James was trying—actively trying—to process everything correctly.
His brain felt like it had been kicked into overdrive, thoughts moving faster, sharper, cleaner.
It was like someone had doubled his processing power overnight… and forgot to install a limiter.
But as that happened—
He felt it.
Hunger.
Not subtle.
Not ignorable.
It crept back in, slow at first, then steadily building—gnawing at him from the inside. He hadn't fully grasped it yet, but the pattern was there.
The more he used his werewolf abilities…
The more his body demanded sustenance.
Fuel.
A trade.
Power for hunger.
…
Caius, meanwhile, had stopped writing in his notebook.
James' enhanced vision caught glimpses of what was inside—detailed sketches, precise lines, things drawn with an almost obsessive level of accuracy.
"You draw?" James asked, curiosity slipping through.
Caius tilted his head slightly.
"It is a skill I acquired."
Of course he answered like that.
Minimal.
Borderline robotic.
He turned his gaze toward James.
"It helps me perform my duties more effectively."
That—actually made sense.
And it reminded James of something.
"Oh yeah," he said, shifting slightly. "What is your job?"
A pause.
He looked at Caius more directly.
"I don't think you mentioned it."
Caius regarded him the same way one might look at an acquaintance—neutral, measured.
"Scout," he said.
A brief pause followed, like he was selecting a more accurate term.
"Or Vanguard."
James nodded slowly.
Okay.
That sounded important.
"So like—you scout the area and report anything suspicious?" he guessed.
Solid logic.
Reasonable.
Caius inhaled slowly, like a man preparing to explain something to a child who almost got it.
"You are partially correct."
His amber eyes swept over James again, analyzing.
"We do conduct patrols."
A pause—just long enough for the information to settle.
"However," he continued, "you are incorrect in assuming we merely report threats."
James raised a brow.
"…Then what do you do?"
Caius didn't hesitate.
"If the captain deems it necessary—we eliminate the threat."
Calm.
Clinical.
Like he was explaining how to tie a shoe.
"No need to report something that no longer exists."
"…Ah."
Yeah.
That hit different.
James' expression shifted, a faint chagrin settling in.
He had expected blunt.
This?
This was surgical.
"No need for surprise," Caius added, reopening his notebook like nothing had happened.
"The Ironmaw cabin operates under Lady Kaela's jurisdiction."
And just like that—
A cold shudder ran down James' spine.
Kaela.
He remembered her.
Not just as a person—
But as a force.
A walking embodiment of violence that genuinely enjoyed throwing hands like it was a hobby.
Seeing the lingering tension in James' expression, Caius understood immediately.
The boy had met her.
Whether that encounter had been positive or traumatic…
Yeah, the answer was written all over his face.
"Since you are already familiar with our
captain," Caius said, closing his notebook again, "I will keep this simple."
He glanced at James.
"Most of our missions end with her wanting to fight something."
…
Yeah.
That tracked.
Perfectly.
"And if the assignment is a standard patrol," Caius continued, "she allows us to handle it."
A wry smile tugged at James' lips.
Internally?
He wanted to call her a lazy bum.
But after remembering that werewolves might have some freaky mind-reading adjacent abilities?
Yeah.
He kept that thought locked up tight.
Instead—
"So she just hands the work off to you?" he asked.
Caius tapped his finger lightly against the table.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No shame.
Just facts.
"But it serves as training," he added. "She intervenes if we are unable to handle the situation."
James' brow furrowed.
Werewolves could take insane amounts of damage.
He knew that firsthand.
Spine broken.
Limbs shattered.
Ribs rearranged like abstract art.
And that one moment—
Yeah.
The one where Kaela's fist hit him so hard it felt like it left an imprint on his soul.
Even now, though his body had healed…
A faint, fist-shaped scar remained on his abdomen.
Permanent reminder.
"I see…" James muttered, glancing toward the kitchen. The food should be coming soon.
Hopefully.
Because his hunger?
Yeah, it was getting louder.
"But aside from that," Caius continued, "we ensure the territory remains secure. Anything present without authorization is dealt with."
James nodded.
He knew exactly what "dealt with" meant.
"So you guys are like… border patrol?" he asked.
Closest comparison he had.
"In a sense," Caius replied.
His finger tapped against the table again.
"We also handle internal disturbances within the territory."
James blinked.
That felt… above a scout's pay grade.
"Hm."
Truly insightful response.
"To summarize," Caius continued, "there are many supernatural entities that prey on humans."
Yeah.
That checked out.
Every fantasy book James had ever read suddenly felt less like fiction and more like lightly edited documentaries.
"We do not interfere without reason," Caius said. "What others consume is not our concern."
Loose system.
Flexible.
"But—" he added, voice steady, "if they become a nuisance… or pose a risk to the balance and safety of the territory…"
A pause.
"We intervene."
Calm.
Unbothered.
Like it was just another Tuesday.
"That sounds like a lot of fighting," James said, glancing around again. He really wished he had something to drink right now—this conversation would be a lot less intense with a cup of water in his hand.
"It is," Caius confirmed. "We frequently find ourselves near death."
James' eyes widened.
"…You say that like it's a good thing."
Caius didn't even flinch.
"Anything that does not kill us makes us stronger."
…
Of course.
Werewolves had their own version of a Zenkai boost.
"Wait—do you mean that literally," James asked, leaning forward slightly, "or like…
metaphorically?"
"I mean it literally."
No hesitation.
No ambiguity.
Caius tapped his index finger against the table again.
"And that is precisely why," he continued, "I must warn you."
That got James' full attention instantly.
"Be cautious."
His tone didn't change—but something about it carried weight now.
"Any supernatural entity with even a basic awareness of our kind will attempt to kill you."
James stilled slightly.
"And under no circumstances," Caius added, voice firm now, "should you ever attempt to feign death."
…
That sounded like experience talking.
"Is it really that bad?" James asked, genuinely curious now. "Like… everyone just double taps?"
"Would you risk your enemy surviving," Caius asked calmly, "when you are even faintly aware that if they do survive… their power will increase?"
James let out a quiet, wry breath.
"I mean… I wouldn't."
He caught the look on Caius' face—flat, expectant—and sighed, conceding.
"…Yeah. I get your point."
Caius gave a small nod, satisfied.
Lesson understood.
Meanwhile, James' mind was already racing ahead, trying to piece together ways to not die horribly. Now that he understood how thorough people were about making sure you stayed dead?
Yeah.
Experimentation suddenly felt like a terrible life choice.
Caius noticed the shift immediately—the subtle tightening in James' posture, the faint spike of unease in his scent.
"Do not worry," he said, voice even.
"Most do not dare to attack us."
James' brow furrowed.
"And why is that?"
Genuine question.
Caius didn't hesitate.
"We are known to hold grudges."
…
Okay.
That alone was already a solid deterrent.
"We are not above wiping out an entire town."
Ah.
There it was.
Yeah—that would do it.
Caius paused briefly, inhaling before continuing.
"And most creatures tend to avoid us if they suspect we are operating as a pack. None of them wish to become a cautionary tale within a few moons."
…
Damn.
That escalated quickly.
Before the conversation could spiral further into casual genocide—
Nneka returned.
She stepped out from the kitchen area—restaurant, shack, whatever this place officially counted as—carrying two plates like it was the most normal thing in the world.
James didn't even see her first.
He smelled her.
And more importantly—
He smelled the food.
His canines slid out instantly.
No hesitation.
Caius noticed.
Of course he did.
Pen moved.
Noted.
James' stomach didn't just growl—it screamed. This wasn't normal hunger anymore.
This was his body demanding fuel.
Demanding recovery.
It felt like he had worked out for hours on an empty stomach—like every cell in his body was reaching forward, begging to be fed.
Nneka set the plates down.
"For you," she said simply.
Caius' meal—
A smoked sheep leg, dark and tender, glazed lightly with honey that shimmered under the lantern light. Beside it sat a thick, rich berry pudding—deep red, glossy, heavy—like strawberries steeped in syrup
. Cornbread rested on the side, golden and crumbly.
James' plate—
Smoked elk.
Thicker.
Juicier.
Honey brushed over it, still warm, scent rising in waves that hit him like a physical force.
Cornbread on the side—
Chunks of chocolate pressed into it.
Soft.
Melted.
Sweet.
James stared.
"…Oh."
That was all he could manage.
Caius reached into his pocket, placed a few coins down without a word.
Transaction done.
Simple.
"Hope you enjoy it," Nneka said with a warm smile.
James tried to hold himself together.
He really did.
His eyes flicked to the utensils.
Fork.
Knife.
Spoon.
Civilized options.
"You don't have to use them if you don't want to."
That was it.
Permission granted.
James was gone.
He grabbed the elk with both hands—
And bit down.
Hard.
His jaw opened wider than it should have.
Teeth sank deep.
Bone cracked like it was nothing.
Crunch.
Juice spilled.
Honey coated his tongue.
Flavor hit—
Rich.
Heavy.
Perfect.
He didn't eat.
He devoured.
Tearing through meat, crushing bone, swallowing without pause.
Cornbread came next—
Barely chewed.
Chocolate melted instantly.
Gone.
Finished.
Everything.
In minutes.
Caius watched silently.
The boy looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks.
Like this was the first real meal he'd had in ages.
"Look at him go," Nneka said, clearly amused.
There was no disgust in her expression.
No judgment.
This was normal here.
This was a society of warriors.
Etiquette was appreciated—but not required.
Not when hunger hit like that.
If James wanted fine dining manners?
Yeah—he'd have better luck with vampires.
Though he probably wouldn't leave that table alive.
James finally leaned back in his chair, completely satisfied.
"That was so good," he muttered, patting his stomach.
"I guess you liked it?" Nneka teased lightly.
And just like that—
It hit him.
Oh.
Right.
People.
He sat up straight instantly, a faint flush creeping in.
"…Sorry you had to see that. I haven't eaten in days."
Embarrassed smile.
Genuine.
"It's okay," she said, her tone soft, teasing.
"It's a compliment to the chef."
James blinked.
"…A compliment?"
She nodded.
"You devoured everything. Down to the bone. Left nothing behind."
A small smile.
"Split-Antler is pleased."
James paused.
"…Who?"
Caius stepped in.
"Split-Antler is the owner and chef," he explained. "He personally hunts every animal he prepares."
James nodded slowly.
That name though…
Yeah, that stood out.
"He is native," Caius added.
Ah.
That made more sense.
James had figured as much—but, you know.
Better to confirm than accidentally sound stupid.
"Well—tell him I liked it," James said.
Nneka nodded.
"I'm hungry, got anything good?" a voice called from nearby.
Another customer.
New face.
James hadn't seen him before—but his senses had picked him up earlier.
Nneka turned.
"Got to go," she said, already moving.
James gave a small wave.
Caius, as always, remained… Caius.
"Make sure you come back! We've got specials later this week!"
James heard that—
And immediately started salivating again.
The thought of more food?
Yeah.
His body approved.
But now—
Now that he'd eaten?
The difference was night and day.
The hunger was gone.
The edge?
Gone.
He felt calm.
Centered.
In control.
"You are full?" Caius asked, confirming.
"Yup," James said, stretching slightly.
"Stuffed like a motherfucker."
Caius closed his notebook, sliding it neatly into the bag at his side.
Efficient.
Done.
James leaned back, rolling his shoulders a bit, feeling the tension ease out of his body.
A/N Quick 1.9k, this one short, next one probably just him being introduce to the cabin.
Will be fun