The walls of the pack house trembled, not with movement but with memory. It had been years since the beast had screamed, years since his roar had echoed through the stone and shook the air in every room.

The last time he made that sound, it ended in blood. That night, guards had died in ways no one dared to describe, and the chains meant to hold him had broken apart like they were made of paper.

Now, the air carried the same taste. And this time, there was someone in the cell with him.

A boy.

That night had never been spoken of, but it was never forgotten either. Now, the sound had come again, rising from the deep place beneath the pack where he was kept hidden from the world, locked far below where the light did not reach.

The growl started low, like the earth itself was groaning in pain, and slowly grew louder, deeper, stronger, until the windows began to shake in their frames and a terrible stillness swept over the rooms.

People inside the pack house moved without thinking, acting out of fear that lived in their bones. Maids dropped what they were holding and began to run, mothers dragged their children into the nearest corner, pressing their palms to their mouths to silence the cries that would only draw attention.

In the servants’ hall, slaves clung to one another, praying under their breath. It wasn’t just fear—it was knowing. They had seen what happened before. They had seen what the beast could do.

And Lord Thane had kept him starved. Not intentionally, but he had been looking to find a special wolf to feed to him, someone the beast might accept. It had become normal—the silence, the waiting.

But this sound, this roar, meant something had changed. Upstairs, in his private chamber, Lord Thane lay back against the silk pillows, a slave between his legs, sucking the living day out of his manhood, her eyes fluttered shut.

“Keep going, bitch... don’t stop,” he whispered with a hoarse voice.

“Ughhh, yeah, right there… fuck! Take all of me, you slut,” Thane groaned.

“Fuck! Yes… I’m going to cum…ughhh.”

The slave’s hands clutched at his thighs like she was drowning. She didn’t hear the rumble at first—but she felt it. The tremor slid up through the ground and into her knees, knocking her slightly off balance.

Then it grew stronger.

She gasped, falling with a cry, her palms flat against the rug as she covered her ears, her eyes wide and wet with terror.

Thane didn’t flinch.

He leaned back with a soft, annoyed sigh, one hand dragging over his face. His jaw clenched for a second, but he didn’t look afraid. Just... inconvenienced.

“What now?” he muttered, voice dry, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked down at the girl, curled like a kicked dog on the floor. Her lip trembled. Her hair clung to her cheeks, sweat beading on her temples.

She didn’t dare speak.

“Go to your quarters,” Thane said softly, but his voice left no space for refusal. He stood, slow and calm, and reached for the thick black robe draped over the edge of the bed. He wrapped it over his bare chest, still glistening with sweat.

As he crossed to the door, the floor gave another low groan. A brass lamp on the wall table wobbled, slipped sideways. Without even looking, Thane reached and caught it just before it fell.

He set it down, adjusted the wick with a flick of his thumb, and opened the door. The hallway beyond was already lined with guards, their backs straight and hands clenched tight.

They had rules.

They did not interrupt Lord Thane during pleasure.

No matter what beast screamed.

He stepped out, and the door closed behind him with a soft click. “Get the chains,” Lord Thane said, his voice calm but sharp as he stepped in front of the line of guards.

Without another word, he started walking, his feet gliding across the cold stone floor with the smooth, steady steps of a man who had never once feared what was kept beneath the pack.

He walked without pause, without a glance, his eyes fixed ahead, unblinking. The guards behind him followed quickly, but their steps were not steady. Their boots clicked too fast, and the way their hands gripped their weapons showed that they were trying to hide the fear rising up in their throats.

“Yes, Lord,” they all answered together, their voices tight as they hurried behind him. Lord Thane’s eyes stayed straight ahead, fixed on the long stone passage that led to the lowest part of the house, the dungeon.

It was colder there, darker too, and as the scent of wet stone and rusted iron crept into the air, a small frown touched the edge of his mouth. He had known something like this might happen. He had felt it.

This wasn’t the chosen wolf. It was just a boy. Foolish. Weak. Unwanted.

“Such foolishness,” Lord Thane muttered under his breath, almost like he was speaking to the walls. His lips barely moved, and his face stayed smooth, but something in his voice made the guard closest to him flinch a little.

He kept walking, his shoulders straight and his head high, even as the walls around them seemed to grow tighter and heavier with every step. He wasn’t scared of what waited in the cell below. Not even a little.

He had seen what the beast could do. He had seen the blood and the broken chains, but none of it shook him. It excited him, maybe. Or bored him. It was hard to tell.

When they reached the heavy dungeon gates, he raised a hand and pointed forward. “You three,” he said, his voice clear, “lock the gate again. Seal it. I want double the chains. If he breaks out this time, it’s on your heads.”

The three guards he pointed to rushed ahead, dragging the heavy and dark chains which was coated in wolfbane. Their hands shook slightly as they worked quickly to reinforce the gate, wrapping the iron tighter and tighter around the bars, pulling with all their strength.

Thane knew the boy wouldn’t survive. The beast would not accept a male. There had never been a time when he did. And Lord Thane did not pity the boy. He had brought it on himself. He had stepped into the cell on his own.

He had chosen to take his mother’s place.

Behind him, a voice spoke. “Do you think he’s going to break out of the cell this time?” Lord Thane turned his head slightly, just enough to see the tall figure of Madam Alina standing near the stairs.

Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her long sleeves brushing the ground as she walked slowly toward him. “I have no idea,” he said after a moment. “But I hope he doesn’t. Because if he does, it’s going to be brutal.”

She stopped beside him, her eyes fixed on the chains now glowing faintly with wolfsbane dust. “We should have stopped the boy,” she said quietly.

“He made his choice,” Thane said simply, watching the chains tighten across the bars. “He stepped in to take his mother’s place, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be sacrificed too. The beast needs blood. That’s what matters.”

Madam Alina’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing more.

“He made a huge mistake,” Thane added, his voice dropping lower. “Thinking that saving her would change anything. Misplaced priorities.”

He turned then, his robe brushing the floor as he moved away from the cell, his steps calm, his face unreadable. The guards followed behind him, slower than before. None of them spoke.

The chains rattled softly behind them, and even after the noise faded, its echo clung to the stone, sharp and alive like a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

The boy would not survive.

Not a male.

Not with that thing.