Chapter 30 Dreams of Freedom
POV: Callum Brennan
Location: Prison Cell
Time: Month 18, Four Months Before Release
I dream about the pack run. The one we did every full moon when Father was alive. Three hundred wolves running through Richmond Park together. The feeling of pack bond, of belonging, of being part of something larger than yourself.
In the dream, I'm running beside Cormac. We're seven years old again. Racing through the trees, trying to catch Father who's always faster. Laughing when we trip over roots. Celebrating when we finally tag him.
Father turns to us. "You two will lead this pack together someday. Remember that. Brothers first. Pack second. Everything else third."
We promise. Solemn little voices making vows we believe will last forever.
Then the dream shifts. I'm still in the pack run but I'm alone. Three hundred wolves running around me and I'm invisible. They can't see me. Can't smell me. I'm packless. Exiled. Running beside wolves who no longer acknowledge my existence.
Cormac runs past. Doesn't look at me. Doesn't recognize his twin brother.
I wake up gasping. Covered in sweat despite the cold cell. My heart's racing from the nightmare that felt more real than memory.
Boris stirs on his cot. "Another bad one?"
"Yeah." I sit up. The dream's fading but the feeling lingers. That desperate loneliness of being surrounded by pack but completely isolated.
"What do you dream about?" Boris asks.
"Before. When I had a pack. When I belonged somewhere." I look at my scarred hands. "And betrayal. I dream about my brother destroying me. Watching him testify against me. Seeing the truth in his eyes when he looked at me during trial."
"The revenge fantasies come yet?"
"What?"
"Everyone in here has revenge fantasies. Imagining what they'll do to the people who put them here. How they'll make them suffer." Boris lights a contraband cigarette. "It's normal. Part of processing."
I think about my revenge fantasies. I have them constantly. Detailed scenarios where I confront Cormac. Where I expose his lies. Where I make him suffer the way he made me suffer.
In some fantasies, I kill him. Rip his throat out like I learned in the fighting pits. Watch him bleed out while I explain exactly what he took from me.
In other fantasies, I destroy him politically. Expose his corruption. Turn the pack against him. Make him packless and exiled like he made me.
The fantasies are vivid. Satisfying. They keep me going when the silver poisoning gets bad and I want to give up.
But they also make me feel guilty. Because wanting to murder your brother, even a brother who destroyed you, feels wrong. Like I'm becoming exactly what the Cage wants me to be. A violent, broken wolf who solves problems with brutality.
"Yeah. I have revenge fantasies," I admit.
"Do you feel bad about them?"
"Sometimes. When I remember who I used to be. Pack Beta who believed in honor and fairness. That version of me would be horrified by the things I imagine doing to Cormac."
"That version of you is dead. Prison killed him. Now you're someone else." Boris takes a drag. "The question is who. Who are you now that the pack wolf is gone?"
I don't have an answer. I know who I'm not. Not the Beta who supported his brother. Not the wolf who believed in justice. Not the person who thought the system was fair.
But who I am now? That's harder to define.
"I'm a survivor," I say finally. "That's all I know for sure."
"Good answer. Because that's all that matters in here. And that's all that'll matter in the Rookeries when you get out."
The Rookeries. Four months from now, that's where I'm going. Packless status means no other options. I'll be exiled to the supernatural slums of East London.
Boris has been preparing me. Telling me about life as packless wolf. The desperation, the violence, the constant struggle to survive without pack support.
"What will you do when you're released?" Boris asks now.
"I don't know. Survive. That's all."
"No revenge plan? No scheme to destroy your brother?"
"I want revenge. But I don't know how to get it. Cormac's Alpha. Protected by the pack and by his vampire allies. I'm packless. Powerless. What am I supposed to do? Challenge him to single combat?" I laugh bitterly. "Pack law won't let me. I'm exiled. I have no legal standing."
"So you're giving up?"
"I'm being realistic. Revenge fantasies are one thing. Actually accomplishing revenge is different." I lie back on my cot. "Right now, my only plan is not dying. Everything else is secondary."
It's a depressing realization. Eighteen months in prison and I have no plan beyond basic survival. No skills for the Rookeries. No connections. No resources.
The pack won't take me back. I'm permanently exiled. That's part of my sentence.
I can't get legitimate work. Who's hiring convicted murderers with no references?
I can't join another pack. Born wolves don't usually accept packless transfers. And my reputation as criminal makes it worse.
So what's left? Fighting pits like the ones in prison. Blood selling like desperate packless wolves. Criminal work for people like Silas who don't care about your past.
That's my future. That's what I survived eighteen months of hell for.
"You're spiraling," Boris observes. "I can hear it in your breathing."
"How do you not spiral? How do you stay sane knowing there's nothing waiting for you outside?"
"I told you. My daughter. I focus on seeing her again. On being there for her." Boris finishes his cigarette. "You need something to focus on too. Something besides survival and revenge."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. That's for you to figure out." Boris rolls over. "But I'll tell you this. If you go into the Rookeries with no plan, you'll die within a month. Or you'll go feral. Either way, Cormac wins."
The thought of going feral terrifies me more than death. Becoming mindless animal. Losing all humanity. Ending up on an execution platform while vampires cheer.
"How do I avoid going feral once I'm alone?" I ask.
"You don't stay alone. You find community. Other packless wolves. Build connections. Maintain humanity through relationships." Boris's voice is serious now. "Wolves are pack animals. We need social bonds to stay sane. Prison has cellmates and fighting partners. That keeps us functional. But alone in the Rookeries with no pack? That's when wolves go feral."
"Where do I find community? Packless wolves don't trust each other. Everyone's desperate and looking out for themselves."
"There are places. Networks. People who help." Boris sits up. "There's a woman named Isla. Runs shelters for packless wolves. Helps newly turned ones survive. I've heard about her from other inmates who got released."
"Isla Reid?"
"Yeah. You know her?"
I don't. But the name sounds familiar. Like I've heard it somewhere before. In holding maybe. Or in court.
"No. Never met her."
"Find her when you get out. She helps packless wolves stay human. Teaches survival skills. Provides shelter and community." Boris looks at me seriously. "You want to avoid going feral? Find Isla. She'll help you."
I file the name away. Isla Reid. Rookeries shelter operator. Someone who helps instead of exploits.
It's not much. But it's more than I had five minutes ago. It's the beginning of a plan that goes beyond just not dying.
Survive prison. Get released. Find Isla. Build connections. Maintain humanity. Figure out revenge later.
That's manageable. That's something I can focus on besides endless revenge fantasies and spiraling fear.
"Thanks," I tell Boris.
"For what?"
"For giving me something to aim for besides survival."
Boris grunts. "Don't thank me yet. You've got four more months in here. And then the Rookeries, which are worse in different ways. Thank me if you're still alive and sane a year from now."
"Deal."
I close my eyes and try to sleep. The dreams will come again. They always do. Nightmares of betrayal. Fantasies of revenge. Memories of the pack I'll never have again.
But now there's something else too. A small hope. A woman named Isla who helps packless wolves. A possibility of community in the wasteland of the Rookeries.
It's not much. But it's enough to get me through tonight.
And tomorrow. And the day after.
Four more months. I can survive four more months.
Then I find Isla. Then I build something. Then I figure out how to stay human in a world that keeps trying to make me a monster.
That's the plan. Simple. Achievable. Better than nothing.
I fall asleep thinking about it. About freedom. About community. About the possibility of being something other than broken.
The nightmares come anyway. But they're not quite as suffocating as before.
Because now there's a plan. However small. However uncertain.
There's something to fight for besides revenge.