Chapter Text
The witch's scream tore through the forest like metal scraping bone.
Erik's paws hammered frozen earth, claws ripping grooves through frost and dirt as he lunged. Blood—hers, his—steamed in winter air, turning snow beneath them into a mottled canvas of violence.
The air reeked of burned sage and iron.
His packmates flanked him, muscle and fur weaving between skeletal birches, eyes flashing gold in the dark. Their breath came in white plumes. The drumbeat of their paws surrounded him, steady as his own heartbeat.
The witch stumbled against a tree, robes tangling around her legs.
Nowhere left to run.
The Alpha's voice cracked through Erik's skull, sharp and absolute.
Erik—left flank. Now.
He didn't hesitate. Obedience was marrow-deep. He cut left, snow spraying, and came up on her blind side. The witch's gaze darted between him and the Alpha, chest heaving, fingers twitching with whatever magic remained.
Her lips curled.
She raised her hand—and the world split.
Not wind through trees or thunder across sky, but something wrong. Deep-wrong. Sharp as broken glass dragged beneath skin.
The air thinned. Too thin.
Erik's hackles rose. A primal snarl ripped from his throat.
Fall back! The Alpha's mental voice cracked like a whip. Now, pup.
Erik tried. Gods, he tried—but the ground twisted beneath him, the world bending sideways. His legs felt lead-heavy, then weightless.
The witch's eyes found his. Bright with triumph and madness both. She was dying—they'd made certain of that—but witches never went quietly. Her final words poured out in a language older than bone, older than the first snowfall, curling through air like smoke.
The sound hooked into his skull. Every syllable blurred his vision.
Something hot and cold coiled around his chest, squeezing. He stumbled, breath shuddering.
Alpha—? His voice in the link cracked, thinner than he meant.
Stay with me! Steel wrapped in fear. Fight it, Erik! Push back! She can't take you if you fight!
Breathing hurt. His front legs buckled. 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 charged—a massive black-furred wall of fury and purpose, eyes blazing wildfire. The other wolves moved too, fanning out in desperate rush, but they were seconds too far.
The witch's words climbed higher, faster, until the air itself shivered.
Light burst outward—not sun, not moon, but something raw and ripping that burned and froze at once.
Erik's vision went white. His paws vanished—no, still there, but he couldn't feel them. His chest hollowed out.
Don't you— The Alpha's voice roared through his skull.
Erik 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 forest, snow, pack, the Alpha's face—
Nothing.
Heat punched into him.
Not lazy summer warmth, but thick, wet weight that settled in Erik's lungs and made every breath heavy, slow, wrong.
His eyes snapped open. Sky above—hard, bright blue, too sharp, too wide—stabbed into his vision.
No snow. No towering pines. No cold wind tugging his fur.
Only heat.
Erik's body felt foreign, muscles twitching with leftover adrenaline, paws sinking into dirt that was soft and cracked instead of frozen. His breath came ragged, his wolf form huge and solid, the thick coat of black, gray, and cream catching brutal sun.
He lifted his muzzle, tasting air.
Wrong.
No sharp pine or cold river. Instead, hot asphalt burned his nostrils, mixed with distant smoke—dry, choking, oily.
Faint ghost-scent of meat.
And something else.
Voices.
Words in a language he didn't know.
Erik stiffened, ears swiveling.
The voices came from nearby but not close. Sharp, clipped syllables that didn't roll like Swedish. Fast and rushed, punctuated by laughter and shouts that felt urgent but utterly foreign.
He couldn't understand a single word.
His mind flickered back—half memory, half dream. The Alpha's voice, deep and commanding, cutting through chaos.
Stay with me, pup. Fight. Don't go.
But the light had taken him anyway.
He shook his head, trying to focus. His paws trembled as he stood, muscles coiled. This place was not home. Not his world.
The forest smelled wrong. The air tasted wrong.
And yet—
Something inside urged him forward.
Erik padded cautiously ahead, dirt soft and dry beneath his paws, cracking like brittle bone. Heat pressed down, a heavy blanket making every movement feel like wading through water.
His wolf senses strained to parse new smells and sounds. Birds called out—sharp, unfamiliar chirps with none of the sweet resonance of Scandinavian forests. Small insects buzzed past his ears, wings slicing humid air with alien hum.
Grass scent—but different. Freshly cut, green and sharp, not wild and soft like home. It mingled with a strange chemical sting that wrinkled his nose.
Ahead, engines roared—a noise he'd never heard, loud and continuous, like thunder rising from the ground instead of sky.
Instinct screamed to hide, to find cover and wait. But curiosity gnawed at him, that stubborn spark the Alpha had always praised. So he kept moving. Careful. Silent.
At the clearing's edge, he froze.
A tall, flat stretch of black cut straight through the landscape—a road, slick and shimmering under blazing sun. On it, large metal beasts roared past, carrying humans with sharp, unfamiliar faces.
His fur bristled. He dropped low, belly scraping dirt, and slunk into shade near a fence.
Behind it, two children played in a backyard garden. Laughing, voices high and musical but utterly foreign. One pointed excitedly toward him.
"Look at that dog! It's huge!" the girl squealed.
Erik's ears flicked back, instincts screaming warning and curiosity in equal measure. The children crept toward the fence, one hand extended like an invitation.
He growled—low, careful. A warning, not a threat.
They froze but didn't flee. Instead they whispered to each other, eyes bright with fascination.
Erik's stomach clenched with sudden, vicious hunger. He hadn't eaten since the battle. Everything here smelled wrong—foreign, confusing. His wolf urged him to hunt, but there was no rabbit, no deer. Only strange scents he couldn't name.
He licked his dry muzzle and melted back into the brush.
The day dragged with agonizing slowness. Erik's senses stayed razor-sharp, every rustle and distant shout sending his heart racing. The world was too bright, too loud, too hot.
And he was so desperately alone.
No pack-sense humming at the edges of his mind. No Alpha's steady presence anchoring him. Just silence where connection should be, an emptiness that ached worse than hunger.
Where am I?
The question circled endlessly, unanswered. This wasn't just a different forest or a different territory. This was a different world. He could feel it in his bones, in the wrongness of every scent and sound.
The witch's curse had flung him somewhere impossible.
And he had no idea how to get back.
Distant shouts pulled at him like a faint beacon through confusion's haze. His heavy paws pressed into dry earth, moving cautiously but with growing curiosity. Every muscle tensed, ready to flee or fight.
Human scents grew stronger—sharp with sweat, leather, and metal—mingling with something new: the unmistakable musk of other canines. Smaller but alert and barking.
Erik slipped into a thick thicket's shelter, his massive form blending almost invisibly among tangled branches and dry leaves.
Through narrow gaps, he glimpsed a clearing buzzing with activity. People in dark blue uniforms moved with focused purpose. Faces set with concentration and urgency, commands shouted crisply across space, mingling with sharp barks and steady boot-stomps.
One man stood slightly apart.
Lean and alert, buzzed hair, eyes sweeping the clearing with a predator's focus. His presence radiated confidence tempered by quiet, watchful calm.
Erik's gaze locked onto him. Muscles coiled instinctively.
The man's eyes flickered wide with surprise. Without hesitation, he lowered into a cautious crouch, one hand reaching out slowly in invitation.
Erik's ears flattened, torn between wolfish wariness and something deeper—curiosity. Maybe even hope.
The man's voice came soft but firm, words unintelligible but soothing in tone.
"Hey there, big guy. You lost?"
Erik cocked his head, struggling to parse the strange sounds. The meaning escaped him, but the gentleness was clear.
A sharp whistle cracked through air.
The man clapped once—sharp, clear, echoing through the clearing.
Erik flinched but held his ground.
The man took a slow step closer, deliberate and calm, never breaking eye contact.
Muscles along Erik's spine tightened, body ready to bolt or fight, but the man didn't move like a predator. No sudden gestures. No hostile stance.
Instead, he knelt, lowering himself closer to Erik's level. His eyes softened, warm with patience and understanding.
"Easy, boy," he said, voice low and steady. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
Erik's gaze flickered. Confusion and caution warred within him. He sniffed cautiously, catching the man's scent—earthy, unfamiliar, but not threatening.
He's not afraid of me.
That realization struck something deep. Everyone else had looked at him with fear or suspicion. But this man—this human—looked at him with recognition. Like he saw something worth trusting.
Tentatively, Erik inched forward, curiosity pulling despite warning bells.
The man extended his hand, fingers relaxed, palm up. "Come on. No tricks."
Seconds stretched thin.
Then, with hesitant step, Erik closed the distance.
The man's hand met thick fur, gentle and sure. He scratched behind Erik's ears, touch careful and 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, small smile playing on his lips.
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, Erik felt something like hope stirring beneath the wildness.
Maybe I'm not completely alone after all.
Days blurred into weeks.
Erik—now Bailey, though the name still felt strange—was learning to navigate this world tethered to a man determined to earn his trust.
Shane.
That was his name. Erik had heard it spoken enough times to recognize it, even if he couldn't speak it himself.
Shane moved at Bailey's pace, never pushing too hard. He watched for flickers of understanding in those sharp green eyes, subtle shifts in body language that meant I'm listening or I'm scared or I don't understand.
Their training sessions started simple. Shane used Polish commands—"Usiądź," "Zostań," "Chodź"—his voice patient and clear. Bailey obeyed when he could, faltered when overwhelmed, but never shut down.
He's teaching me like I'm a dog, Erik thought with frustration during those early days. But I'm not. I'm human. I'm seventeen. I'm—
But he wasn't, was he? Not anymore. Not here.
His body was wolf. His voice was growls and whines. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make his throat form human words.
The realization hit him again and again, fresh grief each time.
I can't tell him. I can't tell anyone.
So he learned. He watched Shane's hands, his face, his body language. He listened to tone and rhythm. He began to understand that certain sounds meant certain things, even when the words themselves were meaningless.
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 reassuring touch, waiting patiently when Bailey needed space.
Outside the training yard, Shane began teaching Bailey English sounds too. "Sit," "Stay," "Come." Bailey's sharp mind caught the rhythm and emotion behind words even when meaning remained mystery.
Two languages, Erik thought with something almost like amusement. He's teaching me two languages I can't speak.
But he could understand. That was something.
By night, Shane would sit beside the kennel, speaking softly, telling stories in English. Bailey would rest his massive head on Shane's knee, tension easing from his muscles.
In those quiet moments, Erik let himself pretend. Pretend he was still human. Pretend Shane knew the truth. Pretend this strange, hot, wrong world might somehow become home.
My pack is gone, he thought, staring up at unfamiliar stars. The Alpha is gone. My world is gone.
But maybe—maybe I can have this.
Shane's hand moved through his fur, gentle and constant.
"You're something special, aren't you, boy?" Shane murmured. "Don't know where you came from, but I'm glad you found me."
Erik's chest tightened with emotion he couldn't name. Grief and gratitude tangled together.
Me too, he thought. Me too.
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.