The wolves came for us on the fourth night.
Not tentatively. Not testing. They came with intent.
I was in my study, going over Scout's latest reconnaissance maps, when I felt it—a shift in the darkness outside, a presence that pressed against my Tame sense like a hand around my throat.
Alpha.
Scout shrieked from his perch. Soot's ears went flat.
I ran to the window.
Seven wolves stood at the manor's edge. Not circling this time. Standing in formation, deliberate as soldiers. The alpha at the center, massive and scarred, its eyes reflecting torchlight like molten gold.
And in those eyes, I saw the message clearly:
No more waiting. Choose.
"Sir Jarred!" I shouted, already moving. "Rouse the guards! Wolves at the perimeter!"
I heard boots on stone, men scrambling. But I knew weapons wouldn't solve this. The alpha wasn't here to attack the manor—we were too well defended, too much risk.
It was here for me.
This was the test. The final one.
Bond or die.
I grabbed Marta's leather pouch and ran.
Hans intercepted me in the courtyard. "My lord, stay inside! The guards can—"
"The guards can't do anything. This isn't an attack." I pulled out the vial of bloodwort extract. My hands were shaking. "This is a challenge."
"My lord, you can't seriously be considering—"
"I'm not considering. I'm doing it." I unstoppered the vial. The liquid inside was dark, viscous, and smelled like rotting flowers. "If I'm not back in an hour, tell Elena... tell her I tried."
"My lord—"
I drank.
The effect was immediate and horrible.
The world lurched. Colors became too bright, sounds too loud. My Tame sense, usually a gentle awareness in the back of my mind, exploded into sharp focus. I could feel everything—every insect in the grass, every rat in the walls, every horse in the stable.
And beyond the manor walls, seven presences like bonfires.
My stomach heaved. I stumbled, caught myself against the courtyard wall.
"My lord!" Hans grabbed my arm.
"I'm fine," I lied. The shakes were starting, just like Marta warned. "Just... stay here. Don't let anyone follow me."
I walked toward the main gate before he could argue.
Sir Jarred was there with six guards, crossbows ready. "My lord, step back. We'll drive them off—"
"Open the gate."
"What?"
"Open it. That's an order."
Jarred stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. But the bloodwort was singing in my veins, my Tame sense was screaming, and the alpha was waiting.
"Now, Sir Jarred."
He hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded to the guards.
The gate opened.
I walked through.
Behind me, I heard Hans's voice: "If he dies, I'm putting that on his tombstone. 'Died because he was too stupid to stay inside.'"
Fair.
The wolves watched me approach.
Seven of them. The alpha and its pack. They'd grown since I first encountered them—better fed, stronger. One had a fresh scar across its muzzle. Another was missing part of an ear.
These were survivors. Killers.
The alpha stepped forward.
Up close, it was even more massive than I remembered. Shoulder height at my chest, maybe three hundred pounds of muscle and fury. Its coat was dark grey, almost black, with silver along the spine. Scars crisscrossed its face and flanks—a history written in violence.
Its eyes met mine.
The world fell away.
The bond didn't ask permission.
It crashed into me like a wave, the alpha's presence overwhelming my senses. I'd thought I understood what bonding felt like—the gentle connection with Pip, the chaotic swirl of Beatrice, the sharp clarity of Scout.
This was nothing like that.
This was invasion.
The alpha's mind was vast, alien, old. Years of hunting, fighting, surviving. Memories of blood and snow and the taste of prey. The weight of leadership, of pack, of territory defended with fang and claw.
And hunger. Not for food—for something else. For purpose.
The pack was strong, but it wasn't enough. The forest was territory, but it was shrinking. Humans encroached, built roads, cut trees, drove away prey. The old ways were dying.
The alpha had watched me. Learned. Seen me work with Scout, with Soot. Seen me offer partnership instead of domination.
And it had decided.
You offer new ways. New purpose. Show me.
I tried to respond, but the alpha's presence was crushing. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't—
SHOW ME.
I panicked. Pushed back. Tried to assert control, to force boundaries, to make the alpha yield—
Pain.
White-hot, blinding pain as the alpha rejected my attempt at dominance.
I fell to my knees, screaming.
Through the bond, the alpha's message was clear: You do not COMMAND me, little human. We are EQUALS or we are NOTHING.
Equals.
Not master and servant. Not lord and beast.
Equals.
I stopped fighting.
Opened myself completely.
Showed the alpha everything—my desperation, my plans, my failures, my hope. The estate drowning in debt. The people depending on me. The impossible task of turning Tame into something that mattered.
I didn't try to control. I didn't try to persuade.
I just... shared.
The alpha's presence shifted.
Not gentler. But... considering.
It showed me what it wanted: The pack was seven now, but could be more. Territory was shrinking, but could expand. Prey was scarce, but intelligent hunting could change that. And humans—humans were dangerous, but humans with partnership...
Humans could open new possibilities.
You hunt for your pack. I hunt for mine. Perhaps... we hunt together.
I felt the moment of decision.
The bond locked.
It felt like being struck by lightning. Every nerve ending fired at once. The alpha's presence flooded through me, and mine through it, and for one horrible, beautiful moment we were one—
I saw through its eyes. Felt the strength in its limbs. Tasted old blood. Knew the weight of pack-bond, the responsibility of leadership, the constant calculation of survival.
The alpha felt my thoughts. My human complexity, the abstract planning, the numbers and maps and desperate schemes.
Strange. Useful. Acceptable.
Then the moment passed, and we were separate again.
But connected.
The bond settled into place, deeper and stronger than anything I'd felt with Scout or Soot. Not just awareness—understanding. I could feel the alpha's presence in my mind like a second heartbeat.
I opened my eyes.
The alpha sat in front of me, close enough to touch.
Slowly, shaking, I reached out with Marta's silver ring.
The alpha's eyes narrowed. What is this?
"A symbol," I said aloud, though I knew it could feel my meaning through the bond. "Partnership. You wear my mark, I carry yours."
The alpha considered.
Then it extended its front paw.
I slipped the ring onto its leg, just above the paw. The silver gleamed against dark fur.
The alpha stood. Turned its head toward the pack.
Mine now. His pack, my pack. We hunt together.
The other six wolves approached. Cautiously at first, then with more confidence. They circled me, sniffing, assessing.
Through the alpha's bond, I felt their acceptance. I was pack now. Strange, weak, human—but pack.
One of them—the one with the scarred muzzle—pressed its nose against my hand.
I ran my fingers through its fur. It was real. This was real.
I'd bonded with a dire wolf alpha.
Then the bloodwort's side effects hit in full, and I vomited all over my boots.
I woke up in my bed three hours later.
Hans was sitting in a chair beside me, looking about twenty years older than he had this morning.
"You're alive," he said flatly.
"Surprisingly."
"Sir Jarred is outside. He wants to know if you've been possessed by demons."
"Just wolves."
"That's not reassuring, my lord."
I tried to sit up. Every muscle screamed in protest. It felt like I'd been trampled by horses.
"What happened after I..." I gestured vaguely.
"After you bonded with a pack of dire wolves and then collapsed in the mud?" Hans's tone was carefully neutral. "Sir Jarred and three guardsmen carried you back inside. The wolves followed. They're currently lounging in the courtyard, terrifying everyone."
"They followed?"
"Apparently, you're pack now. Which makes the manor pack territory." He stood, moving to the window. "Take a look."
I dragged myself out of bed and looked.
The seven wolves were sprawled across the courtyard like they owned it. The alpha rested near the well, watching the guards watching it. The others dozed or groomed themselves, completely at ease.
The manor staff gave them a wide berth.
Through my bond with the alpha, I felt its satisfaction. Good territory. Defensible. Fresh water. Acceptable.
"My lord," Hans said quietly, "you have seven dire wolves living in your courtyard."
"Yes."
"How are we going to feed them?"
Shit.
I hadn't thought about that.
Ten pounds of meat per wolf, per day. Seven wolves. Seventy pounds of meat daily.
At two silver marks per ten pounds... fourteen marks daily. Almost 100 marks weekly. 400 marks monthly.
I'd just reduced my liquid assets to near zero.
"Hans?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"I may have made a terrible mistake."
I was wrong.
It wasn't a mistake. It was a catastrophe.
The next morning, I sat with Hans and went through the numbers properly.
Current liquid assets: 446 marks
Monthly food costs for wolves: ~400 marks
Remaining after one month: 46 marks
Time until tax assessment: 8 weeks (2 months)
Projected total assets by then: 46 marks + 300 marks (harvest) = 346 marks
Debt owed: 4,200 marks
I'd just bankrupted myself even faster.
"My lord," Hans said, and his voice was gentler than I deserved, "we need to discuss options."
"Options." I laughed, but it came out bitter. "What options, Hans? I have seven dire wolves that need constant feeding and no way to pay for it. The caravan contract with Wendell hasn't been confirmed yet. Even if it is, fifty marks per job won't cover the wolves' food costs, let alone everything else."
"We could... release them."
"I can't. The bond doesn't work that way. They're pack now. Releasing them would be..." I struggled for words. "Like abandoning family."
Through my bond with the alpha, I felt its attention. It was listening, understanding more than I'd thought possible.
You regret the bond. Not a question.
"No," I said aloud. "I don't regret it. I just... don't know how to make it work."
Hans looked at me strangely. "My lord, were you speaking to—"
"The alpha. Yes." I rubbed my temples. The bond was still raw, overwhelming. Every time I let my focus slip, I felt the pack's presences—hunger, contentment, boredom, curiosity. Seven distinct minds pressing against mine. "Give me a day. Let me think. There has to be a solution."
After Hans left, I sat alone with the numbers.
They didn't lie.
I couldn't afford the wolves.
But I couldn't unbond them either.
Clever-hands is distressed, Soot observed from her spot on the windowsill. She'd been wary of the wolves at first, but the alpha had marked her as pack and the others had accepted it.
Scout cawed from his perch. Big-teeth pack eats much. Problem.
"I know it's a problem. I'm aware it's a problem."
The alpha padded into my study. It moved with silent grace despite its size, predatory and controlled.
It sat beside my desk, golden eyes level with mine.
You provided food before, it observed through our bond. Pack was fed.
"That was different. That was seven wolves hunting for themselves in the forest. Now you're dependent on me, and I can't—"
Pack hunts. The thought came with images: wolves running down deer, bringing down wild boar, catching rabbits. Pack feeds pack. Always has.
I stopped.
Looked at the alpha.
"You're saying you can hunt for your own food."
Pack hunts. But pack is HERE now. It gestured with its muzzle toward the manor. Cannot hunt far. Cannot leave territory undefended.
"But if you hunt nearby, in the estate's forests..."
Yes. Estate has prey. Deer. Boar. Rabbits. Pack hunts, pack eats. No cost to clever-hands.
I'd been so focused on feeding them from manor stores that I hadn't considered they could feed themselves.
"What about the villagers' livestock?"
Pack knows difference. Wild prey only. Village animals are... your pack's pack. Not prey.
The alpha had learned from my negotiation with Soot.
"And the hunting—you can do that without me directing you?"
The alpha's response carried amusement. Pack hunted for years before clever-hands existed. Pack knows how to hunt.
I started laughing. Couldn't help it.
I'd been treating the wolves like pets that needed constant care, when they were intelligent predators who'd survived independently for years. The bond didn't make them dependent on me—it made them partners.
"Alright," I said. "New arrangement. Pack hunts for its own food on estate lands. Wild prey only, not village livestock. I provide shelter, territory, protection from human threats. You provide..." I thought about what seven dire wolves could actually do. "Security. Intelligence. Hunting assistance when needed. And when I need to move through the Thornwood, you come with me."
The alpha considered. Then: Acceptable. But pack has condition.
"What condition?"
Pack is seven. Should be more. There are others, in the forest. Lone wolves, small packs, wolves who need purpose. The alpha's thoughts carried weight. You bond with me, I am alpha. Where I go, others follow. Pack grows. We become strong.
"You want to recruit more wolves."
Pack is family. Pack is strength. Strong pack serves well.
I saw the logic. A larger pack meant more capabilities, more security, more... everything. But it also meant more mouths to feed—except they fed themselves.
And a larger pack meant more presence, more intimidation. If I could guarantee caravan safety through the Thornwood with a twenty-wolf pack as escort...
That was worth a lot more than fifty marks per job.
"How many wolves are we talking about?"
The alpha showed me: images of lone wolves in the forest, smaller packs without strong leadership. Maybe fifteen, twenty total.
In one year, pack could be thirty. Thirty wolves, all bonded through me to clever-hands. Thirty wolves who guard, hunt, fight.
Thirty dire wolves.
An army.
"That's..." I struggled for words. "That's unprecedented. No Tamer has commanded that many bonded creatures."
No Tamer offered partnership. You do. That is why pack chose you.
The alpha stood, walked to the window.
You save your pack—your humans, your territory. I save mine—my wolves, my purpose. Together, both packs survive.
It looked back at me.
That is the alpha's price. You accept pack growth, pack expansion. In return, pack makes you strong.
I thought about it.
A growing wolf pack meant more complexity, more management. But it also meant real power. Not magical power or political power—practical power. The ability to guarantee security, to control territory, to become genuinely indispensable.
"Alright," I said. "Deal. The pack can grow. But we do it carefully, controlled. You vet every wolf before bringing them in. No unstable ones, no uncontrollable ones. Quality over quantity."
Agreed. Alpha chooses carefully. Only strong, only loyal.
We stared at each other.
Then the alpha did something I didn't expect.
It pressed its massive head against my chest, a gesture of trust and affection.
Good alpha, it thought. You lead your pack well. I lead mine well. Together, stronger.
I rested my hand on its head, fingers tangling in thick fur.
"I still don't have a name for you," I said.
The alpha huffed. Names are human thing. Pack knows me. That is enough.
"I need to call you something. The guards are calling you 'the big scary one.'"
Amusement rippled through the bond. Accurate.
"How about..." I thought about it. The alpha was intelligent, strategic, powerful. Not just a beast—a leader. "Ash. Like Old Marta's hound. Means strength and wisdom."
The alpha considered. Ash. Sound is acceptable. Clever-hands may use.
"Ash it is, then."
Three hours later, I was explaining to Sir Jarred why we now had seven dire wolves as permanent manor residents.
"My lord," he said carefully, "the men are... concerned."
"I know."
"They don't understand why you've brought predators inside the walls."
"I know that too."
"One of the kitchen staff asked if we're being held hostage."
Despite everything, I smiled. "We're not hostages. The wolves are... let's call them security consultants."
Jarred's expression suggested he'd heard many stupid things in his military career, but this was in the top five.
"My lord, with respect, wolves are not consultants. They're dangerous predators who—"
Ash walked into the courtyard at that moment, carrying a dead deer in its jaws. Three other wolves followed, each with their own kills—two rabbits and a wild boar.
The pack dumped their prey in a neat pile, then proceeded to feed.
Jarred stared.
"They're hunting on estate lands," I explained. "Wild prey only, keeping the population controlled. No cost to our stores, and they're removing animals that would otherwise damage crops and compete with village hunters."
"That's... actually useful."
"Also, they're excellent guards. Try sneaking up on the manor now. I dare you."
One of the wolves—the scarred one I'd mentally named Scratch—looked up from its meal and fixed Jarred with a predatory stare.
The knight took an involuntary step back.
"Point taken, my lord."
"I need you to help the men understand. The wolves are pack now. They're part of the estate. They'll defend it, defend us. But the men need to stop treating them like threats."
"That's going to take time, my lord. Wolves and humans don't exactly have a history of cooperation."
"Then we're making new history." I watched Ash tear into the deer with efficient brutality. "Besides, we don't have a choice. The bond is permanent. The pack stays."
Jarred was quiet for a moment. Then: "My lord, may I speak frankly?"
"Always."
"When you first inherited, I thought you'd run the estate into the ground within a year. You were soft, unprepared, unsuited for leadership." He looked at the wolves, then back at me. "I was wrong. What you're building here—it's strange, it's unprecedented, but it's working. The wolves, the ravens, even that damned fox. You're creating something I've never seen before."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's an observation. Whether it's a compliment depends on whether we all survive the next two months."
Fair point.
That evening, a runner arrived from the village.
Merchant Wendell had sent his response.
I opened the letter with shaking hands.
Lord von Klause,
After consultation with my partners, the Coldwater Trading Company is prepared to offer the following contract:
- 75 silver marks per successful caravan escort through the Thornwood
- Guaranteed minimum of two caravans monthly
- Bonuses for advance intelligence on specific threats
- Contract term: Six months, renewable
However, we have conditions:
- You must personally accompany each caravan
- You must provide advance route mapping
- Any losses or injuries to our cargo or personnel will be deducted from payment
If these terms are acceptable, we begin in one week.
- Marcus Wendell, Coldwater Trading Company
I did the math.
75 marks per caravan. Minimum two monthly. 150 marks per month.
Over the eight weeks until the tax assessor: roughly 300 marks.
Plus the 300 from harvest: 600 marks.
Plus my current 446 marks: 1,046 marks total.
Still short of 4,200 by 3,154 marks.
But.
The wolf pack was now self-sustaining. No food costs.
And if I could secure additional contracts, if word spread about my success...
Maybe.
I wrote back immediately, accepting the terms.
Then I sat with my journal.
Day Twenty-Eight of Project Taming Ruin:
Bonded with alpha dire wolf (Ash). Nearly died. Bond is deeper, stranger, more demanding than anything with Scout or Soot. Can feel the pack constantly now. Seven minds pressing against mine. Overwhelming but functional.
Crisis: Wolf feeding costs would have bankrupted me in weeks.
Solution: Pack hunts independently. Self-sustaining. Actually useful—they're controlling wild prey populations on estate lands.
Ash wants to expand pack. Recruit more wolves. Could reach 30+ in a year. That's... unprecedented. Terrifying. Potentially game-changing.
Wendell contract confirmed: 75 marks/caravan, 2/month minimum. Not enough alone, but combined with harvest and other potential contracts... maybe survivable?
Projected funds by tax assessment: ~1,046 marks against 4,200 debt.
Still short by 3,154 marks. Deeply fucked.
But less fucked than yesterday.
The pack is watching me write this. Ash understands reading somehow—can sense meaning even if not words. The bond is bizarre. I know what it's thinking, it knows what I'm thinking. Partnership but invasive. Will take getting used to.
Physical status: Exhausted. Bloodwort aftereffects lasted 12 hours. Worth it, but Marta wasn't joking about side effects. Won't use that again unless absolutely necessary.
Mental status: Overwhelmed. Seven wolf minds + Scout + Soot = nine bonded creatures. That's more than any documented Tamer in recent history. How did the old orders manage dozens?
Next steps:
1. First caravan escort in 7 days - cannot fail
2. Expand reconnaissance with Scout - need complete Thornwood mapping
3. Begin integrating new wolves into pack (careful, controlled)
4. Find additional revenue streams - merchant contracts won't be enough
5. Figure out how to make up 3,154 mark shortfall
The math still doesn't work. But it's getting closer.
Note: Sir Jarred called what I'm building "unprecedented." That's either visionary or insane. Probably both.
Another note: The bond with Ash is different from Scout/Soot. More equal, more demanding. Ash has opinions, makes decisions, challenges me. This is true partnership—which means I can't just command. Have to negotiate, compromise, respect.
Is this how the old Tamer orders worked? Not masters and pets, but genuine alliances between species?
If so, I understand why they were feared. This kind of power doesn't fit into neat hierarchies. Knights command soldiers. Mages control magic. But Tamers? We negotiate with the wild itself.
Dangerous. Unpredictable. Powerful.
Maybe that's why we were purged.
I closed the journal.
Ash was lying by the fireplace, watching me with those golden eyes.
You are troubled, it observed.
"I'm always troubled lately."
The hunting yesterday was good. Pack is fed. Pack is strong. It paused. Why does clever-hands still worry?
"Because being strong isn't enough. I need to be rich too. And I'm failing at that."
Ash's confusion rippled through the bond. Wolves didn't understand money, debt, taxation. Those were human concepts, abstract and bizarre.
But it understood pack. And it understood that I was trying to save mine.
Pack helps, Ash offered. Tell pack what you need. Pack provides.
"I need three thousand marks in eight weeks. You can't hunt that."
No. But pack can guard. Pack can fight. Pack can make clever-hands valuable to other humans. Ash stood, walked over to me. You made pack valuable to you. Now pack makes you valuable to others. That is partnership.
It was right.
The wolves weren't just assets. They were force multipliers. With them, I could guarantee security no one else could. I could protect caravans, guard shipments, control territory.
I could become indispensable.
Not through politics or nobility or birthright.
Through partnership with creatures everyone else considered beneath notice.
"Alright," I said to Ash. "Let's build something unprecedented."
The alpha's satisfaction flowed through our bond.
Good. Now rest. Tomorrow, pack expands. There is a lone wolf, three miles north. Strong, smart, no pack. I will bring her here. You will bond.
"Just like that?"
You bonded with me. Others are easier. Amusement colored its thoughts. I am most difficult. If you survived me, you survive others.
"That's weirdly reassuring."
Sleep, clever-hands. Tomorrow, we grow stronger.
I went to bed with nine bonded creatures in my awareness, a contract worth 300 marks, and a debt of 4,200 marks hanging over my head.
The math still didn't work.
But for the first time since waking up in this world, I felt like I was building something that mattered.
Something that could change everything.
If I didn't bankrupt myself first.