Nathaniel stood at the edge of the clearing, watching Elias. The boy had grown stronger in the weeks since Nathaniel had found him — his body a little less fragile, his movements a little less wild. But there were still moments. The moments when the hunger hit, the wolf inside fighting for dominance, clawing at his insides like a feral animal that could not be tamed.
Today was one of those moments.
Elias was kneeling beside the fire, stirring the embers with a stick. His eyes were distant, his expression hollow, as if something deep inside him had shattered. Nathaniel could feel the boy's unease, the rising tension in his chest, but Elias hadn't spoken. He had stopped asking questions long ago.
The curse was a burden, one that Nathaniel couldn't free Elias from, no matter how hard he tried. Every day, every moment, it hung over them like a shadow — a reminder of what Elias had become and what Nathaniel had created.
The hunger wasn't just in the blood. It was in the soul.
Elias had tasted it already — the primal need to hunt, to feed, to tear flesh from bone. Nathaniel had seen it in the boy's eyes the first time he'd fed after turning. That gleam of hunger. That emptiness. It scared Nathaniel more than anything else. Because the more Elias fed, the more the wolf inside him would awaken. And Nathaniel couldn't let that happen. Not again.
"Elias," Nathaniel called softly, stepping forward.
The boy flinched but didn't look up. His hands trembled on the stick.
Nathaniel walked over, crouching down beside him. He could feel the unease radiating off Elias like a heat. "Talk to me," Nathaniel said, his voice quiet, but firm. "What's going on inside your head?"
Elias's lips trembled, but he didn't speak. His breath quickened, as though he were holding something back. His body stiffened, like a tightly wound spring. And then, before Nathaniel could stop him, Elias pushed himself to his feet, his breath coming in sharp bursts.
"I can't control it," Elias whispered, voice cracking. He turned to face Nathaniel, his eyes wide, wild. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to be like them. But—" He paused, choking on his own words. "But every time I close my eyes, I see it. I hear it. I feel it."
Nathaniel stood, his heart aching. "I know."
Elias's fists clenched. "No. You don't," he spat, his voice rising. "You're not the one who wakes up every night covered in blood. You're not the one who feels like something is eating you alive from the inside out."
The pain in Elias's voice cut deeper than any of the wounds he had suffered in his transformation. Nathaniel stepped forward, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"You're not alone, Elias," Nathaniel said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I know what it's like. I feel it too."
Elias turned away, shaking his head. "You're just trying to make me feel better. But you're not."
Nathaniel's heart twisted. He had no answer to that. Because, in truth, he wasn't sure if he could make Elias feel better. Or if anything could.
But the boy had to understand that there was still a way out. There had to be.
"You can control it," Nathaniel said, voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at his own heart. "We can control it."
But Elias was no longer listening. The tension in his body was unbearable, like a powder keg ready to explode. Nathaniel could feel it. The moment of transition was coming.
"I can't," Elias muttered, his voice barely audible. His fists clenched tighter. "I can't fight it."
Nathaniel didn't give up. "You're stronger than you think," he said. "The hunger doesn't define you, Elias. It's just a part of you. And I can help you control it."
For a long moment, Elias stood silent, his head bent as he struggled with the conflict raging inside him. The inner battle between man and beast was always there, pressing against the thin barrier of his will. Nathaniel could almost feel the beast stirring within him, like an ancient predator coiled just beneath the surface.
Then, Elias spoke, his voice so quiet Nathaniel barely heard it.
"What if I fail?"
Nathaniel's heart clenched. He had never seen Elias so broken, so vulnerable. This was no longer the boy who had once been defiant, fighting to stay human. This was someone teetering on the edge, caught between his humanity and the monster that had been thrust upon him.
"You won't fail," Nathaniel said, his voice soft but firm. "Not while I'm here."
Elias looked at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and doubt. He was looking for something — something to believe in. Something to hold on to. Nathaniel didn't have much. But he had this: the promise to never let Elias go.
The days that followed were difficult. Elias struggled with his hunger more than ever, his grip on his humanity slipping with every passing day. His transformation was becoming more uncontrollable, his body shifting between man and beast more often than before.
Nathaniel tried everything — soothing words, guiding touches, long hours spent by the fire, teaching Elias how to focus his thoughts, how to feel the shift coming before it overwhelmed him. But it wasn't enough. The beast was growing stronger inside Elias, and Nathaniel couldn't stop it.
One evening, as the sun set behind the trees and the air began to chill, Elias came to him, trembling with suppressed emotion.
"I can't do this," he whispered, barely audible. "I can't control it anymore."
Nathaniel's chest tightened. He had known this day would come, but hearing it out loud still felt like a gut punch. He stepped forward and gripped Elias's shoulder, turning the boy to face him.
"You're not alone," Nathaniel said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will always be here. We will always be here — together."
Elias's eyes searched his face, desperate for reassurance, but in the end, he only nodded. The beast within him stirred, but for the first time in days, Nathaniel felt a faint trace of control in Elias's gaze.
The wolf wasn't in charge. Not yet.
And maybe — just maybe — there was still a chance.