I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter Eleven: The Wolf Beneath the Skin
I followed Richard up the steps of the cabin, half-expecting a scene straight out of some ancient storybook. I pictured warped wooden floors that groaned underfoot, a cast-iron wood stove puffing faint smoke into the rafters, and shelves heavy with dusty tomes and jars full of herbs that had names no one could pronounce. Maybe even a hanging bundle of garlic or some dreamcatchers spinning gently in a draft. Something… rustic. Old-world. Magical.
What I got instead felt oddly like stepping into my aunt's house from the suburbs.
"Whoa," I muttered, pausing just inside the doorway.
The interior was plain. Surprisingly so. Functional in a way I hadn't expected from someone like Emily—or from anyone associated with druids, really. It had all the ordinary comforts, or what counted as "modern" comfort in the year 2001. A modest television—one of those boxy ones with the rounded screen—sat in the corner, paired with a VHS player. A microwave hummed quietly from a small countertop in the adjoining kitchen. The fridge had magnets on it. There was even a landline phone resting in its cradle on the wall, the kind with a cord that spiraled like a slinky.
The couch wasn't made of burlap or twigs or enchanted moss—it was just a couch. Beige, probably from some department store, with a slightly sagging cushion in the middle. Everything was clean, tidy, and lived-in.
Not at all what I thought a druid's home would look like.
"Not what you pictured, huh?" Richard said, tossing a weathered duffel bag beside the door with a soft thump.
I shook my head, still taking it all in. "I thought there'd be… I don't know. Potions. Bone chimes. Talking animals sitting around reading Shakespeare."
A calm voice floated in from behind us. "That's all in the basement."
Emily glided past us like she'd been there the whole time, barefoot, her steps silent against the wood floor. She had a cup in her hand, steam curling up from the tea like lazy ghosts. She didn't look at me when she spoke, just kept walking as if she already knew where I'd be.
"You'll take the guest room, boy," she said. "Hasn't seen a soul in years, but I'm not about to make a kid sleep out on the porch. Even if he's half wolf."
Richard snorted, amused.
She didn't wait for a thank you.
We moved down a short hallway that branched off from the main room. It was narrow, but well-lit, with simple framed prints on the walls and a rug that muffled our footsteps. Richard reached for a wooden door near the end and pushed it open.
We were met with a heavy wall of dust.
Every surface looked like it had been dusted once—then forgotten for a decade. Cobwebs hung in every corner like limp party streamers from some long-dead celebration. There was something in the corner that might have been a sock, or maybe an ancient relic. Either way, it wasn't moving, and I didn't plan to check.
"Yeah," Richard said under his breath. "Definitely unused."
Emily came again—this time right behind us. I hadn't even heard her approach.
She took one look at the room, wrinkled her nose slightly, then casually lifted one hand and snapped her fingers.
There was a sharp whoosh. Like a sudden gust of wind rushing through the room, except the windows were shut. Dust shot into the air, swirling and dancing in chaotic patterns before vanishing entirely. The cobwebs crumbled into nothing, and the grime on the floorboards peeled away like shedding skin.
When the air cleared, the room was spotless. Clean. Somehow cozy, in a humble sort of way.
I stared, stunned. "Okay," I said. "That was cool."
It wasn't luxurious or anything. There was a bed with a wooden frame and neatly folded quilt. A dresser that looked handmade. A small desk tucked into the corner, probably more decorative than practical. But it was warm. Quiet. Safe. And as Richard dropped my bag on the mattress, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest.
It felt like a place that might one day be mine.
He gave my shoulder a light pat. "Get comfy, kid."
As he left the room, I heard Emily call out from the living room, her voice sharp and casual at the same time. "You're taking the couch, Richard. Or I'll happily toss you into the woods like the trash you are."
Richard didn't miss a beat. "Love you too, Em."
I smiled to myself as I sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn't much. But after the orphanage… after the motel… it was enough.
It felt like the beginning of something new.
Emily told Richard he could stay one night. Naturally, that turned into two. Then three. She never said it aloud, but I had the feeling she was used to him overstaying his welcome.
Not that I minded.
In those first few days, I started learning things. Little things. Big things. Things that stuck.
First: Emily didn't believe in sugar-coating. Her words could peel paint if she wanted them to. She called me "pup" more often than she used my name and had absolutely no problem telling Richard—loudly and often—that he approached peril the way most people approached free samples—enthusiastically and without hesitation.
Second: She wasn't entirely wrong.
Third: Underneath her thorny edges, there was a surprising amount of kindness. She didn't say much, but she noticed everything. She brewed me herbal teas when I looked pale. She made breakfast before I even realized I was hungry. She left out a thick wool sweater on a chilly morning without a word, just draped over a chair like it had appeared by accident.
By the third morning, I found myself thinking something that should've terrified me:
I could get used to this.
I could actually stay here.
That was the day everything changed.
I jolted awake just before dawn, my body drenched in sweat. My heart pounded like it was trying to punch its way through my ribs. My hands trembled. My chest ached—not from pain exactly, but from something deeper. Heavier. Something that felt like pressure, like a storm building inside my bones.
It wasn't illness. It wasn't fear.
It was movement. Something deep within me… shifting.
I stumbled out of bed, barely able to stand. The floor swayed beneath me like I was standing on the deck of a ship. I pushed open my door and staggered into the kitchen.
Richard and Emily were there, sitting at the table, mid-argument about whether or not modern plumbing was destroying the soul of civilization.
"I—" My voice cracked. I clutched at my chest. "I feel weird. Like—something's wrong."
They both stopped talking.
I saw Richard's expression change instantly. Gone was the lazy smile. In its place was something sharp and focused.
Emily set her tea down with quiet precision. "Full moon," she said simply. "Tonight's your first shift."
Richard's brow furrowed. "But he's only six."
Emily shrugged. "It's early, sure. Usually comes later. But the change doesn't care about age."
My knees buckled and I gripped the edge of the table for support. The pressure inside me pulsed, steady and urgent, like a heartbeat I didn't recognize. My breath came shallow. The world felt distant, like I was watching it through glass.
Richard knelt beside me, his voice low and steady. "Hey. You're going to be okay. I promise."
I nodded, but it felt hollow. Because I could feel it—something waking up inside me. Not hostile. Not angry. But ancient. Wild. Insistent.
I wasn't just me anymore.
The wolf was stirring.
And he wanted out.