The Werewolf King – Chapter 5: Clara’s Pain & Thalion’s Struggle

The Werewolf King – Chapter 5: Clara’s Pain & Thalion’s Struggle

Weeks passed in uneasy harmony. The castle, once silent as a tomb, now carried the faint echoes of two lives intertwined in wary coexistence. Clara had taken up residence in the old study Thalion had offered her. The room, though dusty with disuse, felt strangely alive, as if the past whispered through its walls. She spent her days exploring its shelves of faded books and the intricacies of the castle, careful never to cross any boundaries Thalion had left unspoken.

Thalion, for his part, was a shadow in the halls. He kept his distance, yet he watched her more than he cared to admit. Something about her presence unsettled him, while simultaneously chipped away at the edges of his solitude. He would catch himself lingering in doorways, listening to her hum absentmindedly or shuffle through papers, only to retreat when she turned.

Try as he might keep from venturing too close, Thalion found himself drawn to Clara in moments of quiet. Once, passing by the library—another place in the castle she’d decided to claim as her own—he paused in the doorway, watching her as she traced the spine of a faded book with delicate fingers. The sight stirred something in him—a fleeting sense of peace—before a fleeting memory overtook his senses.

Bloodstained hands, a torn and tattered silky white night dress, howls and screams mingling in a horrifying symphony.

Snapping back to the present, Thalion stumbled aside with a barely controlled growl. He turned away sharply, the echo of her Clara’s humming following him down the corridor. A balm he refused to accept.

The only moments they truly shared were during their meals. Clara had taken over the kitchen, and, once again, Thalion hadn’t protested. Though he would never admit it aloud, he found himself savoring the dishes she prepared—far better than the bland stews and meager porridge he had endured for longer than he cared to recall. Yet, as soon as the plates were cleared, they retreated to their respective corners of the castle, the silence between them stretching once more.

As the days slipped ever closer to the next full moon, Clara couldn’t ignore the growing tension inside—her body and her mind. Restlessness clawed at her, an energy she couldn’t name building in her chest. She was achingly aware of Thalion’s presence, of his silent watchfulness. She’d catching him out of the corner of her eye. Lingering in doorways, pausing in the hall before turning and striding away if she turned to look directly at him. She’d begun to watch him in her periphery, continuing on her task as if she hadn’t noticed, doing her best to catch a glimpse before he disappeared like a wolf in the night.

Questions lingered at the edges of her mind, questions about the wolves that had spared her so long ago and whether their mercy was tied to this castle, to this man. She tried to dismiss the thoughts, but they stayed, as persistent as her growing unease.

They continued their dance as the days grew closer to the next full moon. As the celestial event neared, the full moon’s pull grew stronger, weaving tension through the castle walls. That night, Clara found herself pacing the great hall. The moonlight spilled through the tall windows, pooling on the stone floor in silver light. Her body burned with a strange energy, her senses heightened to the point of distraction. She could smell the forest outside, feel the weight of the moon even before it rose fully into the sky.

Thalion entered silently, his expression tight. He had been restless too, the wolf within him stirred by the approaching peak of the moon’s rise. He froze when he saw her, noting the tension in her stance and the flush to her cheeks.

“You’re feeling it,” he said, his voice low and calm, though his golden eyes betrayed his unease. He had stepped up behind her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his skin on her back.

Clara turned to him, startled by his understanding, and by his closeness after so many missed moments over the past few weeks. “Feeling what?”

“The moon,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low but steady. “It’s calling to you.”

Clara’s brow furrowed, her breath catching in her throat. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That’s not possible. I…” Her voice faltered as a sharp surge of energy rippled through her chest, forcing her hand to press against her heart. “I’ve felt different before during the full moon, but this—this is different. Why now?”

Thalion hesitated, his golden eyes darkening as if weighed down by the memory of something he couldn’t bear to say. His hands flexed at his sides, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “You’re changing,” he said at last, the words heavy with resignation.

Clara’s breath hitched, her confusion deepening. “What do you mean? Changing into what?”

He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor before returning to hers. “You’ve always had it in you,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “The wolf. It’s closer now, stronger. Maybe not tonight, but soon.”

Her eyes widened, fear mingling with disbelief. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve seen it before,” he murmured, his tone haunted. “You’re fighting it now, but the pull will grow, Clara. It’s only a matter of time.”

The moonlight flooded the great hall, silvery beams painting the stone floor. Clara’s body betrayed her. A sudden, searing pain lanced through her chest, dragging a cry from her lips. She staggered, clutching at her sides as her skin prickled and her pulse thundered in her ears.

“Thalion!” she gasped, panic sharpening her voice.

He crossed the space between them in an instant, his hand steadying her shoulder. “Breathe,” he commanded, his tone firm but not unkind. “Stay with me, Clara.”

“I don’t understand!” she choked out, her voice trembling as the fire coursed through her veins, relentless and merciless. “Why is this happening? Why now? And why does it hurt so much?” She doubled over, her knees striking the cold stone as a sob escaped her. “Why can’t I just change?”

Thalion knelt beside her, his hand gentle against her back as his own struggles threatened to overwhelm him. “You’re strong,” he said, his voice laced with an edge of desperation. “You’ll survive this. Just hold on.”

But the pain only grew, a fire coursing through her veins. She collapsed to her knees, clutching at the cold stone floor. Her vision blurred, and for a moment, she thought she saw herself reflected in Thalion’s golden eyes—wild, untamed, and frighteningly unfamiliar.

But Clara’s cries grew louder, more primal, and he felt the beast within him stir. Her anguish tugged at something deep inside, and he knew he couldn’t stay. The wolf within him clawed to be free, feeding on the wild energy radiating from her.

“I can’t—” Thalion’s voice cracked as he tried to hold her trembling form. “Clara, listen to me. You have to stay away from me. Please.”

She looked up, her tear-streaked face defiant despite her pain. “No,” she said through gritted teeth, her breath hitching. “I won’t. I…need you.”

His golden eyes locked onto hers, desperation giving way to something raw and unguarded. “Clara,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking. “Run.”

But she didn’t move, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. The beast within him clawed for freedom, drawn by the primal energy emanating from Clara. His teeth clenched, his breaths shallow as he fought to maintain control. Her cries turned to something almost feral and his resolve broke.

With a guttural growl, Thalion tore himself away from her, his form convulsing as the beast took over. He bolted from the hall, his retreating figure a blur of shadow and fury as Clara knelt alone, her body trembling with the echoes of something she didn’t yet understand.

When morning came, Clara stirred on the cold stone floor of the great hall. Her body ached, her limbs weighed down by an exhaustion that clung to her like a heavy cloak. She blinked, struggling to make sense of the fragments of memory swirling in her mind, the night before a chaotic blur of pain, howls, and fleeting sensations.

She shifted, attempting to sit up, but her legs felt unnaturally heavy. No, not just heavy—covered.

Her senses sharpened, and she froze, her breath catching in her throat. Draped across her legs lay Thalion.

He was curled into himself, his powerful frame folded into a fetal position, his head and torso resting heavily across her lap. His breathing was deep and steady, a stark contrast to the tension that still gripped her body. Her hand hovered above his head, and with a jolt, she realized she had been absently stroking his hair, the dark strands tangled from the night’s turmoil.

His clothes hung in tatters, his shirt entirely gone, and his pants shredded to little more than scraps.

Clara’s pulse quickened as her gaze lingered on him, despite her better judgment. She tried to focus on the disheveled locks beneath her fingers, but her eyes betrayed her, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders and the defined muscles of his back. She stopped her gaze before it drifted lower. But heat still rose to her cheeks, and she tore her eyes away, clamping her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. The intimacy of the scene left her reeling, her mind warring between embarrassment and an unspoken curiosity that she couldn’t fully suppress.

She shifted slightly, the movement stirring him. His eyes fluttered open, the golden glow of them catching faint light as they focused on her. Relief washed over his features, softening the sharp lines of his face.

“You… you’re all right,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough from sleep.

She nodded, offering a small, tentative smile. “I think so. All things considered, I’ve been worse.”

Thalion’s gaze dropped, his brow furrowing as he took in the situation. His head had been resting on her lap. A flicker of something—was it shame or fear?—passed over his face. He pushed himself upright in a rush, retreating to sit a few feet away.

“Forgive me,” he said tightly, his hands clenched into fists. “I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head as if to clear it.

Clara straightened, her heart still racing from the sudden shift. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said softly.

Thalion’s golden eyes searched hers, his expression conflicted. “And I didn’t hurt you,” he said, almost to himself, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. There was a note of wonder in his voice that made Clara’s chest tighten.

“No,” she assured him, her voice steady now. “You didn’t.”

They sat in silence, the air between them charged with words unspoken. Clara’s heart hammered as her eyes locked on his. “What does this mean?” she asked finally, the question barely audible in the large hall.

Thalion’s shoulders stiffened, and a shadow passed over his face. “It means you’re not safe here. Not with me.”

But even as he said the words, his body remained tense, his retreat deliberate. Yet, despite the distance he’d placed between them, his gaze lingered on her, softening with something unspoken. For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Thalion dared to hope—a dangerous, fragile hope that perhaps he wasn’t doomed to solitude after all.

Story written and illustrated by The Queen of Halloween 365
Copyright © 2025 The Queen of Halloween 365. All rights reserved.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *