Too painful to remember

Talon POV

I wouldn't be surprised if Anthena, my assistant, turned out to be a mole sent by my enemies. Suspicion had already started creeping in, but the conversation I heard recently confirmed it. The humans—they're all like that, so easily convinced and deceived. So easily used. And it's women I've encountered the most in these matters, always underestimating me, always ready to betray.

My mind wandered back to a darker time, to when I'd been thrown in prison for Jasmine's murder.

The floor was cold against my bones as I lay there, weak from hunger, every inch of my body aching from the beatings. Day after day, they'd come—residents with a switch, taking turns, each strike landing on my flesh until my screams echoed off the stone walls, my voice cracking into agony, yet I remained alive. They believed I was a wizard, cursed to survive their torture when I should've died long ago.

One afternoon, the door creaked open and some group of unfamiliar figures stepped inside—two women and three men, their presence casting long shadows across the floor. My stomach twisted with fear, a helpless dread settling over me. Who were these strangers, and what new pain did they bring?

As I dared to look up, one of the women smiled, soft and gentle—the first genuine smile I'd seen in ages. My own face cracked in a hesitant, forced attempt to return it, barely believing it was meant for me. Then she bent down, reaching to pat my head; her touch was unexpectedly kind. It sparked a flicker of hope, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, I'd survive this after all.

Two of the men took hold of my arms and, to my surprise, lifted me gently, guiding me out of the cell and into a waiting van. I realized then that the residents had sold me to these strangers, but for what purpose, I didn't know.

As we drove out of the village, the same woman from before reached into a bag and pulled out a piece of bread, offering it to me. I hesitated, suspicious, but her reassuring smile broke through my fear, and I took it, tearing off the wrapper and stuffing it down hungrily. I ate so fast that I choked, and again she placed a calming hand on my back, handing me a drink.

"Hey, don't rush," she murmured in a soft and gentle tone. I drank deeply, the cool liquid easing my hunger and soothing my parched throat. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the world slipped away.

When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in the van. A laboratory. My blood ran cold, and I realized with a shiver of horror that this was only the beginning.

In the cold, sterile silence of the lab, I was strapped to a metal table, the sterile scent of chemicals filling my lungs. The faint hum of machinery surrounded me, casting the room in an unnatural, almost predatory light. My eyes darted across the room, desperate yet defiant, lingering on the glass vials lining the wall shelves and the masked faces moving on the other side of the observation window.

"Hold still," a voice snapped from behind me, cold and clinical. The scientist—the woman from earlier, her hands gloved in latex—held a syringe filled with a strange, silvery liquid. My heart thudded wildly in my chest as she pressed the needle against my arm. My skin prickled in alarm, muscles coiling with the instinct to escape—yet here I was, bound, powerless, and young, too young even to know what I could become.

The liquid entered my veins with a burning sting. For a moment, I felt my skin ripple, an unnatural shudder coursing through my body, as if something ancient was trying to rise beneath my flesh. The pain was overwhelming, searing through my bones. I gritted my teeth, determined not to scream, not to give them the satisfaction—but the pain was too much. A cry tore from my throat, slicing through the room.

“Interesting,” muttered one of the scientists, jotting down notes, his eyes scanning me as if I were nothing more than an animal under a microscope. "No transformation. The subject seems stable."

I slumped forward, breathing heavily. My senses, normally sharp, felt dulled, as though my very spirit were being chained, forced down by whatever they’d pumped into me. Yet I could feel it, buried deep within—the wildness, the beast desperate to break free. They had no idea of the power simmering just under the surface.

The door clicked open, and another scientist entered, holding a clipboard. “Increase the dose next time,” he said calmly, not even sparing me a glance. I was just a subject to them—a number on a page, a young werewolf who hadn’t even known the taste of the first shift.

My gaze hardened, my pain melting into anger. I didn’t know how, but I knew I would escape. And when I did, they’d understand exactly what it meant to trap a wolf.

They did several experiments within three months, each dose they injected more potent than the last, the pain intensifying with each passing moment.

But on my twelfth birthday, something changed. The pain came suddenly, like a sharp knife to the gut. I doubled over, gripping my stomach, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My muscles trembled as if I were being pulled apart from within. It was as though the wolf inside me, long-dormant and suppressed, was now fighting its way out, refusing to be caged any longer.

I broke free from the chain and dropped to my knees, my nails lengthening and sharpening. My senses sharpened too; the damp smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils. My bones ached, stretched, and reshaped under my skin, the agony and thrill of transformation merging into one overwhelming wave.

When I looked up, my vision was no longer my own—my eyes were now those of a predator. The world was sharper, clearer, and my instincts felt undeniable, urging me to move, to hunt, to run. My wolf had finally awakened.

I threw back my head and let out a howl, a sound that seemed to echo through the room, fierce and triumphant. In that moment, I understood: I was no longer just a test subject or a helpless boy in chains. I was something wild, something powerful, and now, finally, free.

When my captors walked inside the lab, my wolf was no longer hidden. I moved with a lethal grace, my eyes glowing with a primal fire, the beast within fully unleashed. The wolf was my strength, my armour, and my vengeance. And with it, I would ensure my tormentors understood that a wolf, once awakened, could never be controlled.

One by one, without hesitation, I took all five of them down, shredding through them like paper. Their desperate pleas for mercy only fuelled my rage. They deserved every ounce of it.

As soon as I was done, I bolted into the forest, leaving no trace. I was twelve, and this was my second kill.

I shook off the surge of pain that rose like an old wound reopening. Grabbing my phone, I dialled Lucian, my voice cold and steady.

“Place Anthena under 24-hour surveillance. Make sure a tracker’s on her car first thing tomorrow.”

There was a pause, then Lucian’s voice turned serious. “Understood. But there’s something else… we found some corpses by the pack borders.”