Chapter 15 A Dire Without a Pack #2
The wolf sat. Lifted his right front paw and held it there for a moment before setting it back down.
And I knew.
Didn't remember. Couldn't pull up a face or a voice or a single concrete memory. But my wolf knew. Every instinct I had screamed recognition at a level that didn't need visual confirmation.
Dad.
I tried to speak and nothing came out. Just a broken sound, raw and desperate.
The wolf—my father—closed the distance and nudged my shoulder with his muzzle.
Gentle pressure. Grounding touch. The pack language of comfort—you're here, I see you, you're not alone.
My eyes burned.
I reached for him without thinking. Hands shaking as they found fur, warm and real and solid under my fingers. My throat closed completely. The words wouldn't come but the grief did, sudden and overwhelming, ambushing me when I'd thought I was too numb to feel it anymore.
The wolf pressed his head against my chest.
I wrapped my arms around him and broke.
The first sob tore out of me like it had been waiting for permission.
Then another. And another. My whole body shaking with it, hands fisted in his fur, breathing coming in ragged gasps between sounds I didn't recognize as my own.
The wolf didn't pull away. Just stood there solid and warm and real, letting me hold on while I fell apart completely.
I don't know how long I cried. Time stopped cooperating in ways that felt merciful instead of catastrophic. Could have been minutes. Could have been an hour. My throat went raw. My eyes burned. My chest ached from the force of it.
Every blank space I'd woken up in. Every kill I couldn't remember. Every moment the compulsion had dropped over me like a net and stolen my body while my mind watched helpless.
All of it came pouring out in broken sounds I couldn't control.
The wolf shifted his weight slightly. Pressed closer.
His muzzle moved to rest against the side of my head, breath warm against my ear, and the low rumble that came from his chest wasn't quite a growl.
More like the sound wolves made to comfort distressed pack members.
Steady vibration that said I'm here, you're safe, I've got you.
My grip on his fur tightened.
“I don't know how to stop it,” I managed. Voice wrecked and barely audible. “I don't know how to fight him anymore. I'm so tired.”
The wolf pulled back just enough to look at me.
Then he did the thing I didn't expect.
He play-bowed.
Front legs stretched forward, chest lowered to the ground, rear end still up. Tail giving a small wag. The universal wolf language for come on, let's play, let's remember what it feels like to just be.
A fragment surfaced. Not visual. Just sensation. Being small. Being young. Someone teaching me how to signal play instead of threat, showing me the bow, laughing when I got it wrong the first dozen times.
This is how we say we're safe. This is how we say we trust each other.
“Dad,” I whispered.
The wolf's tail wagged once. Confirmation.
A sound escaped me that might have been a laugh. Broken and wet but real.
“I don't—” My voice cracked. “I can't remember the last time I—”
The wolf lunged forward. Not aggressive. Playful. He bumped his shoulder against mine hard enough to knock me slightly off balance, then danced back with that same expectant expression.
Come on. Play with me. Remember what it's like.
My chest went tight for different reasons.
I shifted.
The older wolf's tail wagged once. Approval. Recognition. Then he lunged again, this time catching my shoulder with his and spinning away before I could respond.
I chased.
Pure instinct. No thought behind it. Just the simple joy of running, of moving through space with purpose that had nothing to do with hunting or killing or any of the things Silas had been using me for.
We moved through the clearing in a wide arc. The older wolf was fast despite his age, dodging when I got close, circling back when I slowed. He nipped at my flank—gentle, playful, not meant to hurt—and I spun to face him.
He dropped into another play-bow. Waiting.
I lowered my front end to match. Tail wagging despite everything.
We lunged at the same time. Met in the middle with a collision that sent both of us tumbling sideways into the frost-covered grass. Rolled apart. Came back together with mouths open but teeth not biting, just the mock fighting wolves did when they were bonding instead of battling.
Every move he made said I know you, I see you, I remember who you were before all of this.
We broke apart. Both panting. The older wolf's tongue lolled out in what looked uncomfortably close to a grin.
I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
He circled me slowly. Not the blessing yet. Just movement. Checking me over with the thorough attention of a father who'd been gone too long and needed to confirm his son was still whole.
He paused at my shoulder where the rogue bite had scarred. Sniffed it carefully. Made a low sound that might have been disapproval.
You got hurt. I wasn't here to prevent it.
I pressed my head against his neck. The wolf equivalent of it's okay, I'm okay, you're here now.
He huffed again. Moved to check the scars across my ribs. Spent longer there, nose pressed against the marks the shadow constructs had left behind.
When he pulled back his eyes held fury carefully contained.
Someone hurt you. Someone's been hurting you. And I'm going to make sure it stops.
I shifted back to human without deciding to. Dropped to my knees in the frozen grass with my arms wrapped around myself because the wave of grief and relief and desperate hope was too much to hold in wolf form.
The wolf shifted with me.
Suddenly there was a man kneeling in front of me. Older—grey threading through dark hair, lines around his eyes that spoke of decades I'd missed. Wearing clothes that looked borrowed from another time, faded flannel and worn jeans that had the quality of things conjured rather than owned.
I couldn't see his face clearly. My brain wouldn't hold the details. But I could see the tilt of his head—left side down, right ear up—the same gesture from before.
And I could see his hands when they reached for me. Scarred knuckles. Calloused palms. The hands of a man who'd worked with them his whole life.
Those hands pulled me into his arms without hesitation.
I collapsed against his chest and cried like I hadn't cried since I was a child. Huge, gasping sobs that shook my whole body. Clinging to him like he might disappear if I let go.
His hand came up to cradle the back of my head. The other arm wrapped tight around my shoulders, holding me steady while I fell apart.
“I've got you,” he murmured. Voice rough with its own emotion. “I've got you, son. You're not alone. You've never been alone.”
That voice. I don't remember it but my wolf does. My bones do.
“I can't stop it,” I gasped against his shoulder. “The compulsion—Silas is in my head and I can't get him out and I'm losing—I'm losing myself and I don't—”
“Shh.” His hand moved through my hair. Soothing. Grounding. “Help is coming. Your brother's coming. Gideon's coming. They're going to find you and they're going to help you fight this.”
“What if I hurt them? What if the compulsion hits and I can't—”
“You won't.” Absolute certainty in his voice. “The dire in you knows who matters. Even when Silas has control, even when you can't remember, that part of you knows who to protect.”
I pulled back enough to try to look at him. To see his face properly even though my brain still wouldn't hold the details, wouldn't let me remember what he looked like.
But I could feel him. The warmth of his hands on my shoulders. The steady presence of him sitting here with me.
“I'm scared,” I whispered.
“I know.” His hands came up to frame my face. Thumbs brushing away tears that wouldn't stop falling. “But you're stronger than what's been done to you. Stronger than Silas. Stronger than the compulsion. You just have to hold on a little longer.”
“I don't know if I can.”
“You can.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “You're my son. Daniel's brother. Pack. You're built from the same stubborn stock that's been surviving impossible things for generations. This won't break you.”
His hands slipped from my face to my shoulders. He pulled back slightly.
“I'm so proud of you,” he said. Voice thick. “For surviving. For fighting. For running when you needed to protect the people you love. I'm proud of every choice you've made.”
The tears came harder.
He pulled me back against his chest and held on while I cried myself out completely. His hand never stopped moving through my hair. His heartbeat stayed steady under my ear. Real and solid and here in ways I desperately needed.
When I finally went quiet—too exhausted to cry anymore, throat raw, eyes burning—he shifted his grip slightly.
“I need to go soon,” he said quietly. “I'm not supposed to be here this long. But I had to make sure you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you're loved. That you're not forgotten. That everyone's coming for you.” He pulled back to meet my eyes.
I nodded. Couldn't speak past the knot in my throat.
He stood, pulling me up with him. Then he stepped back and shifted again. Smooth and effortless, the way wolves shifted when they'd been doing it for lifetimes.
The grey-brown wolf circled me once.
Slow. Deliberate. The blessing pack gave to members who'd been lost and were being welcomed home.
You belong. You're ours. We claim you.
A message landed in my head. Not words. Just absolute certainty.
You'll be fine. Help is coming. Hold on.
I dropped to my knees again. Reached out to bury my fingers in his fur one more time.
He pressed his muzzle against my temple. Breath warm. Solid and real.
Then he stepped back and slipped back into the trees. Movement so quiet I lost sight of him within three steps.
I sat there in the growing light with tears still wet on my face and my chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks.
The compulsion was still there. Still rebuilding in my head, weaving itself deeper with every hour.
But now I had a reason to fight it.