Chapter Text
Jaime shivered on his knees and tried to remember how to breathe.
Wolves prowled around them, bared teeth and sharp claws, low huffs whenever one of them flinched back. Only five of them were left, five of the nearly thirty hunters at the camp, the last remnants of this moonlit massacre. Jaime stayed where he was, numb and cold, hands folded in his lap, and focused on breathing.
The hunters were dead. All of them were dead. Including the five of them grouped together at the front of the camp as the wolves ransacked the rest of it, making sure they didn’t miss a single thing. Determined to destroy every last vestige of the camp.
Jaime couldn’t blame them. He just wished they’d ripped out his throat when they found him half-collapsed in Eskender’s tent, instead of dragging him out to group him with the other survivors.
There had been a half-second, between his magic returning and deciding to break open the cages and stumbling as soon as he ripped through his own locks, that he’d dared to believe he could be free. Throw up an invisibility spell, conceal his scent, sneak out for the woods—he could’ve ran.
Been free, truly free, for the first time in years.
Gone home.
And the opportunity vanished like a blink of an eye, and Jaime was on his knees in the dirt as wolves skulked around them, warm breaths against the edges of his sleeveless shirt as paws stepped too close, neck bare but still trapped.
“Mage,” someone hissed. Two people over, after Dilip who had his eyes closed and his breathing slow, and Clem who was crumpled on the ground, breathing wetly. Emelina, her eyes sharp and her face narrowed. “Mage, your collar’s off. You can get us out.”
Jaime gave her a look that could’ve frozen water.
Get them out? Oh no. They deserved to die here, deserved to be torn apart by the wolf pack for what they’d done to all the wolves they captured, and Jaime wouldn’t magick a single spark in their defense. That they even had the nerve to ask, after everything they did to him—
“Mage!” Emelina whispered, louder, and Jaime ignored her. She snarled, but a wolf growled from in front of them, and she broke off.
“Leave it, Em,” Tulio said on her other side, low and melodious, “He was always a coward.”
Jaime closed his eyes for a moment. It was true. He was a coward. He knew the consequences would be pain, and he was so, so afraid of being hurt. He wouldn’t help even if he could, and his head was almost too heavy to lift. Undoing his magic had taken a lot out of him, and his magic reserves had never gotten a chance to really recover, not in all the years he’d spent with hunters.
A dark grey wolf plodded past them and seamlessly shifted back to human. “We’ve searched the rest of the camp,” the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman said, casting a stray glance at the five of them on the ground, “Those are the only survivors.”
The solid black wolf—the alpha, judging by the way they all defer to her—moved out of the shadows, stalking in front of them before shifting to human. Her hair was as dark as her fur, skin light in the moonlight, and something in the shadows of her expression made her seem just as dangerous without claws and sharp teeth.
Jaime lowered his head before he could meet her gaze. Before he wouldn’t have cared. Now, he knew that power was a tool, and a sharp one, and his best bet was going unnoticed.
A wolf snarl, right next to his ear. Not much hope of that.
“Hunters,” the alpha said, her voice quiet and made of razors, “You seem to enjoy running down wolves like animals, and caging them like dogs.”
“You are dogs,” Emelina spat out, and Jaime cringed despite himself. The wolves growled louder, but they didn’t attack. “You come here and savage us like creatures and then have the audacity to—”
The alpha stepped forward, and Emelina couldn’t suppress the flinch back.
“You have fire left,” she said, and it didn’t sound like a good thing. “It’s always more entertaining when they fight.”
Oh gods. Jaime recognized that tone of voice. That was the tone of someone who was going to play with their meal. Someone who wanted a game.
This wasn’t going to be quick. Jaime should’ve found a knife and slit his own throat.
“I’ll rip your fucking head off, you damn mutt—”
“Would you?” the alpha asked, tone eerily level, “Or would you rather take the chance to leave?”
Emelina stilled. Jaime was startled enough to raise his head. There was no way the wolves would let them go, not unless they were being used as bait, but this was still a chance. If Jaime could find someplace to hide, to recover his magic long enough to disappear, if he could just run—
The alpha stepped to the side, and the wolves followed her lead. The space between the edge of camp and the forest was wide, wide open. “You get a five minute head start,” the alpha said, the faintest smile playing on her face.
Tulio sucked in a sharp breath. No one moved.
“It’s already started,” the alpha informed them, and Emelina was the first person to burst into motion. She surged up to her feet, and the wolves backed away, the alpha staying where she was. Emelina half looked like she wanted to run at the closest wolf, lack of weapons be damned, but rationality reasserted itself.
“Come on,” she said harshly, yanking Tulio up and reaching for Clem, “Come on, get up!” Between her and Tulio, they managed to get Clem upright and on his feet, hissing against the pain. “Let’s go!” Dilip jerked upright as well, but the bleakness on his face was obvious. He knew they weren’t going to escape.
None of them made a single backwards glance at him. Jaime stretched up to his feet slowly—he felt like he was walking in a costume, like everything was one layer removed from his skin, like the oppressive weight of wolf glares was a pillow smothering his head.
Five minutes. Jaime’s magic was nearly drained dry, he ached, inside and out, and the night breeze bit painfully at his exposed arms. He couldn’t get free in five minutes.
The wolves stayed inside the camp as he walked out, stuttering, stumbling steps over the uneven terrain. He didn’t even have shoes. He’d never been far from camp, no one wanted to chance that risk, and the trees stretching in the distance looked like freedom.
Looked like a lie.
Jaime stopped walking.
What was the point? No matter how fast he ran, the wolves would catch up. This was just a game, and Jaime was so very tired of playing games. He just wanted it to be over.
He slowly, silently folded to his knees, arms wrapped around himself, head bent, his face stretched oddly. He didn’t even have the energy to cry.
He just waited.
After a stretching eternity of silence, the wolves began to howl.
Jaime squeezed his eyes shut.
Walking was still difficult, a month’s practice on four legs messing with his head, but his pack was here, they’d come for him, and Dimitri gladly submitted to the arm around his waist and the shoulders underneath an arm and the wolf snouts pressing into his hands and brushing against him. His pack had come, he was almost home, they had torn apart everyone who hurt him and Dimitri was safe.
Well. Almost everyone who hurt him.
Lada counted down the last seconds, and smiled, sharp and dangerous, before shifting into a wolf and howling.
The hunt was on.
Dimitri felt the call lodge inside of him, felt the exhilaration even though he wouldn’t be chasing, and all around him, his pack shifted to take on the call. Nearly half of those that had come streamed out of the camp, bounding forward on legs faster than any human or wolf would ever be.
The hunters never stood a chance. The painful shard of hope would only make their deaths taste sweeter.
Lada stayed behind, and Khalida as well, the dark gray wolf always at her alpha’s side, and both of them were staring out of the camp. Dimitri limp-hobbled his way to them, nearly collapsing against Lada’s side and letting the wolf hold his weight as he searched for what had caught their eye.
The mage. Their jailor. The fucking monster that had locked them into the cages and forced them to stay in wolf form, that had stared at them with those empty blue eyes no matter how fiercely they growled, was curled up on the ground barely twenty paces away, the moonlight turning him pale and skinny like the rat he was.
He hadn’t run.
Dimitri stiffened—the mage was planning something, he was going to hurt them, he was—but only four of the wolves had stopped to circle him, and they were keeping a healthy distance.
“Curious,” Khalida said, and she shouldered Dimitri’s weight when Lada moved forward.
In the distance, the screams started.
They got halfway to the mage before it was obvious that he was shaking. Curled up, on his knees, wrapped around himself and shivering—Dimitri had to remind himself that this was the mage that had kept them in cages, that without him the hunters would’ve never been able to capture and torture them, that he was the reason Dimitri had spent a long, painful month away from his pack—
But the mage was clad in thin clothes, and barefoot, his light hair ruffled like he’d been asleep when the attack started, and it was difficult to fear him.
It’s a trick, his mind whispered, seething and furious, and Dimitri clung to that anger. The mage was doing something, and they had to be on guard. He was going to hurt them—force him into the wolf, trap him inside his fur until he started clawing at his own skin to get it off—
Dimitri swallowed, and stayed half-hidden against Khalida. Lada padded forward until she was facing the mage—he opened his mouth to call out a warning, but the woods had turned silent again, and the rest of the pack drifted back through the trees, muzzles red with blood.
The sandy-haired wolf in front shifted back to Ema’s reassuring bulk. “It’s done,” he said, wiping the blood off his face, “They’re dead.”
All except one.
The entire pack was here now, and no mage was strong enough to take down an entire wolf pack. That knowledge did nothing to reassure him as Lada got closer, the pack closing in around the hunter as Dimitri stayed pressed against Khalida.
The others were here too, six out of the nine had had been locked up with him, watching their captor. Panic squeezed his chest tight—danger, danger, his senses screamed, especially when Lada shifted to human and crouched right in front of the mage.
“You didn’t run,” she said lightly.
The mage’s voice was hoarse, but the pack was silent, and they could all hear him whisper “please”.
“Please?” Lada raised an eyebrow. Dimitri couldn’t fucking believe that the mage wanted mercy. “Please what?”
“Make it quick,” the mage whispered.
“Quick?” Lada’s voice took an edge, “You think you deserve quick? You think you deserve to ask me anything after you hurt my pack?” The mage didn’t say anything, or if he did, it was too quiet even for werewolf ears. “If you won’t run, we’ll have our fun right here.”
Lada gestured, and one of the wolves bounded forward. The mage made a high, choked sound as Elli’s teeth snapped closed around his ankle, but he suppressed the rest of it as Elli yanked away, dragging the mage back by his ankle until he was stretched out on his stomach.
Dimitri expected…something. Yelling. Screaming. Panic. Trying to crawl away or fight back or something.
The mage didn’t make any attempt to move, just hid his face in the crook of his elbow as he trembled. His breaths were too-high and shivery, but there was no scream, not even when Elli let go of the mauled ankle, and blood began to drip from the wounds.
The wolves shifted, disquiet running through the clearing. Lada was frowning. Elli cleaned the blood off their face, and sat back on their haunches.
“Not using your magic?” Lada asked in a voice barely on the edge of courteous.
“N—no magic l—left,” the mage stuttered, and Dimitri let out a snort. A mage drained of magic was vulnerable, there was no way they’d let themselves get that far while out in the open, the mage had to be lying—
But if he was lying, he would’ve used his magic. Used it and run, and maybe humans couldn’t outrun a wolf, but surely a mage could hide.
“Really?” Lada hummed, “What did you use your magic for?” The implicit notion of a threat sent everyone’s hackles rising again. What if there were other hunters, what if there was a trap, what if they were in danger?
“To un—unlock the c—cages,” came the quiet answer.
Dimitri froze.
He admittedly hadn’t given much thought to why the cages had opened mid-attack, the magic failing amid the chaos, too busy shifting back to human and relishing being a person again. He’d assumed that the mage had been killed, and when that expectation had been dashed by the man’s kneeling form, he hadn’t fully realized the contradiction.
If the spells hadn’t broken with his death, that meant the mage had destroyed them himself.
But that didn’t make any sense.
“A sudden attack of remorse?” Lada was clearly thinking along the same lines. “A desperate attempt to ingratiate yourself? What exactly did you want for your oh-so-generous act to unlock the cages you yourself created?”
The mage shifted, and all the wolves jumped back to screaming alert. But the mage just rolled over, onto their back, and—and tipped their head back. Baring their throat. Surrender.
“I’m sorry.”
His ankle burned, like he’d doused it in acid, and everything inside of him was screaming that he was vulnerable, but he’d gotten used to ignoring that voice years ago. The only thing he had left was the desperate desire to make it stop, and the only way it would was if someone killed him.
“Sorry?” The alpha sounded mad. He wished she was angry enough to end it. “You think sorry is going to make up for the number of wolves you’ve helped capture and torture and kill?” That wasn’t—he didn’t—he didn’t do that—but he stood by and watched it happen, which was practically the same thing. “You think a single word is enough against the months or years you’ve been doing this?” Seven. Seven years, and only once he’d ever tried to help a wolf. “You think it matters that you’re sorry?”
No. Of course not. Jaime wasn’t that stupid.
“A hunt is too easy. Over too quick,” the alpha almost growled, “You’re going to understand what a slow death really means.” She turned back to her pack, “I’m open to suggestions.”
There was a growing murmur as wolves piped up, but growing horror deafened him. No. No. If he had known—he should’ve just run—maybe if he made a break for it right now—
“If he wants to stay on his back, we might as well oblige him,” someone’s cruel voice cut through the clamor, and Jaime couldn’t help the high, terrified sound.
“P—please—” begging wouldn’t help him, but Jaime didn’t know how he could make things worse—“Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t want—”
“Didn’t want to,” someone finished, high and wavering and poisonous, and Jaime twisted his head to see a dark-haired man leaning against a tall woman. The man looked familiar, and when he stepped forward, almost trembling, the moonlight illuminated the gaunt features Jaime had last seen right before he locked a cage shut. “Didn’t want to? You bound me in chains and now you’re telling me that you didn’t want to?”
“Please, I didn’t have—”
“A choice?” the man growled, eyes flashing in fury, “You weren’t the one in a cage. You weren’t the one trapped. You weren’t the one screaming for help!”
No, Jaime had lost that hope years ago. All screaming would do was ruin his throat.
“And you dare to sit there and tell me that you didn’t have a choice? You’re a fucking mage, you could’ve killed anyone who touched you, and what? You pocketed your money and wrung your hands and said there was nothing you could do?”
Money. Like Jaime had ever gotten paid. Like he’d even gotten enough food or water, or sleep, or rest to regain his magic before they forced him to use it again—
But the wolf was right. Jaime had a choice. Emelina had been right. Jaime was a coward. He was selfish and weak, and he’d chosen himself over anyone he could’ve helped.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think of the pain. Tried to find that floaty feeling, the numbness he could cocoon himself in, so he could drift away from whatever they’d do to him. Hopefully he’d die before he ever had to come back.
“How could anyone have possibly forced you to do something you didn’t want to do?” The man hadn’t finished his tirade. “Maybe you should be stripped of your magic, and then you’d learn what not having a choice really means!”
Jaime couldn’t help the automatic jerk towards his neck, fingers splaying against bare skin, and he was going to die painfully but at least he was free, please, they couldn’t bring the collar back, please no—
“He had a collar.”
Jaime didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t dare open his eyes, keeping his breaths soft and unobtrusive, his fingers curled against his neck like it wouldn’t take them two seconds to rip them away. Not a collar. Please not a collar. Not again. Not after he had his magic back. He deserved whatever they were going to do to him, but please not a collar.
“What?” the alpha said sharply.
“I remember,” a low, raspy voice said, “He had a collar around his neck. When he was with the hunters. He—he may not have actually had a choice.”
Low growling rumbled around him, and Jaime knew that the voice was wrong. He did have a choice. The collar didn’t force him to obey. He could’ve fought back.
“He doesn’t have one now,” the alpha noted coolly, “What happened to your collar, mage?”
He didn’t—nothing he said would make it better—“You get it removed for good behavior?” someone snarled, but the cadence of it was…off, and the growling was rumbling all around him.
He had to answer, though. He knew the consequences of noncompliance. “The person who held the key—” they changed it up so he never knew who had it until they were unlocking a fraction of it, so that he couldn’t murder them with anything he had on hand and free himself that way, like Jaime had the strength, physical or mental, to kill any of the hunters—“Died. In the attack.”
The growling cut out. It was replaced by a lower sound, and Jaime sensed the alpha moving next to him, his eyes still squeezed shut.
“And then you unlocked the cages.”
Jaime wasn’t sure if it was a question, but he nodded, a single jerk of his head. Exhaustion pressed harder at him, his fingers trembling with the effort of holding himself still, and he just—he wanted it to be over with. He just wanted it to be done.
Fingers settled on his cheek, gentle fingers, and Jaime was surprised enough that his eyes snapped open. The alpha was hovering above him, her face scrunched up, her eyes…sad. “How long?” she asked quietly, her voice softer than it had been at any point of the night thus far. “How long did they have you collared?”
He had no regular access to any sort of calendar, but he remembered six winters. “Seven years,” Jaime almost whispered, and something flashed across her face, dark and vicious.
The snarls started up again, so sudden that Jaime flinched back—and there were fingers settling on his shoulders, hands curling around his arms, pulling him upright, and most of the wolves around him were in human form now.
Jaime didn’t—the hands were gentle, the rumbling lower, softer, and he didn’t—why weren’t they hurting him, he—
An arm curled around his waist and Jaime tensed all the way up. No. Not—there were so many wolves here he couldn’t even count—please no—he had never, not this many, the hunters had needed him whole—oh gods, please—he wondered how many it would take before he died.
He wondered if they’d stop if he did.
And then he wondered nothing at all.
Dimitri felt sick to his stomach. Seven years. Seven years. Dimitri had been a captive for a month and he was tired and hurting and skittish. He’d almost lost hope his pack would come when the full moon came and went without a single sign of them.
Seven years.
Khalida was all but holding him up now, and when she gracefully knelt to situate him on the ground, he clutched at her like he was still a pup, hiding behind his big sister. The mage was similarly curled up against Lada’s side, at least four wolves pressing close, horror and revulsion and protectiveness welling up all around them.
Seven goddamn fucking years.
No wonder his eyes had been empty. No wonder he looked so skinny—gaunt, his mind echoed, taking the image of the mage and forcing him to look with new information.
Dimitri remembered the collar, or at least he remembered a band of leather wrapped around the mage’s throat, but he’d had other things to worry about than recognizing magic-dampening collars. Now he registered the bruises under the mage’s eyes, the leanness, the way he’d walked twenty steps out of the camp and just gave up.
He’d gotten the collar off, gotten his magic back, and the first thing he’d done was free Dimitri and the others. Freed them, and didn’t argue or fight back, just begged them to kill him. There was something sick and twisting inside Dimitri, something deeper than horror, something he didn’t have words for, and the anger inside him found a different target.
Seven years. It was still the mage’s face he saw—gods, they didn’t even know his name—but there was a shadowy figure behind the slight frame, fingers wrapped around the man’s throat, and Dimitri tried to multiply the terror and panic and confusion and pain of the past one month into seven years and the math just—didn’t work.
Not possible.
Lada was murmuring to the mage, her voice low and soft, but he wasn’t responding. Eyes open, and Dimitri could hear his breathing, but he was just—gone. Kouta was running a hand down his bare arm—fuck, even his clothes were barely scraps, his feet bare, and Elli was nudging a knee in quiet apology for the bleeding ankle, but the mage didn’t respond to any of it.
Finally, Lada stood, scooping the mage up while she was at it, and Dimitri winced at the confirmation of just how thin the mage was. His head curled against her shoulder, face slack, utterly limp, and her expression was a storm cloud.
Dimitri could feel that electric anger sweeping through him as well. There had been eleven captives in the hunters’ camp, and three of them had disappeared, but seven of them had remained, and were rescued, and—
“Let’s go home,” Lada said, and Dimitri felt it ring in his soul.
Home.