Chapter 36 First Meeting
POV: Callum Brennan, then Isla Reid
Location: Isla's Shelter, Whitechapel
Time: Three Days After Callum's Release
CALLUM
I need money for food. That means fighting in Bill Bolter's pits. Same as prison except these fights pay two hundred pounds instead of extra rations.
The fight lasts eight minutes. My opponent is a packless wolf who's been in the Rookeries for years. Tough, experienced, desperate. But I'm tougher. Eighteen months in the Cage taught me things Bill's fighters haven't learned.
I win by submission. Force the wolf to tap out before I kill him. Bill pays me two hundred pounds cash and tells me I can fight again next week.
I'm walking away from the pit when the wolf I beat jumps me from behind. Sore loser wanting revenge. His claws rake across my side, opening deep wounds.
I turn and fight back. We're brawling in the alley behind the pit. No rules now. Just violence.
I get the upper hand. Pin him down. Could kill him but I don't. Just knock him unconscious and leave.
But the damage is done. The claw wounds are deep. Silver-tipped claws. The cuts are burning, not healing properly. I'm losing blood fast.
I stumble through the Rookeries trying to find somewhere safe. Somewhere I can treat the wounds before silver poisoning sets in.
That's when I see the sign. "Shelter. Medical Help Available."
I push through the door. Inside is a converted warehouse space. Clean, organized, better than most Rookeries buildings. Twenty wolves scattered throughout. Some sleeping, some talking quietly.
A woman approaches. Mid-thirties, brown hair, determined expression. She takes one look at my bleeding side and goes into professional mode.
"You're wounded. Come with me."
I follow her to a back room set up as medical area. She gestures to a table. "Sit. Let me see the damage."
I sit. She examines the claw wounds with practiced efficiency.
"Silver-tipped. These need to be cleaned immediately or the poisoning will spread." She pulls out supplies. "This is going to hurt."
"I'm used to pain."
She starts cleaning the wounds. It hurts exactly as much as she promised. The silver burns as she flushes it out. I grit my teeth but don't make a sound. Prison taught me not to show weakness.
"You're fresh from the Cage," she observes. "I can tell from the scars. How long?"
"Eighteen months. Got out three days ago."
"And you're already fighting in Bill's pits. That's stupid. You should be recovering, building strength, not getting torn apart for two hundred pounds."
"I need money for food. Fighting's what I know."
She doesn't respond. Just keeps working. She's good at this. Professional. Nurse-level competence.
"You're a nurse," I say.
"Was a nurse. Before I was turned. Lost my certification when I couldn't control my transformations." She finishes cleaning and starts stitching. "Now I help packless wolves because someone has to."
I study her while she works. There's something familiar about her scent. Not someone I've met. But someone I know about.
Then it hits me. Her scent matches records I saw in Cormac's files. Records from before my arrest. Test subject. Isla Reid. The nurse my brother ordered bitten.
This is the woman Cormac experimented on. The one he turned to test if he could create controlled wolves.
She doesn't know I'm Cormac's brother. Doesn't know I know about her attack.
I should tell her. Should explain that we're both Cormac's victims.
But I don't. I'm too traumatized for explanations. Too broken for complex conversations.
"Done," she announces. "The stitches will hold. Keep the wounds clean. Change bandages daily. You should heal in a week if you don't do anything stupid like fight again."
"Thank you."
She looks surprised. "Most wolves who come through here don't bother with thanks."
I stand to leave. The movement pulls at the stitches but they hold.
"What's your name?" she asks.
"Callum."
"I'm Isla. If you need help again, come back. I run three shelters in the Rookeries. All of them provide medical care and housing for packless wolves."
I nod and walk out without another word. No thanks. No courtesy. Just leaving.
Because I'm too damaged for human interaction. Too broken for kindness.
Prison taught me to survive. Not to connect.
ISLA
I watch Callum leave. He's dangerous. I can see it in the way he moves. The scars covering his body. The dead look in his eyes.
Eighteen months in the Cage breaks wolves. Turns them into killers. Makes them feral or makes them monsters.
Callum's one or the other. I'm not sure which yet.
Sophie appears beside me. "Who was that?"
"Fresh out of prison. Got clawed in Bill's fighting pit. Silver poisoning." I clean up the medical supplies. "He'll probably be back. They always come back once they realize we actually help."
"He seemed different. Not like the usual desperate wolves."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Just. something about him. Like he's still fighting to stay human even though everything's trying to make him a monster." Sophie helps me organize supplies. "Did you get his name?"
"Callum."
"Just Callum? No pack name?"
"Packless wolves don't usually share pack names. Too painful." I finish cleaning. "But yeah. Just Callum."
The name sounds familiar but I can't place it. Maybe I've heard it somewhere. Maybe it's just common.
Sophie returns to managing the shelter. I'm left thinking about the wolf I just treated.
He's dangerous. That much is obvious. Prison-scarred, violence-trained, barely holding onto humanity.
But he thanked me. That's unusual. Most desperate wolves take help without acknowledgment. It's survival mode. They don't have energy for courtesy.
Callum thanked me despite being obviously traumatized. Despite looking like he's about to shatter. Despite being the kind of dangerous that makes smart people keep distance.
That means something. Means he's still got some humanity left. Still trying to maintain basic decency even when everything's stripped away.
"Sophie," I call out.
"Yeah?"
"If that wolf comes back, let me know. I want to talk to him."
"Why? He's just another desperate packless."
"Maybe. Or maybe he's something else." I don't know how to explain the feeling. "Just let me know."
Sophie agrees and goes back to work. I return to treating other wolves. There are always more injuries, more trauma, more desperation.
But I keep thinking about Callum. About the dead look in his eyes. About the thank you that meant he's still fighting.
The Rookeries are full of wolves who've given up. Who've accepted that this is all life offers. Who survive without really living.
Callum's not like that. Not yet. He's still fighting. Still trying to maintain something human.
I recognize that fight. I'm fighting it too. Every day choosing to help instead of give up. Choosing to build instead of break.
Maybe that's why he feels familiar. Not because I know him. Because I recognize the fight.
We're both victims of pack systems that discard wolves like trash. Both turned into monsters against our will. Both trying to stay human in a world that wants us feral.
That's a connection. Small one. Fragile one.
But it's there.
And in the Rookeries, any connection matters. Any humanity preserved is victory.
I'll see Callum again. Wolves like him always need help. Always end up back at shelters.
When he comes back, I'll try talking to him. Try building connection.
Because wolves like us, we need community to survive. We need others who understand the fight.
And Callum's fighting. I can see it.
Question is whether he'll keep fighting or whether the Rookeries will break him like they break everyone eventually.