Chapter Text
The witch’s scream tore through the forest like metal against bone.
Erik’s paws slammed into frozen earth, claws tearing deep grooves through frost and dirt as he lunged again.
Blood — hers, his — steamed in the winter air, turning the snow beneath their feet into a mottled map of violence.
The air reeked of burned sage and iron.
Packmates flanked him — streaks of muscle and fur weaving between skeletal birches, eyes flashing gold in the dark. Their breaths came in white plumes, and the sound of their paws was a steady drumbeat around him.
The witch stumbled back against a tree, robes tangled around her legs.
She had nowhere left to run.
The Alpha’s voice cracked through Erik’s head, sharp and commanding.
Erik — left flank. Now.
He didn’t hesitate. Obedience was bone-deep. He cut left, snow spraying under his paws, and came up on her blind side. The witch’s gaze darted between him and the Alpha, chest heaving, fingers twitching with whatever magic she had left.
Her lips curled.
Then she raised her hand — and the world split.
Not the normal kind of split — not wind snapping through the trees or thunder growling across the sky — but something wrong, deep-wrong, sharp as broken glass dragged under the skin.
The air went thin. Too thin.
Erik’s fur stood on end. A low, primal snarl ripped from his throat.
Fall back! the Alpha barked, mental voice like a whip. Now, pup.
Erik tried. Gods, he tried — but the ground seemed to twist under him, the world bending sideways. His legs felt lead-heavy one second and weightless the next.
The witch’s eyes found his. They were bright with something between triumph and madness. She was dying — they’d made sure of that — but witches never went down quiet. Her last words poured out in a language older than bone, older than the first snowfall, curling through the air like smoke.
The sound dug into his skull like hooks. Every syllable made his vision blur.
Something hot and cold at once coiled around his chest, squeezing tight. He stumbled, breath shuddering.
Alpha—? His voice in the link cracked, thinner than he meant it to be.
Stay with me! The Alpha’s tone was steel wrapped in fear. Fight it, Erik! Push back! She can’t take you if you fight!
It hurt to breathe. His front legs buckled, but he caught himself.
I can’t—
You can. You’re mine, pup. You don’t quit on me. Look at me. Now.
Erik forced his head up. The Alpha was charging, a massive black-furred wall of fury and purpose, eyes blazing like wildfire. The other wolves moved too, fanning out in a desperate rush, but they were seconds too far.
The witch’s words climbed higher, faster, until the air itself began to shiver.
Light burst outward — not sunlight, not moonlight — but something raw, ripping, that burned and froze all at once.
Erik’s vision went white. His paws were gone — no, they were still there, but he couldn’t feel them. His chest felt like it was hollowing out.
Don’t you— the Alpha’s voice was a roar in his skull.
Erik’s body trembled. He felt himself coming apart, not just flesh and bone, but every thread that made him him.
Alpha—! His mental voice broke, boyish and terrified. I’m scared—
Stay—
The light surged, swallowing the forest, the snow, the pack, the Alpha’s face—
And then there was nothing.
The heat hit like a punch.
Not the lazy warmth of a summer afternoon, but a thick, wet weight that settled into Erik’s lungs and made every breath feel heavy, slow, wrong.
His eyes snapped open. The sky above was a hard, bright blue — too sharp, too wide — and the sunlight stabbed into his vision like a knife.
There was no snow. No pine trees towering over him. No cold wind tugging at his fur.
Only heat.
Erik’s body felt foreign beneath him, muscles twitching with leftover adrenaline, paws sinking into dirt that was soft and cracked instead of frozen. His breath came out in ragged pants, his wolf form huge and solid, the thick coat of black, gray, and cream catching the glaring sun.
He lifted his snout, tasting the air. It was wrong.
No sharp pine or cold river water. Instead, the scent of hot asphalt burned at his nostrils, mixed with smoke from somewhere distant — dry, choking, and oily.
There was the scent of meat, but faint, like a ghost in the breeze.
And something else.
Voices.
Words in a language he didn’t know.
Erik stiffened, ears swiveling.
The voices came from a place nearby, but not close enough to be a threat yet.
They were sharp, clipped syllables that didn’t roll on the tongue like Swedish. The sounds were fast and rushed, punctuated by occasional laughter and shouts that felt urgent but unfamiliar.
He couldn’t understand a word.
His mind flickered back — half a memory, half a dream. The Alpha’s voice, deep and commanding, cutting through the chaos.
Stay with me, pup. Fight. Don’t go.
But the light had taken him.
He shook his head, trying to focus. His paws trembled as he stood, muscles tense and ready. This place was not home. Not his world.
The forest smelled wrong. The air tasted wrong. And yet—
Something inside told him to move forward.
Erik padded cautiously forward, the dirt under his paws soft and dry, cracking in places like brittle old bones. The heat pressed down from above, a heavy blanket that made every movement feel slow, like wading through thick water.
His wolf senses, sharp as ever, strained to make sense of the new smells and sounds. Birds called out — sharp, unfamiliar chirps that had none of the sweet resonance of the Scandinavian forests. Small insects buzzed past his ears, their wings slicing the humid air with an alien hum.
The scent of grass was there, but different — freshly cut, green and sharp, not wild and soft like home. It mingled with a strange chemical sting that made his nose wrinkle.
Ahead, the dull roar of engines hummed—a noise he’d never heard before, loud and continuous, like thunder but coming from the ground instead of the sky.
Erik’s instincts told him to hide, to find cover beneath the sparse trees and wait. But something gnawed at his curiosity, that stubborn spark the Alpha had always praised. So he kept moving, careful, silent.
At the edge of a clearing, he froze. A tall, flat stretch of black ran straight through the landscape—a road, slick and shimmering under the blazing sun. On it, large metal beasts roared past, carrying humans whose faces were sharp and unfamiliar.
His fur bristled with tension. He lowered himself to the ground, belly scraping the dirt, and slunk into the shade of a nearby fence.
Behind the fence, two children played in a backyard garden. They were laughing, their voices high and musical but utterly foreign to him. One pointed excitedly in his direction.
“Look at that dog! It’s huge!” the girl squealed.
Erik’s ears flicked back, his instincts screaming both warning and curiosity. The children approached the fence cautiously, one holding out a hand as if inviting him.
He growled low in his throat, a warning not meant to hurt, but to keep his distance.
The children froze, startled, but didn’t run. Instead, they whispered to each other, fascination shining in their eyes.
Erik’s stomach twisted painfully—a sudden reminder of hunger. He had eaten nothing since the battle, and the smells here were foreign and confusing. His wolf mind urged him to hunt, but there was no familiar scent of rabbit or deer. Just strange smells, unrecognizable and distant.
He licked his dry tongue and retreated silently into the thicker brush.
The day dragged on with agonizing slowness. Erik’s senses remained on high alert, every rustle and distant shout sending his heart racing. The world was too bright, too loud, too hot.
The distant shouts pulled at Erik like a faint beacon through the haze of confusion. His heavy paws pressed into the dry earth, moving cautiously but with growing curiosity. Every muscle tensed, ready to flee or fight if needed.
The scents of humans grew stronger—sharp with sweat, leather, and metal—and mingled with something new: the unmistakable musk of other canines, smaller but alert and barking.
Erik slipped silently into the shelter of a thick thicket, his massive form blending almost invisibly among the tangled branches and dry leaves.
Through narrow gaps, he caught sight of a clearing buzzing with activity—people clad in dark blue uniforms moving with focused purpose. Faces set with concentration and urgency, commands shouted crisply across the space, mingling with the sharp barks of dogs and the steady stomp of boots.
One man stood slightly apart from the others. Lean and alert, with a buzzed haircut and eyes that swept the clearing with a predator’s focus. His presence radiated confidence, tempered by a quiet, watchful calm.
Erik’s gaze locked onto him, muscles coiling instinctively.
The man’s eyes flickered wide with surprise. Without hesitation, he lowered his body into a cautious crouch, one hand reaching out slowly in an inviting gesture.
Erik’s ears flattened, torn between wolfish wariness and a spark of something deeper—curiosity, maybe even hope.
The man’s voice came soft but firm, words unintelligible but soothing in their tone.
“Hey there, big guy. You lost?”
Erik cocked his head, struggling to make sense of the strange sounds. The meaning escaped him, but the gentleness was clear.
A sharp whistle cracked through the air.
The man clapped his hands once, a sharp, clear sound that echoed through the clearing.
Erik flinched instinctively but held his ground.
The man took a slow step closer, deliberate and calm, never breaking eye contact.
The muscles along Erik’s spine tightened, his body ready to bolt or fight, but the man did not move like a predator. No sudden gestures. No hostile stance.
Instead, the man knelt, lowering himself closer to Erik’s level. His eyes softened, warm with patience and understanding.
“Easy, boy,” he said, voice low, steady. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Erik’s gaze flickered, confusion and caution warring within him. He sniffed the air cautiously, catching the man’s scent—earthy, unfamiliar, but not threatening.
Tentatively, Erik inched forward, curiosity pulling him despite the warning bells in his mind.
The man extended a hand, fingers relaxed, palm up. “Come on. No tricks.”
The seconds stretched thin.
Then, with a hesitant step, Erik closed the last few feet between them.
The man’s hand met thick fur, gentle and sure. He scratched behind Erik’s ears, careful to keep his touch light.
A deep rumble, almost a purr, vibrated from Erik’s throat—a fragile thread of trust weaving between beast and man.
“Good boy,” the man whispered, a small smile playing on his lips.
For the first time since he arrived in this strange world, Erik felt something like hope stirring beneath the wildness.
Days passed in a blur of new sights, sounds, and smells. Erik—now Bailey—was learning, slowly, to navigate this strange world tethered to a man who seemed determined to earn his trust.
Shane moved at Bailey’s pace, never pushing too hard. He watched for the flicker of understanding in those sharp green eyes, the subtle shifts in body language that meant “I’m listening” or “I’m scared.”
Their training sessions were short and simple at first. Shane used Polish commands—“Usiądź,” “Zostań,” “Chodź”—his voice patient and clear. Bailey obeyed when he could, faltered when overwhelmed, but never shut down.
Each small victory was a thread weaving between them, a fragile bond growing stronger.
Shane learned to read Bailey’s growls and whuffs, adjusting his approach—softening his tone, offering a reassuring hand, waiting patiently when Bailey needed space.
Outside the training yard, Shane began to teach Bailey the sounds of English. “Sit,” “Stay,” “Come.” Bailey’s sharp mind caught the rhythm and emotion behind the words even when the meaning was still a mystery.
By night, Shane would sit beside the kennel, speaking softly, telling stories English. Bailey would rest his massive head on Shane’s knee, the tension easing from his muscles.
They were a team now—two souls from different worlds learning to trust, to understand, to fight together.
And as the first stars blinked awake in the sky, Shane knew this was only the beginning.