Chapter 115 Young Wolves

Chapter 115 Young Wolves
Damon had been restless for weeks.

It started subtly—a shorter temper, a tendency to snap at Ayla over small things, a reluctance to sit still during meals. Elara noticed it first, as mothers do, cataloging the changes with a mixture of concern and recognition. She had been young once, had felt her own wolf stirring, had struggled to contain the wildness that came with growing up.

But Damon's restlessness grew worse as the weeks passed. He stopped eating as much, pushed food around his plate, claimed he wasn't hungry. He slept poorly, tossing and turning, sometimes waking with a gasp as if emerging from a nightmare he could not remember. He spent hours alone in the forest, returning with scratches on his arms and a distant look in his eyes.

Caleb noticed too, though he said nothing at first. He remembered being fourteen, remembered the way his wolf had surged and demanded and refused to be ignored. He remembered the hours he had spent running, hunting, fighting—anything to exhaust the energy that seemed to have no other outlet.

"He's going through something," he told Elara one evening, after Damon had retreated to his corner of the cabin without saying goodnight. "His wolf is getting stronger. It's going to be a difficult transition."

"More difficult than yours?"

"Different." Caleb stared into the fire, thinking. "I didn't have control at his age. Most of us didn't. We shifted when the moon was full, whether we wanted to or not. We ran with the pack, and that helped. We weren't alone."

"But we can't make him shift. He has to learn to control it himself."

"I know." He reached over and took her hand. "That's what makes this hard. We can't do it for him."

\---

The night it happened, the moon was full and the air was cold.

Elara woke to the sound of the door opening, soft footsteps crossing the threshold, and then silence. She lay still for a moment, listening, waiting for the sounds to resume—a trip to the latrine, a drink of water, a restless wander. But the silence stretched, and her instincts stirred.

She reached for Caleb, shook him awake. "Damon's gone."

He was on his feet before she finished speaking, pulling on his boots, reaching for his cloak. "How long?"

"A few minutes. Maybe more. I heard the door."

Caleb was already moving toward the exit, his hand on the latch. "Stay here. Watch the others. I'll find him."

"Be careful."

He nodded and was gone.

\---

The forest was dark, the moonlight filtering through the trees in silver patches. Caleb moved quickly, his eyes scanning the shadows, his ears straining for any sound. The trail was easy to follow—Damon had not tried to hide his passage, had simply walked into the trees with the single-minded focus of someone who was not entirely in control.

He found him by the river, a mile from the cabin, standing in the shallows in wolf form, his head raised to the moon.

He was beautiful, this son of theirs, his gray fur silver in the moonlight, his eyes bright with something that was not quite human. He was ululating—a long, mournful sound that seemed to echo off the water and the trees and the distant mountains.

Caleb did not approach immediately. He stood at the edge of the clearing, watching his son, feeling the weight of years and love and worry settle on his shoulders. Damon was not a cub anymore, not a child, not even really a boy. He was something in between, caught between two forms, two natures, two selves.

He did not know how long he stood there, watching and waiting. The ululation faded, replaced by silence, and then by softer sounds—whimpers, almost, the kind of sounds a hurt animal might make.

Caleb walked forward, his footsteps loud on the frost-hardened ground. Damon turned, his eyes wild, his body tense. He did not run, but he did not approach either. He simply stood, watching his father come.

Caleb stopped a few feet away, close enough to touch but not touching. He looked at his son—wolf-formed, fierce, afraid—and felt something shift in his chest.

He raised his head to the moon and howled.

The sound was deep and long, a call that traveled through the forest, through the night, through whatever walls Damon had built around himself. It was not a command or a demand. It was an invitation.

Damon hesitated, his ears flicking, his body still tense. Then he raised his head and howled too.

Their voices blended, father and son, wolf and wolf, the sound rising and falling, filling the clearing, filling the night. Caleb kept his eyes on Damon, watching the tension drain from his body, watching the wildness ease.

They howled until their throats were raw, until the moon had moved across the sky, until something that had been broken was mended.

When they stopped, Damon was trembling. He took a step toward his father, then another, then collapsed against him, his wolf form shifting back to human, his arms wrapping around Caleb's waist.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice muffled. "I didn't mean to—I couldn't—"

"It's okay." Caleb held him, his hand on the back of his son's head. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."

Damon wept, the sobs shaking his body, his fists clutching at his father's shirt. Caleb held him through it, saying nothing, just being there, just waiting.

When the tears subsided, Damon pulled back, his face streaked with salt and guilt. "Mama's going to be worried."

"She knows I found you. She's waiting."

Damon nodded, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and let his father lead him home.

\---

Elara was waiting by the door, wrapped in a blanket, her face pale with worry. She did not rush to embrace Damon, did not smother him with questions. She simply looked at him, at his tear-streaked face, at his red-rimmed eyes, and held out her arms.

He walked into them, and she held him, and for a long moment, no one spoke.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered.

"Her şey yolunda." Elara smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Sadece büyüyorsun. That's all. Just growing up."

Damon pulled back, looking at her, then at Caleb. "I'm not going to be like this forever, am I? The restlessness, the losing control—it's going to stop eventually?"

"Eventually." Caleb rested a hand on his shoulder. "It takes time. Practice. Patience. But yes, it stops."

"How long?"

"Different for everyone. Took me a couple of years."

"A couple of years?" Damon's voice rose. "I can't feel like this for a couple of years."

"You won't. It gets easier. The bad nights get further apart." Caleb squeezed his shoulder. "And we're here. You're not alone."

Damon looked at his parents—at his mother's steady gaze, his father's calm certainty—and felt something loosen in his chest. He was not alone. He had never been alone.

"Can I have some tea?" he asked.

"Of course." Elara led him to the fire, sat him down, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. "I'll make tea. You rest."

Ayla appeared in the doorway of her room, her eyes wide, her hair mussed from sleep. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine." Elara waved her back to bed. "Go back to sleep."

"Is Damon okay?"

"I'm fine, Ayla." Damon managed a weak smile. "Go back to bed."

Ayla hesitated, then nodded and disappeared. A moment later, they heard the soft sound of her door closing.

Elara made tea, and they sat by the fire, the three of them, watching the flames dance.

"You scared me," Elara said finally, her voice quiet. "When I woke up and you were gone—I was scared."

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"I know." She reached over and took his hand. "That's why I'm not angry. Just... scared. And relieved. And proud."

"Proud?" Damon frowned. "I ran away. I lost control. How can you be proud of that?"

"Because you came back." She squeezed his fingers. "Because you're trying. Because you're not giving up."

Damon looked down at their joined hands, then at his father, then at the fire. "I'm not going to give up. I'm going to get through this. I'm going to be the Alpha this pack needs."

"I know you will." Caleb leaned back in his chair, his eyes on his son. "That's why I'm not worried."

\---

They stayed by the fire until the tea was gone and the embers were low. Then Elara kissed Damon goodnight, and Caleb walked him to his room, and they left him to sleep.

Caleb found Elara still sitting by the fire, her face troubled, her hands wrapped around her empty cup.

"He's going to be fine," he said, settling beside her.

"I know."

"But you're still worried."

"I'm his mother." She looked up at him, her eyes wet. "I'm always going to worry."

Caleb put his arm around her, pulled her close. "That's how it should be."

They sat together, watching the fire die, listening to the soft sounds of their children sleeping. Outside, the moon was setting, and the first gray light of dawn was touching the horizon.

"Büyüyorlar," Elara said. "Too fast."

"Too fast," Caleb agreed. "But that's how it's supposed to be."

She leaned against him, and they sat in silence, and waited for the sun to rise.