Chapter 161 Not Being Controlled
Jolie pov
"And you're not being controlled." Tessa replies. "You're trying to keep people safe."
"Both are valid." I pull my empathy back, already feeling the drain. "The key is finding balance. Paul, can you trust that wolves will maintain readiness without formal rules? Tessa, can you understand why the structure feels safe to some wolves?" They both nod slowly.
We continue like this for an hour. Each wolf sharing their confusion, me helping them feel each other's perspectives, building bridges through enforced empathy.
By the end, they're not best friends. But they understand each other better."Same time tomorrow?" I ask as they leave.
They agree, some of them even talking to each other on the way out."That was incredible." Luna reviews her notes. "I watched hostility transform into understanding in real time."
"That was exhausting." I slump in my chair. "One session and my power is half depleted."
"Can you handle another one today?" She asks carefully.
"Give me two hours to recover." I close my eyes. "Then I'll do one more."
The second session is harder. A group of former enforcers struggling to integrate with wolves they used to hunt. The tension is thick enough.
"I don't understand why they're here." One of the enforcers, a man named Lucas, gestures at the California escapees. "They broke Council law. They're fugitives."
"We were prisoners." One of the escapees, a woman named River, snaps back. "Not criminals. Captives."
"The Council was conducting legitimate research"
"The Council was torturing us!" River stands, shaking with rage. "They experimented on us! Treated us like animals! And you helped them!"
"I was following orders"
"So were the guards at concentration camps!" She's crying now. "That's not an excuse!"
"Everyone stop." I stand, my voice already wavering. "Lucas, River, both of you sit down. Now."
They obey, still glaring at each other."Lucas, you need to understand something." I move closer to him. "This isn't about following orders. This is about choices, you chose to enforce Council policy. You chose to see captives as research subjects instead of people. Those were your choices."
"I didn't know" He starts.
"Yes, you did." I cut him off. "You felt my empathy when we captured you. You experienced exactly what the captives felt. You knew. You just chose to ignore it because acknowledging it meant accepting responsibility."
His face flushes with shame.
"River, you need to understand something too." I turn to her. "Lucas can't undo what he did. He can't give you back the years you lost. All he can do is choose differently now. And he's here, trying to learn, trying to be better. That has to count for something."
"It doesn't erase what he did." She whispers.
"No." I agree. "It doesn't. But it's a start. Now let me help you understand each other."
I reach out with my empathy, touching both of them simultaneously. This is harder—projecting two perspectives at once, making them feel what the other feels. Lucas experiences River's captivity. Years in a cell, being studied, being experimented on. The dehumanization of being treated as a specimen. The fear of never being free.
River experiences Lucas's conditioning. Being trained from youth to see Council authority as absolute. Being taught that captives were dangerous, that research was necessary, that obedience was virtue. The cognitive dissonance of realizing everything he believed was a lie. They both gasp, tears streaming down their faces.
"I'm sorry." Lucas sobs. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to see what I was doing. Didn't want to accept that I was wrong."
"I didn't know." River cries. "I didn't know they conditioned you too, made you into a weapon just like they made me into a victim."
"We're both victims." Lucas meets her eyes. "And we're both trying to recover. Can we do that together?"
"I don't know." River admits. "But I'm willing to try."
They reach across the circle and clasp hands. Not forgiveness, not yet. But understanding the beginning of healing.
I pull my empathy back and immediately sway. Two intensive projections back to back. "That's enough for today." Luna catches my arm. "You need to rest."
"There are six more sessions scheduled"
"Which can wait until tomorrow." She's already guiding me toward the door. "You're no good to anyone if you burn out."
She's right. I can barely walk straight, using empathy this intensively is like running marathons back to back. But it's working. Wolves are understanding each other, conflicts are resolving, the pack is integrating.
Over the next few days, I facilitate fourteen more sessions. Each one draining, each one necessary. I help Nightshade wolves understand biker culture. Help Iron Fangs members understand traditional pack needs and help enforcers understand their victims. Help Academy graduates understand they're not alone.
By day six, I'm running on fumes. My moonfire barely flickers. I can't project empathy anymore, can only sense emotions weakly. "You need to stop." Ryder finds me after session number sixteen. "You're going to collapse."
Just one more." I argue. "There's a conflict between"
“No." He lifts me into his arms. "No more sessions today, you rest. That's an order from your alpha."
"I'm not your pack member." I protest weakly. "I'm your mate, you can't order me around."
"Watch me." He carries me toward our cabin. "You've been meditating for six days straight, your moonfire is depleted. Your body is exhausted. You're done."
"But the pack”
"Will survive one day without your intervention." He kicks the cabin door open. "Luna and I can handle basic mediation, you need recovery time."
He sets me on the bed and I immediately feel how tired I am. Bone-deep exhaustion that makes even breathing feel like work. But as Ryder turns to leave, something in me rebels against the emptiness. The bed feels too big and cold.
"Wait," I murmur, catching his wrist. My fingers barely circle half of it, but he stops immediately, tension radiating through his massive frame.
"Jolie." His voice carries a warning. "You need to rest."
"I need you." The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and honest. "Please. I haven't... we haven't..."
He turns back, and the look in his amber eyes is pure torment. "you can barely keep your eyes open."
"Then help me stay awake." I sit up slowly, wincing as my depleted muscles protest. My fingers find the hem of my shirt, tugging it upward. "You said I need to rest. Help me relax."
"That's not” His words cut off as I pulled the shirt over my head, exposing the sports bra underneath and the constellation of scars across my ribs. Scars he's traced with his lips a hundred times, claiming each mark of my pain as his to heal.
His jaw clenches, a muscle jumping beneath the dark scruff of his beard. "You're playing dirty."
"I learned from the best." I reach for his belt buckle, my hands trembling—though whether from exhaustion or anticipation, I can't tell. "Besides, you need this too. I can smell the tension on you. When's the last time you actually relaxed?"