Teen Wolf: Second Howl

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Chapter Twenty-Four: Two Years Bound

Lucas's Perspective

Two years.

Seven hundred and thirty days.

Seventeen thousand five hundred and twenty hours.

Over a million minutes of restraint. Of deliberate stillness. Of pushing against the limits of a body that used to be limitless.

That's how long I wore the chain.

From the moment I clasped it around my neck, I never once removed it. Not to sleep. Not to bathe. Not to train. Not even to breathe easier. It was always there—cold at first, then warm with time and sweat—pressed against my skin like a shackle I chose to keep on.

The crystal embedded in it had once pulsed with energy, a brilliant blue like lightning captured in glass. Now, it had dulled, dimmed to a faint, tired glow—a reflection, maybe, of how I felt those first few months. Exhausted. Ground down. Frustrated beyond belief.

It was crafted to keep my strength in check. And it worked. It dampened everything that made me what I was. Every ounce of muscle memory, instinct, and raw power that defined me as a werewolf—it was sealed behind that little stone.

In the beginning, it felt like I was drowning in my own body.

I would reach for something—heavy, cumbersome—and expect to lift it with ease, only to strain and falter. I'd try to dodge an incoming strike, only to move a few split-seconds too slow. My reactions lagged. My body felt... foreign. Like a machine that was falling apart from the inside out.

It was humiliating in ways I hadn't thought possible.

Before the chain, I had spent years honing myself—body and mind. I had trained to be in sync with the wolf inside me. Learned to sift through the chaos of heightened senses, to distinguish the scent of a rabbit from a fox from a person. I could fight with precision, tear through obstacles without second-guessing my strength, react to danger faster than a human blinked. I had learned control.

But all that control meant nothing when the very source of it was taken away.

Stripped of my strength, speed, and feral instincts, I wasn't human—not really—but I wasn't a proper wolf anymore either. I was something in-between. Something unfinished.

And Richard made sure I stayed in that limbo.

He didn't ease me into it. There were no shortcuts, no soft encouragements. He threw me in the deep end with the kind of training I thought I'd outgrown years ago—and then made it even harder.

No weapons training, because I used to rely on claws and teeth.

No scent tracking drills, because he knew I could smell prey for miles.

None of the comforts I used to take for granted.

Instead, he gave me the human experience—raw, unforgiving, and relentless.

Footwork drills until my ankles throbbed and my balance broke down.

Breathing exercises while pushing my body to the brink.

Endless repetition—punch, reset, again. Movement so mechanical, it seeped into my dreams.

He didn't just train me to fight without power—he taught me to survive without it.

How to stand your ground with a collapsed lung.

How to remain perfectly still, even when your instincts are screaming to move.

How to let fear sharpen your edge instead of dulling it.

And it wasn't just physical. Every week came with new challenges designed to break me in different ways.

There were nights where I was blindfolded and left alone in the forest, expected to find my way back with only my wits and half-muted senses. Days spent tracking false trails through freezing rain. Surprise attacks mid-training, sometimes mid-sleep. Mind games. Pressure tests. Moments where I didn't know what was real and what was Richard's doing.

He never gave praise. Never offered comfort. Never once said, "Good job."

But he never let me quit, either.

He broke me down. Rebuilt me. Again and again.

Until, eventually, I adapted.

Until the chain wasn't just a burden—it became a part of me.

By the end of that second year, I didn't even notice it anymore. The weight of it against my chest felt natural. Normal. Like a second skin. Like armor.

But now… now I was finally going to take it off.

We stood together in the clearing behind the cabin—the same place where it had all started. The pine trees loomed tall around us, ancient sentinels that had seen every trial I'd endured. The early morning air was sharp and cool, with just the faintest edge of warmth rising beneath it. The sky was still deep with pre-dawn color, and the sun hovered just beyond the treeline, waiting to rise.

Richard faced me across the clearing, arms crossed over his chest. He looked the same as ever—broad-shouldered, weathered, sharp-eyed. But there was something different in his expression. The usual steel in his gaze was tempered now, as if behind it was the barest flicker of... approval.

"It's been two years," he said, voice steady, low. "You haven't taken that chain off once."

I nodded. "Not even for a second."

He studied me for a beat. His voice wasn't testing or sarcastic when he asked, "Why?"

I didn't hesitate. I met his eyes and answered simply, honestly. "Because you told me I'd never master this unless I understood what it meant to be human. So I made sure I did. I didn't want shortcuts. I wanted to earn it."

Silence followed. Long. Heavy.

Then Richard gave a single nod.

"Alright, pup," he said quietly. "Let's see if you're ready."

He stepped forward.

"Take it off."

My hands went to the chain. They didn't shake. They didn't pause.

The clasp clicked open with a sound that felt like thunder in my ears.

And for the first time in two long, brutal, transformative years, I pulled the crystal from my chest.

The moment it left my skin, the change was instant.

Power surged back into me like a dam breaking. My muscles hummed, coiled tight and ready. My vision sharpened. My breath deepened. I could feel the pulse of the earth beneath my feet. The wolf stirred in my blood, stretching, grinning, prowling behind my eyes.

But I didn't lunge. Didn't snarl. Didn't let it take control.

I breathed. In. Out. Grounded. Centered.

I was in control.

Richard didn't blink. He watched me like a predator, measuring every twitch of muscle, every breath.

"Let's spar," he said at last. "For real this time."

A slow smile spread across my face. Not cocky. Not arrogant. Just ready.

"Bring it on, old man."

The chain slipped from my hand, fell into the grass.

And the wolf ran free.