Another Big 'Ol AN: First of all I would like to extend an invitation to everyone who is reading this!

Come check out my blog about Bedtime Stories. It is open to the public and I welcome any and all questions and comments. I am always looking for new people to talk with so please stop by. The details are in my profile.

As for Bedtime Stories; things are changing for J.T. so if he seems a little of kilter or emotionally unstable (like he totally wasn't before o.O) then you must remember to take into account the fact that things are changing for him an awful lot. As always any questions or concerns can been addressed to me via p.m., e-mail, Tumblr (under the same name as here) or even Facebook.

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I hope you like this chapter!

Oh and to Nissa: I laughed like a horrible crazy person when I read your review because I got it literally two seconds before I was about to update. Hopefully you won't take that whole minx thing back cause I have to say I kind of like it!

Disclaimer: Well I've said it all before…

The Ugly Duckling

J.T. has never really had a home.

He reconfirms that thought within his own mind now, as he stares out the portside window of the shuttle craft that is taking him to his next destination. Hell he'd realized that fact for the first time when he'd been small, tiny and angry and oh so hurt. He'd been bloody and bruised and a part of him still so confused over the fact that he was welcome nowhere, wanted nowhere. He was a homeless orphan with two parents and a house.

Tarsus had been one of the closest things he had ever had, the closest he knows he is likely to ever come, to having a place where he might belong. Yet it too had been ruined, murdered with phaser blasts and hunger. The good memories distorted by the anguish and the agony that had followed. For there had been good memories; hard work and clean living, days and nights with Kevin, hours of peace and silence, weeks without pain.

There were things about that place that he would never forget, would always in some part of himself cherish, almost despite himself. He'd slept there, slept and woken up and been rested. He'd slept and woken and not felt less than himself, had not felt it to be a weakness. Not like in Iowa. He'd touched another person and had not felt dirty; had not wanted to scrub himself until he bled or crawl out of his own skin. Not like with Frank.

Those moments were something he would always hold onto. They had been so very beautiful while they had lasted. They had tasted like dappled sunshine and rain. Like sweet summer nights and early morning fog caressing his skin. Like sugar and spice and everything nice. Like things he knew better than to want for himself.

They had also been so very fragile, so breakable and light. They had shattered like glass and spun sugar, like fairytales and bedtime stories. Like precious crystal in his hands. He destroyed everything he touched it seemed.

Sometimes he wondered if it would have been different had he not existed at all. Would there be a few more precious and beautiful people Marixia, Leo, William, Kathleen, Zafrina, and Ixia, in the world if he did not ruin everything he was involved in?

The wolf within him growled at his thoughts, destruction was natural, was right. To destroy was to make room for creation, for what you deemed worthy of life. The loss of pack was horrible, was worthy of vengeance and blood and yet you did not let it rule you. Blood and flesh and existence were the currencies of life. Regret for destroyed things accomplished nothing, did nothing but chain you.

The pack had been another refuge for him for if home was where your heart was, where your emotions lived and grew, the pack was that for him. If he had ever had a heart, had ever possessed one, and he was fairly certain that he had not, at least not a whole and healthy one, he knew that Kevin and his children held it in all of its shattered glory.

Even that was gone now, stolen by the rules and regulations of a society that he no longer fit into. Indeed he can not remember a time when he had ever fit into it, had ever conformed to their desires and carefully shaped molds. Even now the wolf rebelled against the thought itself, threw its snarling body against the ever weakening bars of his control at the mere thought of becoming a fangless sheep.

So he stares out his window now, watching as the craft breaks through the atmosphere of his home world. He's seated in the very back of the shuttle, wedged between the two giant slabs of plexi-glass that the port side and rear of the craft was made up of. He could not resist the urge to twist around in his spot, to latch his eyes onto the sight of space as he leaves it behind once again, this time for who knows how long.

He raises his hands, first one and then the other, and presses them firmly against the glass the same way he had the day he'd left Tarsus. He examines them in that moment as he had done then. His nails are even now, smooth and rounded off, short enough for him to be comfortable but long enough that he could tear skin with them if he were truly determined to do so. The wolf was almost pleased at that, at the thought of having even the slightest hint of claws to match the almost fanged smirk he had developed.

His fingers are still crooked though; the breaks and fractures that had warped them were too old to be fixed by Starfleet Medical. Just as the scars that littered his frame had been too deep and too long healed to be erased, even if he had wanted them to be.

His eyes are drawn as always to the shiny steel bracelets that adorn both of his wrists. At least they looked like bracelets now, looked like so much jewelry and flash but he knew the truth of them. He knew about the blood that they had absorbed, about the fact that no matter how brightly they shined they would never be clean, just like him.

He'd been surprised the day he'd received them; despite the fact that his trip through Monroe's files had told him of her continued attempts to retrieve them. He'd been surprised by their appearance, at the gleaming metal that had greeted his eyes when he'd first opened the box in which they had rested.

Monroe had told him later that she had taken the liberty of having them cleaned and sanded down until they were as smooth as glass. That she'd had all but those last links on the side of each cuff cut off. That after a discreet request to a friend in engineering she'd had something else special added. He had not understood that until he'd actually picked them up, until the light had refracted off the words that spanned the insides of the cuffs.

Scrolled across the inside of the left cuff were the words, For all those loved and lost, Tarsus IV and inside the right cuff, each positioned to always press against opposite sides of his wrist were two names.

Zafrina and Ixia.

He'd been confused in a way, unsure as to why she would do such a thing, why she would bother to do something extra for him. A part of him, not the wolf but another quieter part of him, had wondered over the fact that he had not been displeased with her presumptuousness. It had taken him a moment to realize that it was because he was pleased, that he actually liked the words, liked the gesture she had made. He had not let it show, had refused to be that truly vulnerable in front of her. Instead he had removed them from the box and clasped them firmly around his wrists.

They had not been removed since then.

His gaze wondered onwards, past his hands and out into the quickly disappearing space behind him. He does not truly wish to leave, does not want to be parted from the stars and yet he will not fight it because he knows it is just one step closer to freedom. To Kevin and the pack.

He just wonders silently to himself how long it will be before he is able to return.

He vows it will not be forever.

Just as nothing will ever truly take his children from him, nothing will ever separate him from space completely. If he has to build a shuttle bit by bit with his own two hands, if he has to steal or kill for it, he will be back in space again. He will experience again the bliss of being surrounded on all sides by nothing and yet at the same time by everything.

He knows that he is leaving a piece of his blackened heart and twisted soul what small pieces that are left in him, what few he had that he had not already gifted to Kevin and the pack, in the stars.

It is another piece of himself that he knows he will never get back.

He doesn't even pretend for a second that he actually wants to.

He's standing in the courtyard of a closed recovery ward in San Francisco, relishing the feel of life and peace soft green grass beneath his bare feet and the sun on his face. He's spent most of his time outside since he'd gotten there; taking every opportunity he has been given to soak up the warmth and fresh non-recycled air.

In a way it helps to assuage some of the loneliness that eats at him, the bitter pain of no longer having the pack around him of days without low laughter and delicate golden brown hair, of nights without little warm bodies and precious soft breaths against his neck. Sometimes the sun and grass help with the feeling of slowly creeping death that has been haunting him since their rescue, an irony that does not escape him.

It feels almost as if the heat and light can cleanse him. It's as if the sun and the wind can burn and blow away all those things within him that are dirty and wrong, sick and dieing. It feels that way but the ball of blood and vengeance, of anger and pain, of anguish and loss that has always been lodged firmly in his chest tells him otherwise.

So he's fourteen now, fourteen years, three months, six days, seventeen hours and a handful of minutes and he's staring up at the blue sky of Earth. The sky that he knows from his studies had once been clouded and dismal with the pollution of the human race. That sky that he knows was once sick but is now whole, is no longer dirty and tainted unlike him. He almost hates it, almost because he can't really hate it since that same sky houses Kevin and most of the others now. He'd tear it down or hold it up to keep them safe, no matter how far apart they are.

He's being tested tomorrow, going to be locked in a room with six adults, a stack of padds and only his own wits and skills to get him through. The doctors and therapists in charge of him, Monroe included, had wanted to spread the exams out, had wanted to give him time to study and to prepare but he had refused. After all it had been they who had suggested that school would be a good idea for him, that the work and the routine would help him to recover more smoothly.

They had his test scores from his years in public schooling and the classes that he had taken while in his juvenile detention facility. They even had the scores from the dozen or so classes he had managed to complete in his online curriculum in those first few months on Tarsus. They knew he was a genius, knew that he had been forced to stay in a public school when he should have been in a private one. They knew that he had been restricted by the detention facilities inability to give him study courses that truly challenged him.

They knew that by his test scores alone he had been able to test out of high school for years now and he had just never had the chance.

What they did not know about were the extensive studies he had done on his own. They were unaware of the days he had spent crouched over his data padds absorbing knowledge like a sponge. They did not know about his expertise in gadgetry outside of small notations in his files. Also hidden were his advanced studies on mechanics and engineering, things he had learned about on Tarsus from the extra material that Marixia and Leo had always been giving him.

He would show them just how far ahead of the curve he truly was, for they had no idea.

"J.T." The voice came from his left from the stocky body of Piotr, the orderly that had been assigned to shadow his every move. Starfleet had finally wised up and realized that leaving him to his own devices was an entirely too potentially dangerous idea. Instead they were trying to put him back into school and had given him a baby sitter; as if Piotr's presence would ever truly deter him from a goal or an action.

J.T. wondered if there would ever be a day when their idiocy ceased to surprise him.

He was pretty sure the answer to that was no.

Still though he was not particularly perturbed by Piotr's constant presence. If anything the older male was in a way calming, his silent and watchful gaze almost reminding J.T. of Tom's soothing personality. Even the wolf had calmed a bit in his presence though not by much he was so like Tom, felt so like pack at times that it was hard to remember that he wasn't, hard to remember just how quickly he could become the enemy. So he was careful to shutter and erase all traces of his normal edgy venom from his expression when he turned slowly on his heal and arched a single brow in inquiry.

Piotr took his silence in stride as he always did, choosing instead to gesture vaguely back towards the building with his hand, his black curls glinting blue in the sunlight. "Our time is up for the day. We must return to the building now."

J.T. nodded slowly. While he hated the time constraints that had been placed on him he would not fight them. Now was not the time for such things even though the wolf seemed to slam itself against the bars of his control each and every time he was forced back inside.

Each time someone gave him a thinly veiled order in the form of a suggestion he had to grit his teeth and force the wolf back down. How dare they spout orders and directions, treat him as a child or a subordinate, these pathetic humans whose blood would run fresh and sweet across his tongue while he ate their hearts? The beast within him had grown even more difficult to deal with, even more difficult to appease and control since their return to Earth. His only peace came now when he had managed to convince it that he was not stopping, not slowing down, that this was a time for subtlety and stealth.

Now was the time for tests and for change, for trickery and masks.

Some day he would be able have his fill of sunshine and warmth again, would sleep on sweet grass and bathe in starlight.

He gazed one last time at the bright blue sky like Tarsus, so like Tarsus but so different so strange now, before he began his steady trek back to the building, Piotr trailing behind him.

Someday he would have his freedom for this was but another cage, another snare designed to hold him, to break him but he would not yield, he would claw his way through flesh and steal and die before yielding until then he would play the game.

He would play and he would win.

To say that the tests went as he had expected they would go would be an understatement; the wolf bared his teeth in smug satisfaction for they were all so very foolish to underestimate him still in any manner.

He'd arrived on time and paced his way into the room, eyes taking in the proctors who would be administering his exams. They had been nothing special; barely even note worthy. Once everyone had been settled they had read through the rules and regulations, much to his annoyance, and had gotten started. He'd zipped through the exam files in their entirety in a little under an hour. When he'd announced his completion they had all been faintly surprised; it seemed as if they had been made aware of what he was capable of but had not truly believed it.

It had taken only seconds after that for them to activate the auto-grade function on the padds. Needless to say his scores had been beyond impressive, had he been in a college level class he would have completely wrecked the grading curve. Or so they told him.

It was in this way that J.T. quickly found himself immersed in knowledge. The directors and staff had been more than happy to sign him up for as many classes as he could possibly want; all of them advanced programs in which he could go as fast or as slow as he desired. J.T. ate the knowledge in a ferocious way, desperate to always learn more, to know the inner workings of anything and everything he could.

There were so many new things that he had never been able to get his hands on before.

This was not to say that he did not keep up with his other studies; he far from abandoned his survival education or his physical abilities. Especially after he had learned just how truly valuable they could be.

His therapy sessions were something that had also carried over to Earth; Dr. Monroe having elected to follow him all the way from Starbase Three. Apparently she thought that switching therapists at so far into his recover would be highly detrimental. She claimed that they had developed a rapport of some kind; J.T. had barely repressed a snort at the thought. He knew that she had other motives, knew that she was studying him, detailing his every response and action. He was a science experiment, a case study in the making. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still though he cared little for her opinion so it did not bother him. He let her have her secrecy and her notes, let her tap away at her padd from around corners and doors. She meant nothing and as such she truly knew nothing.

So he studied to his hearts content and worked tirelessly on building up his mimicry skills; in carefully crafting the persona he desired. He had set the ground work on Starbase Three in the beginning and had begun to smooth over the foundations during his therapy sessions after the children were taken. He took full advantage of his own foresight as he twisted and molded, burned and cut away pieces of what he wanted them to perceive, always working, always shaping this new personality that he wanted to show them.

Just as he had found out in the past he once again discovered that his improvements and cooperation were met eagerly with rewards. This time in the form of longer periods outside in the sun and air and access to even more study materials. They were trying to treat him like a small child or a willful puppy; following orders meant treats and prizes, verbal pats on the head for being a good boy.

The only issue was the fact that he was more than fully aware of the game. He was willing to play tame for the moment, although the wolf snarled and thrashed more often than not at the idea enraged at the thought of playing pet, of even pretending to be anything but a predator. He managed to hold it back with whispers of schemes and weapons built from new technology, pretty, shiny new claws and fangs to rip and shred with, oh how they would fear him even more if they only knew the things he was learning and thoughts of the pack and reunions with Kevin.

So he took the pats and the praise, the rewards and the treats, and let them wash over and behind him like water because no matter what they said, no matter how bright and wonderful they tried to tell him he was he knew the truth. Knew what was beneath the glitter and the gold that he had slowly begun to construct around himself. Knew the monstrous thing beneath his smirk and behind his eyes; could feel it clawing its way through his mind each morning and his soul each night.

Whatever he asked for he received when it came to his lessons and before long he was on his way to degrees in many of them. Applied Physics and Advanced Science as well as Advanced Mathematics and Engineering were what interested him the most. It would take a few years even at his level to gain degrees in those areas but he was determined to have them, determined to have these long term goals to help keep him grounded, to help keep him human.

He needed all the help he could get even out of the war zone of Tarsus he was still slipping further into the darkness. He was still moving further and further away from human in the way that his mind worked; held back only by the cuffs on his wrists and the promises he had made.

There were other things that captured his interest that he took care of in a shorter amount of time as well. Things such as botany because if the fungus ever came back, ever ravaged another of his would be homes he wanted to be able to understand it, to be able to fight it or to find alternative food sources beyond simple leaves and berries. Xenobiology was another interest humans were not the only danger, not the only ones who could kill and destroy so he wanted to know how they worked, how they bled and how they died. Or how to keep them living, keep them breathing if he had to, if he wanted to.

Those classes were exceptionally easy and he went through them and their like in no time at all.

Six months in Dr. Monroe actually surprises him with a gift, with something that almost makes him want to thank her even if he doesn't. She gives him a pass, a simple plastic card that is d.n.a coded to him and him alone. A bit of technology that is his gateway to something he has been missing for months and is the one thing that he has not been able to hack his way around.

It was an access card, the piece of tech that he needed to run the communication console in his room. He could finally use the numbers and the addresses that had not stopped running through his mind since the day he'd committed them to memory.

He could finally call his children.

J.T. was nervous. It is an emotion that he has little experience with; it had even taken him a few moments to puzzle out just what it was he was feeling in the first place.

He knows that feeling that way is ridiculous, that hesitating for even a second to call Kevin is absurd. Despite that he can not help the way his fingers freeze over the controls or the way the air seizes in his lungs. Questions circle in his mind, things that have constantly plagued him but have been forced back through sheer force of will. They rise up now, determined to no longer be ignored, forcing him to consider them and the consequences if they happened to be true.

What if Kevin wasn't happy? What if he had needed J.T. and he hadn't been there? What if he didn't?

Worse was the idea that perhaps Kevin thought that he had abandoned him. He'd promised his pup, had sworn to him that he would never truly leave him that he would always protect him, and yet it had been so long since they had seen each other. Too much time had passed since they had last spoke or J.T. had held Kevin his sunshine, his warmth, a living breathing piece of his heart and soul in his arms as the younger boy slept.

In contrast what if Kevin no longer wanted him, no longer needed him? What purpose would he have now? What goal to strive for besides the drive to live for livings sake? He had no true interest in life, had no compelling desire to do anything but learn, care for his pack, and survive. Not even the wolf had discovered another driving force, another reason for existence besides the desperate need to simply survive.

An ugly thought forced its way forward, creeping out of the recesses of his mind, from a place that he had steadfastly ignored even as it tore at him. Had the adults in his pup's life tried to turn Kevin against him? Would they succeed? Had they succeeded already?

He was moving in that next second, a haze of crimson rage drawn like a curtain across his eyes. He tore through his quarters ripping apart everything he could get his hands on, upending the desk, shattering the 3-D chess set against the wall. He was destruction incarnate in those moments as he had been in his rooms on Starbase Three when the last of the children had been taken.

The wolf snarled and raged, the tips of its claws breaking past the bonds of J.T.'s control, ripping through his mind and leaving him bleeding and savage. In that instance, for a split second J.T. and the wolf were one and their rage was magnificent. They would rip and tear, would slaughter all who dared to turn their child, their pup, against them. If they had dared then they would die, would die screaming in agony praying to their gods for mercy. They would receive none.

Determination ripped through him, a harsh accompaniment to the rage that was quickly saturating his being. He would kill them all for what they might have done. He would tear through them just as he had on Tarsus, would give them no quarter. He flowed across the room, the door to the hallway his destination.

Only this time something interfered.

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, the force and weight of them pinning his clawing hands to his sides. He jerked his head down, determined to latch his teeth onto skin, to be freed so he could slaughter whoever had dared to touch him. No one touched him who was not pack, it was not allowed, not welcomed. The arms moved down before his teeth found purchase, hands hooking around his elbows, effectively neutralizing the threat from his mouth as well as his hands and arms.

Rage bit down even harder on his senses at that moment, a familiar and yet unknown feeling. This rage was not the normal icy anger that usually drove him. Instead this rage was molten; a burning seething inferno that rolled beneath his skin and writhed behind his eyes.

He fought, struggled viciously against the force that held him, his feet trying desperately to find a hold, to hit vulnerable flesh. Anything to free him, anything to no longer be held to be restrained was to be at the mercy of another, was unacceptable. He would never allow himself to be beaten, to be whipped again. Not when there was not anyone else there for them to threaten him with. Not when he had only himself to look after.

He felt the moment that the situation changed, felt the foot that hooked around his ankle and forced him to his knees. He struggled harder, twisted and thrashed in his spot on the floor but it was no use. The body behind him was heavy and strong, so much stronger than J.T. as it bore him down to the ground, forcing him to lay face down on the floor.

He screamed a long loud feral noise that voiced his rage and anguish aloud. Panting he refused to stop struggling, refused to give up his fight. He would never stop fighting, would never give up a battle and retreat as long as he held breath in his lungs. Not again.

A voice sounded around him then, whispering in a language that he did not know. His mind immediately flashed to thoughts of the voice, his once upon a time solace and companion and the memory of it froze him to the core. He'd longed for its return before he'd discovered the truth, had begged and pleaded with it in desperation. To hear it again filled him with both rage and an almost pleasurable pain. It also forced the flames to retreat from his skin, to cause the bubbling lava behind his eyes to cool and harden.

Deep inside he seethed at the fact that even if he hated it he still longed for it. Still cherished it despite the betrayal it represented.

Those thoughts were erased in the next second though when he realized that the words he had heard did not come from within his mind but behind him. He recognized the tone of that voice, the soft slur of the words as they passed through pink lips. He could see them in his head, knew now who it was who had restrained him so effortlessly.

Piotr.

"Такой гнев Вы несете. Успокойте себя небольшой волк. Будьте все еще." His voice was soft and slow, the tone almost rhythmic as he spoke.

J.T. could not help but respond; could not help but allow the cadence of those words to overtake his senses. The wolf within him snarled and thrashed but J.T. could tell that even its anger was weakening, that its rage was being washed away in the tide of soothing words. He felt his body beginning to relax, felt his muscles beginning to uncoil themselves one by one as all the while Piotr whispered calming words in his ear.

Finally the last of the fight began to seep out of J.T. not really, he had too much fight to ever lose it all but some of it could be stifled, could be shut away and hidden for a time and he stilled on the floor. Piotr held him there for a moment longer, his large muscular body a warm and heavy weight against J.T.'s back. He was finally calm but he knew that Piotr was waiting to make sure that he would not try and lash out again; that he was done for the moment with his attempts at violence.

J.T. forced himself to take a deep breath, to release it slowly as he bottled away any remnants of his rage to use at a later time such emotions were powerful, would give him strength and resolve unlike any other if he ever needed it again and he knew that one day he would. He felt Piotr release his hold, felt the absence of the Russian's warmth as he levered himself to his feet.

He realized in that moment just how far he had fallen.

The wolf urged J.T. to gain his feet, to crouch in the corner of the room and to prepare himself to spring to rip and tear, to make this fool bleed crimson on the white tile of the floor for what he had done. no matter the fact that he reminded him of pack. He wasn't pack, not really and thus he deserved no mercy.

J.T. resisted the compulsion, determined not to give into the wolf, determined to maintain control of himself in all ways. Losing himself in such a way was unacceptable; if Piotr had been the enemy he would have been dead, his life's blood flowing across the tile due to his own stupidity. Piotr had gotten into the room, had laid hands on J.T. before he had even been aware of his presence and had taken him down in an instance. Such strength was impressive, should be studied and learned if at all possible.

So instead of rising, instead of crouching and preparing to attack he simply rolled onto his back and stared up at Piotr's bulky form, cataloguing everything he could about him. They regarded each other in that moment, steel eyes meeting warm brown across the distance between them. There was something in Piotr's eyes understanding, acceptance, not rage or disgust and that was so very rare that caused something to shift in J.T.'s chest, some disjointed piece of him realigning itself with an almost audible click.

"What you did, how you took me down, what is it called?" J.T.'s voice was soft and low, a calculated decision on his part to set the mood in the room. He did not wish to antagonize Piotr, not when the man had information that J.T. could not steal from him. He needed a teacher, not an adversary or a victim.

"It is called Systema, an ancient Russian fighting form that uses the body's levers as both a weapon and a weakness." Piotr's voice was just as soft and his eyes were sharp with a knowledge that J.T. was not used to seeing in anyone besides himself. "It requires discipline and control of the body on a high level."

"Teach me?" J.T. phrased it as a question when he desperately wanted it to be an order. He needed this, needed some way to channel the anger and the rage so that it did not over take him again. He could not afford to allow the wolf to gain another foothold within him, could not let it run free in his mind or he would lose himself. It was so much stronger than he had ever thought it would become.

"To learn you must trust me and to trust me you must acknowledge the truth of yourself. Can you do this thing? Can you face your own demons and make them your servants so that you are never again ruled by the rage you just displayed?" Piotr asked his questions with an intensity that caused every nerve in J.T.'s body to light themselves on fire.

To tame the wolf, to make it his servant and no longer his equal would be a wondrous thing. If he could master that monster, if he could master himself then he would be unstoppable, would no longer be vulnerable from within. Yet to trust in someone else was an unheard of thing, a concept that he did not even enjoy considering. The best that he could do would be to fake it, to try his damndest to convince Piotr of his sincerity.

Determined and set on his new course of action J.T. met Piotr's eyes fearlessly once again. "If that is what takes then I shall endeavor to do so."

That same knowledge from before flashed in Piotr's eyes and J.T. knew that the older man had not been fooled. Instead of calling him out on his lie, instead of outright refusing him Piotr nodded and held out his hand to J.T.'s still prone form.

"Then your first lesson starts now." That hand remained steady and strong in J.T.'s line of sight and he found that once he turned his eyes to it he could not look away.

It symbolized too much, acceptance and knowledge, trust in a way he was not familiar or comfortable with.

The wolf raged against the newly reinforced bars that held it back, desperate to stop J.T., desperate to keep the ground that it had claimed, the pieces of his mind that it had overtaken. To accept Piotr's hand was to begin his training, to begin tightening his hold over the wolf and his struggle to tame it. To accept was to strive to one day hold the wolf's leash, to make it a tool and a servant for J.T.'s own desires. Something to unleash and unmuzzle only when he truly needed it.

The wolf howled and raged and J.T. slowly, oh so slowly reached up and clasped Piotr's hand in his.

He had never before backed down from a challenge and he was not willing to start now.

For if J.T. could not change the outcome then he would change his world.

AN: So that's it for this chapter please do tell me what you think and make sure you stop by my profile and take the link to the Bedtime Stories blog. I really do hope that you guys will come and talk with me!

Translations:

Такой гнев Вы несете. = Such rage you carry.

Успокойте себя небольшой волк. Будьте все еще. = Calm yourself little wolf. Be still.