunting, but she felt he needed improvement. They worked well together, moving as a lithe team in the arena and on runs. They worked even better against each other, in the spirit of competition. The other pack members who wouldn't be hunting tonight had of course made bets of their own – my money was on Cal. She was beyond skilled when it came to hunting, and no amount of determination on Andrew's part would get him the win.

Calliope and I had spent quite a bit of time together during my house arrest. Several nights in the past two weeks had been deemed 'movie nights,' and several other pack members had chosen to join in. Sasha was a recurring face every night, while the boys would typically pop in to see what we were up to or steal snacks, Unsurprisingly, any time we watched a romcom, Marcus chose to join us.

While Andrew and Calliope were preparing for the evening hunt, I ran through Andrew's shopping list. I was eager to get out of the house, and there was no better time than now. It was surprisingly long, though I should have expected that. He was interested in trying out a few new recipes.

"Do you need someone to go with you?" I heard Sasha's cheerful voice from the kitchen. She popped her head out from around the counter, a mop gripped tightly in her hands.

I chuckled and glanced down at the list. "Maybe, but you look pretty busy, Sash. I can take someone else, no trouble." The short woman nodded nervously, her loose brown curls bobbing with her head.

I made my way to the door, grabbing my cane from its spot on the wall upon feeling Sasha boring holes into my head with her glare. I hobbled across the freshly trimmed lawn towards the bunkhouse.

It surprised me how mundane life felt when you became... well, mundane. I hadn't tried shifting in weeks. I was nothing more than human without my fur, and with my bad leg... I was about as mundane as it could get. If I wasn't living with five other monsters, then perhaps this could be that apple pie life Dean so desperately craved.

I needed to call him and Sam again, and check up on them. I had called them the day after I woke up, the day after they left. Sam had answered, telling me essentially what Marcus had said - that when I was healed, I was welcome to join them again. To my dismay, I hadn't spoken more than a few short sentences since our late-night conversation. I assumed he was busy, they both were, but I would appreciate more than a brief update.

One step forward, two steps back.

I quietly turned the door handle of the bunkhouse and poked my head in, searching the dimly lit room for figures. My eyes fell on three figures seated in the center of the room, sets of bunks lining the walls to my left and right.

"So while Sasha's cleaning the main house, you three are playing cards?" I teased, leaning against the door frame. Marcus, Caeden, and Booth glanced up, Marcus looking especially guilty.

"'S poker," Booth crowed, holding his cards up high with their backs to me. "I'm kicking their asses."

Marcus snarled playfully. "You've won like three rounds-"

"- Outta five," remarked Booth with a smirk.

"That doesn't mean you're kicking ass!" Marcus shouted, tossing his hands into the air, making sure to hide his cards from view. "You know what, I call," he snapped, dropping his cards onto the floor for all to see. Honestly, it was kind of a pitiful hand- two pairs, both low numbers and not particularly high ranking suits.

Booth followed quickly behind and deposited the cards at his feet. He had a pair of jacks of two good suits. He grinned, knowing that he had beaten Marcus yet again.

Caeden scoffed and gently placed his cards down, revealing three aces. My eyes widened, but not nearly as much as Marcus's. The blonde's eyes rivaled saucers and looked like they might pop out of his skull. Caeden leaned back with little reaction, crossing his toned arms over his chest.

Booth laughed loudly, the deep, rumbling sound filling the room and drawing a chorus of laughter from the other players. "S'pose we can't beat that, Caed," he said with a hearty chuckle and pushed Caeden's winning - a few cans of peaches and assorted vegetables - towards him. "Looks like you're out of the game, Marcus," Booth teased, gesturing towards the lack of cans in front of Marcus. His blue eyes lifted to meet mine and he flashed me a lop-sided grin shrouded by his thick, graying beard. "Care to take his place?"

I shook my head and placed a hand over my mouth to mask my grin. "Nope, I was about to head to the store. Marcus, you could join me, if you'd like?"

Marcus stretched and rolled his shoulders out. "Sorry, I promised Sasha I'd actually help her around the house today. Guess I'd better get on that now," he replied as he stood a bit shakily, probably from the rise and fall of energy. "I bet Booth'd go with you though."

Booth shook his head and hobbled to his own feet. "I'm on clean-up duty for when Cal and Andrew get back," he remarked, shaking out his legs from when they had been folded neatly not long before. "How bout you, Caed? You up for it?"

The older male shrugged and stood up, facing me with a rather disinterested look. His eyes briefly flitted to Marcus. "I suppose," he said before stalking past me and out the door.

I frowned and glanced towards Marcus who looked oddly worried. He was often an open book and had a hard time hiding his emotions – that was one thing I liked about him. You always knew what he was thinking. Caedan, on the other hand, was still reserved and closed off. He had grown quite fond of the rest of the pack, and they of him, but hardly ever spoke to me unless necessary.

I sighed heavily and turned to follow him out the door. Perhaps this shopping trip would be a good chance to get to know him.

The drive to the grocery store was silent, and actually rather uncomfortable. Any attempt I made at small talk was shot down with a dismissive wave or a low grunt. It was infuriating, and I was beginning to think I should have gone by myself.

In the store we chose to stick together; or rather, I went my own way and he followed not too far behind with a shopping cart. My eyes scanned the shopping list as we darted up and down aisles, never lingering for very long.

"Why would Andrew want frozen lasagna? Can't he just make some of his own?" I inquired quietly, nose practically pressed to the paper as I made my way to the frozen food aisle.

"It's for Calliope," Caeden muttered out, just loud enough for me to hear. My eyes trained on his, his deep brown ones holding that familiar disinterested look. "Said she's never had it before."

"But why would she want the store-bought stuff when Andrew can make it?" I asked, turning to him and dropping my list at my side. Caeden shrugged and pushed past me, the squeaky cart rolling in front of him. I rolled my eyes. So much for that.

The frozen food aisle was not too far, only about three aisles down. While I searched for the lasagna, Caeden grabbed whatever he thought the pack might like. I almost laughed as I watched him deposit four boxes of pizza bites into the cart.

My eyes found the lasagna and I rifled through the different brands, looking for the best one. I smiled softly and inhaled the sweet scent of Stouffers. My mother would make it from time to time when she was too tired to cook.

I spun towards Caeden and tossed the package underhand towards him. "Catch!"

He did not catch it.

Caeden jumped back, a wildly frightened look in his eyes as the lasagna hit the ground. Thank God it was packaged, otherwise, there would have been cold food all over the floor. Caeden's eyes tracked up to mine, and for the first time in a very long time, I saw something other than indifference in them.

Fear.

It was the same look I had seen from him when I had first met him, back in that old hunter's house. Why would he have that same look now as when he had been shot?

"You alright?" I asked softly, worry dripping into my voice. He nodded and bent to pick up the lasagna as I tentatively made my way over to him. I reached to place a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from me. My brows furrowed at this.

"I'm fine," came his gravelly voice, and just as quickly as the incident happened, he was gone, already at the end of the aisle and headed towards our next destination.

I scoffed and glared at his back. "Fine, my ass," I grumbled and followed him. The rest of the shopping trip was utterly silent until we got to the cash register, where I had to speak to the cashier. I paid while Caeden bagged our goods and placed them back into the cart.

"Have a nice day!" the cashier called after us.

I smiled at them. "You too!" I followed Caeden out of the store and to the truck, helping him silently load the groceries into the pickup bed. Not long after, we both climbed into the cab, me at the wheel, and headed home.

My finger tapped against the side of the steering wheel, contemplating how I could get him to say more than just a few words. I had seen him laugh and talk plenty of times with the others, though never when I was involved. Maybe occasionally on game night, but he was often stoic as can be whenever I was around.

"So..." I started rather awkwardly, looking for some way to make him talk. "How long have you and Marcus been together?"

Caeden didn't look away from the window, his eyes watching the tree line as we sped past. "Traveling or... together?" he asked, sounding just as uncomfortable.

"Either one," I offered, just hoping he would say more than three words.

"Traveling for four, together for three," he mumbled. "Roughly," he added as an afterthought. His fingers tapped together in his lap and I was sure he had finished speaking until he piped up again. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly, each word strained in effort at maintaining a conversation. "How about you and the hunter? Dean?"

My face flushed and I almost swerved towards the edge of the road. My grip on the steering wheel tightened. "We're not together. Don't know why everyone thinks that." Caeden hummed quietly and his fingers stopped tapping. I didn't think my grip could tighten anymore, but now I was clinging on with white knuckles and tense muscles. "We're not. And we're not going to be."

Caeden chuckled, a sound that surprised me as I had rarely heard it. "I said that once, too." From there the conversation died out and the cab was silent once more as we pulled into the driveway.

The rest of my day was spent doing simple chores and yard work, though my mind was occupied with swirling thoughts. Caeden, despite knowing him for months now, was still a complete mystery to me. I knew very little of his life prior to meeting the pack. I knew nothing about how or when he was bitten, how he met Marcus, or why he was trying to kill an old hunter with such vicious resolve.

I tossed my small shovel to the ground and sat back on my heels in contemplation. I didn't want to push him but did want to know him. I at least had the right to know why he refused to talk to me.

Right?

—

Another week and a half had passed and my leg was nearly healed. Sasha had pulled the stitches out a few days prior and I could walk without any sort of help. It felt great to not need a crutch. My muscles were only fragments of what they had been, but the last week had held many chances to rebuild.

I stalked out onto the lawn and towards my packmates, where Booth was leading fights yet again. Today was all about hand-to-hand fighting, something I certainly needed more practice in.

It had been a long time since I was able to shift, although I hadn't tried in the last few weeks. I hadn't had any contact with my rather vicious, instinctive side, nor had she felt the need to urge me to fight anyone and anything. I almost missed her angry outburst - at least when she was present I knew the ability to change forms lay just below the surface.

I had been trying not to think about my predicament. The scars along my thigh, shown clearly by the shorts I was wearing, were bad enough. I didn't need more on my plate.

I still wondered about the whispers from time to time. What was it that was speaking to me? I hadn't heard any of the whispers since my brief altercation with John. It drove me mad to think that everything I had been trying to understand was suddenly gone.

"Hey," chimed Booth, waving me over. "You come to watch?"

I shook my head. "I'm looking for a fight actually. It's been too long since I've had a good one." Booth frowned and I smiled at him with what I hoped was a reassuring grin.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" He asked, gesturing towards the spider web of white scars on my thigh. "You're still healing."

"I think I can manage it," I said with fake confidence, crossing my arms over my chest. Truthfully, I wasn't sure I would win a fight right now. Sure, I had received some tips on fighting over the years from my father or my uncle, but that in no way made me an expert. The lack of strength and confidence I had could be my downfall.

And perhaps, if I was in enough danger, I’d finally find it in me to change forms.

What I needed now was a solid win, when all I had been getting recently was losses. Booth seemed to sense that. He nodded slowly and shrugged. "Your funeral, kid." I cheered and pumped a fist into the air in excitement. "Calliope just got done with a match, but I can have her fight you if you'd like-"

“I’m real tired, Booth,” Calliope whined from her spot on the ground, her dark hair splayed out on the messy lawn and grass and weeds. “Give me a break?”

Booth pursed his lips and stared incredulously down at Calliope. The young woman scrunched her eyes closed tightly, avoiding his lingering gaze. He sighed dramatically and looked around the clearing, taking a mental catalog of my options. Marcus sat on the porch soaking up the sun with Sasha. Andrew sat on the grass on the opposite side of the ring, catching his breath after his bout with Cal. So that left…

“Caeden?” Booth called, and the quiet man twisted to face us. He stood at the edge of the designated sparring ring with arms crossed and brows furrowed. “You up for it?”

I heard shuffling from behind us and turned to see Marcus sitting upright in his lounge chair, suddenly interested in the fights. The relaxed grin he bore had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a curious frown. Sunglasses obscured his eyes, but I knew they were narrowed in curiosity.

“Don’t see why not,” Caeden responded calmly. I watched as he bent down and grabbed a roll of sparring tape from the ground. He taped his knuckles carefully before tossing it my way. I held my tongue, watching and waiting instead – I would have to treat myself carefully

"Right, this'll be a clean fight. I'll beat your asses, alpha or not, if it ain't.” I bit back a smile as I stepped into the ring and took to my side, by back to Booth. "You get knocked out or get your throat caught, you're done for. No shifting ‘til I say."

My ears pricked at that last line. Shifting. My skin paled as I twisted to look at him over my shoulder. “Wait, Booth, I don’t think-”

A shriek left my lips as a heavy weight collided with me, knocking my square onto my back. All the air in my lungs left my body in a quick puff of breath. “Caeden!” a warning shout came from behind us.

Caeden dove toward me and I lifted my knees to connect with his chest, his weight falling down hard on me and jarring my thigh. Pain rippled up my legs through my injury, a patchwork crater that was still working to fill the void in my flesh. I pushed and knocked him to the side and stood, stooping low in preparation for his next attack.

Caeden swung his leg out in a sweeping motion, connecting with the back of my knees and causing me to land on my ass. I sat up just in time to be met with a punch to the face.

"First blood!" I heard Booth call out. My head spun as I stood, feeling blood drip down my face. I wiped at my lips, my hand coming away red.

I stared at my bloodied hand in shock and wiped a knuckle across the base of my nose. I turned my head sharply towards my opponent, eyes narrowed with fury. "Did you just break my fucking nose?"

Caeden shrugged and brought his hands back up. "I think it's a good look for you."

I snarled and lunged, my elbow connecting with his jaw. His head lolled back and I gripped him by his ears, bringing his face down to meet my knee. Blood poured from his nose as he stumbled backward, a dazed look on his face. "Looks good on you too," I spat, blood dripping into my mouth.

He roared and launched forward, a blow connecting with my ribs. I swung back wildly, not caring where I hit him or what I hit him with. I fell to the ground, landing hard on my back in the dirt, and snarled.

I rolled to the side and struggled to stand, but was dragged backward by my ankles, nails tearing the sensitive flesh. Caeden released me and clawed at my hair, dragging me to my feet by my scalp. An arm struggled to wrap around my throat as I snarled and spat wildly, thrashing in his grip.

I grabbed his arm and dug my nails into his wrist, my teeth sinking into his dark flesh until I tasted blood. Caeden howled in pain and dropped me. I spun to face him with blood stained teeth.

"Shift!" Booth shouted and Caeden wasted no time in bursting forward in his fur, his chocolaty brown, wiry fur a tangled, bloody mess.

My eyes widened a fraction as he barreled into me, jaws snapping at my throat. Fuck. I still can't shift. I reached a hand up towards his neck and dug my nails into his fur, piercing the flesh. I pushed upward, putting pressure on his throat with the palm of my hand. Caeden slobbered on me, his claws digging into the soft flesh of my arms. I screamed as Caeden rolled to the side, dragging my hand with him and exposing my upper arm.

“Caeden!” Marcus’s voice drifted from the porch, followed by the thump of him jumping off the porch and running towards the ring. Caeden’s icy blue gaze drifted from me to Marcus. His eyes narrowed, his teeth sank into my flesh, and he ground his jaws together.

I swung a punch towards Caeden, my fist connecting with the side of his burly head. He yelped and released my arm. I slid to the side, and stood on shaky feet, eyes trained on the wiry mutt before me.

"What are you doing!?" someone screamed to my left. "Shift!" My eyes trained on Booth's figure as he frantically gestured to Caeden. My eyes whipped back to the dog before me, trained on his vibrant blue ones, opposite to his usual brown.

Caeden lunged forward again and I side-stepped, kicking him hard in the ribs. He yelped and landed rougher than intended, spinning to face me once more.

Caeden lunged forward, paws colliding with my chest and throwing me over backward. I could feel the pull in me somewhere, that same feeling I had when the bear found Calliope. An itch in the back of my mind, like I knew what I was supposed to do but couldn’t quite get there. Like a slippery rope sliding helplessly through my fingers. I howled as Caeden snapped at my throat and I braced my forearm against his neck, struggling to push him away.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as I screamed, fighting to get him off of me. I screamed and snarled and clawed at his fur, my fingers gripping and tearing at his flesh in an almost pitiful display compared to his claws. The hair on my arms thickened and darkened like fur, but it just wasn’t enough.

“Caeden, stop!” Marcus shouted. A growl ripped out of Caeden’s throat. His jaws snapped at my throat, the ivory tickle of his teeth teasing my flesh.

I shouted once more and gave a mighty shove, throwing Caeden across the ring with strength I never knew I had. Caeden struggled to his feet, blue eyes wide with shock from my sudden strength. He drew back his lips revealing pink gums and bloodied teeth. I snarled back and brought my hands up, ready to fight him once more. His eyes narrowed coldly.

What do you have to prove? I questioned as I stared at him and paced around the ring, keeping my distance. He watched with curiosity, taking in the blood dripping down my face, my hobbling leg, my tired ankle from his ceaseless dragging.

The itch fell to the base of my neck, now more of a tug that seemed to urge me forward. My teeth elongated into fangs, nails sharpened into claws. It wasn’t enough- it was never enough. I needed more.

That scared me. The need for strength and power, so easy to abuse. I didn’t want it.

My eyes feel on my pack members- friends standing at the edge of the arena. Did I have power over them? Was that what scared me-?

Caeden launched himself at me in my distraction, faster than a bolt of lightning. I punched him in the jaw as he flew towards me, redirecting his course to land roughly at my side. I kicked out, connecting with his shoulder and he whirled to grip my ankle in his firm jaws. He yanked and pulled me to the ground, a wild fury and hatred in his eyes.

Hatred.

Why did he hate me?

I howled and kicked again, my heel landing against his temple. He stumbled to the side, his teeth still fastened to my ankle, blood dripping down his jaws. He looked at me with utter malice, and suddenly I recognized the fear he had once held.

He never trusted me, not like he did the rest of the pack. I knew that, of course, but why now-?

Oh. An alpha that can’t shift… isn’t an alpha.

His snapping jaws dragged me to the ground by my already weak ankle. My blood boiled as I writhed on the ground, flailing as hard as I could to get him off me. I swung wildly, gripping at his ears and his fur, bruising him with heavy fists, throwing him around with frantic kicks. Still, he did not loosen his hold on my ankle.

His blue eyes lifted to mine, holding a resolve in them that appeared to say I knew it.

You're not my alpha, they seemed to say. If you were, you could win this.

I don’t want to be your alpha- I want to be your friend. That’s what I wanted to say, but all that came out was a strangled cry.

I lunged forward, gripped his upper jaw and struggled to pry him from my leg. My skin was scorching with unfathomable rage as I gripped his jaw and pressed my thumb into the roof of his mouth, my nail digging into the sensitive skin. Blood dripped down my thumb.

Caeden howled out and scrabbled at my arm, claws tearing the delicate flesh. I snarled and gripped Caeden's throat, pressing my hand down until he was gasping for breath, blood trickling down his throat. Red tinted the edges of my vision, and this time I didn't push it away. I let it fuel me.

“Would you just-!” I shouted through hot, sticky blood dripping into my mouth.

Caeden's eyes were still wild with defiance and anger. I snarled a primal growl that startled even myself. I felt my eyes burning, that same feeling of electricity that raced under my skin, and they began to glow their familiar molten gold. Caeden howled and struggled under my grip.

“- Fucking listen for once!?”

My mind buzzed with an odd feeling, an unfamiliar presence that seemed to be cracking beneath me. Caeden howled, the only sound I heard amongst the harsh buzzing, and he thrashed. The defiance was gone. Instead, I saw fear.

No, no no no, don’t-

The floodgates broke and the buzzing swept over me like a tidal wave as memories and emotions filled my mind. Memories that weren't mine.

A young boy raced through dirty city streets, screaming for help as he struggled to outrun the pounding of feet behind him. He couldn't have been older than thirteen. He had deep scars on his hands, now drenched in blood from his bloody knuckles.

He ran, screaming for help that he knew wouldn't come. The thing owned these streets. It would catch him.

He felt a tearing in his shoulder and he screamed louder than he ever had before a terrified, pained scream. His deep brown eyes fixated on sharp, angular teeth digging into his shoulder. What felt like an electric shock went through him and suddenly he was a bleeding heap on the ground.

And suddenly the boy was older, though only by two or three years. He argued with a much older, grizzled, and angrier-looking man who was riddled with scars and tattoos. The older man smacked the younger boy backhand across the face, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"I won't do it!" the boy spat.

"You will," snarled the older man. His voice faded off into a series of threats as the memory swirled and faded into another.

The boy was running again, once more away from pounding footsteps behind him. He lept into the air and shifted into a deep brown, wiry form, blue eyes blazing. He howled in delight, a howl that delighted in the feeling of freedom.

The boy laughed gleefully as he pranced around in an open field around a recently dead deer, blood fresh on his matted jaws. His first kill. He could live without eating humans, despite what they had told him. Suddenly, his eyes whipped up to meet a brown pair, belonging to a dog. This dog, a clear English pointer, was like him. A skinwalker, right?

The English pointer had turned out to be a girl, and he thought she was rather pretty. She coaxed him into following her, and he did. She had a pack.

Packs are terrifying. Look at what his last one did.

But her pack was good. They welcomed him with open arms. They were kind like he wanted to be. Nothing like in the city.

He could be free with them.

And he was free for years. He rose through the ranks and quickly became the alpha's second. His alpha.

And suddenly his alpha was gone. The tents were burning, his pack was howling, screaming in pain. He could hear them, he could feel them dying off one by one. Suddenly his heart squeezed.

His alpha.

He raced towards the largest tent and burst forth to see an almost blinding flash of light and his alpha thump to the floor, lifeless, a bullet hole in his head. Caeden screamed, pain and sorrow ripping through his body as his now burning blue eyes fixed on the hunter who did this.

He would remember his face, his smell.

He looked older now, though it had clearly only been a few years. He looked exhausted as tears ran down his face.

A new pack had come into the area and they had taken over. Caeden had lost the challenge. He lost the pack. And now these new monsters were wreaking havoc.

He writhed under the weight of heavy silver chains as they dug into and burned his naked flesh. He was bound tightly in the middle of the camp for all to see. Their precious alpha, who couldn't protect him.

He deserved the scars the chains would leave.

The memory changed to one not long after, maybe a week or so. Caeden was covered in blood, his skin raw and torn. He fought with tired motions to push his former beta away, telling her to run. She removed the chains and ushered him to leave, to get away, to bring help.

He couldn't. If he did, she would take his place.

"I don't care," she said. "Just go."

And he did. He ran and he ran until his legs collapsed, not caring that he couldn't breathe. And still, he crawled, dragging himself through the woods. He stopped his scrambling as two massive golden paws landed before him, and his blue eyes trailed up to meet playful green ones.

Memories whirled past faster than they could truly be understood. Caeden running through wide, green fields with Marcus, their paws muffled by the grasses. The two quickly became family and accepted no alpha other than themselves. The bond they shared.

And suddenly it was dark, and one smell filled Caeden's nose. The smell of the hunter. He chased it with Marcus not far behind, hunting the man down. It had been years, but Caeden hadn't given up.

There was the house, with its single light from the second story. The duo stalked up the porch in their fur and Caeden shifted, pushing the door open for Marcus. He pounded up the stairs to find the man reclined in a chair. He shifted and leapt onto the man's back, tearing his flesh and basking in his blood.

And all too suddenly he was ripped away. He lifted his head to snarl at his attacker, only to be met with golden eyes bearing down on him with absolute rage.

And then he was bleeding and burning, silver filled holes in his stomach. He would die here.

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar house. And before he knew it, that house was his. But he did not belong to the house. He hated the black monster that pulled him here - hated that he respected her and that she expected him to submit. Why did Marcus submit? Had they not agreed that they were their own alphas?

And now here he was, bearing his throat to her, sealing a bond he had never made with another alpha. Not his first. Not his second. Certainly not his third. But now, he was bound.

I gasped and stumbled backward, the flood of memories fading. Caeden groaned and clutched his head. When had he shifted back? His blue eyes faded to their rich brown and they fixated on mine that still held their gold.

I felt something heavy settle between us, like a chain tugging us together. Electricity buzzed under my skin, not like the molten heat I had felt previously. No, the heat was mine, but this was him. The weight settled at the nape of my neck. I stared at him in shock as the glade fell quiet.

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