#warewolf reader

"Eternal Howl"

AC: Of course. Enjoy, I hope you’ll like this☺️

Warnings: possessive behavior, captivity/forced proximity.

The cold stone halls of Volterra hummed with an ancient silence, broken only by the sound of velvet steps and cloaked whispers. The Volturi had stood longer than most empires, the weight of their power pressed into every marble arch, every shadowed corridor. And yet, within their great chamber, destiny began to stir.

When Aro clasped Alice Cullen’s delicate hand, visions bled into him like light spilling through cracks in a door. Futures, shimmering and unraveling, lay bare before his delighted eyes. But there was something unexpected—something Alice herself had not fully grasped. Amid the threads of Bella and Edward’s fates was another presence: a man standing in the shadows of a moonlit forest, golden eyes not of a vampire, but of the wolf.

A heartbeat thundered in the vision. Yours.

The image was brief, but it was enough. Aro’s lips curled in delight. “How curious,” he whispered, eyes darting to Caius, whose irritation had only grown during the Cullens’ visit. “Brother… it seems destiny has conspired to grant you a gift.”

Caius, pale and severe, raised a brow. His disdain for wolves was legendary, rooted in bloody history. The La Push shapeshifters disgusted him. Their stench, their arrogance, their weakness. Yet what Aro saw was not them—it was something older. Something Caius could not easily dismiss.

“A werewolf,” Aro said, savoring the word like a secret. “Not a child of the Quileute magic. A true wolf—of blood and bone, as the ancients wrote. And he belongs to you.”

Caius’s jaw tightened. The throne room felt colder, darker. “Impossible.”

But his heart, long since hardened to stone, beat once—a throb of recognition he could neither suppress nor deny.

----

You had always felt… different. The world was louder to you:

heartbeats, scents, the rustle of every leaf. The moon pulled at your veins, and on nights of silver light, your body tore and reformed, giving way to the wolf beneath your skin. You were not cursed—you were chosen, born into a bloodline older than memory.

You lived in the fringes of humanity, an exile by instinct, guarding forests and wild places, avoiding villages that whispered of beasts in the night.

You never imagined your existence meant anything beyond survival.

That changed when the Volturi came for you.

They did not approach gently. Cloaked guards surrounded you in your wilderness, their red eyes burning with threat. But when Caius himself stepped forward, the world shifted.

His gaze was sharp enough to cut through centuries. Silver-blonde hair framed a face both cruel and divine, carved from marble and tempered with fire. His lips pressed into a scowl, but his eyes—his eyes betrayed him.

He froze.

The wolf inside you stilled.

The world narrowed until it was only him, and for the first time in your life, your instincts did not scream kill or flee. They whispered one word, as if your very blood recognized him: mate.

Caius hated it. Hated that his heart surged, that the bond seared itself into his chest. You were a werewolf, everything his laws despised, yet destiny had bound you tighter than chains. He turned away, cold and wrathful, but the thread between you only pulled harder.

----

In the nights that followed, you were taken to Volterra, though not as a prisoner. Aro, ever the conductor of fates, delighted in watching Caius wrestle with the storm in his chest. He excused your presence, even encouraged it, though he cloaked his interest in pleasantries.

You wandered the citadel like a caged beast, your senses overwhelmed by the suffocating scent of stone, blood, and immortality. Yet always, you felt him near. Caius lingered at the edges of rooms, watching with contempt sharpened by longing. You met his gaze more than once, and each time it was like colliding with fire and ice at once.

One evening, the silence broke.

“You should not exist,” Caius hissed, cornering you in a vast library where the firelight carved his face into harsh beauty. His voice was venom, but it trembled at the edges. “Your kind was meant to be destroyed.”

You should have been afraid. But instead, you stepped closer, letting the bond burn through the tension. “And yet here I am. Yours.”

The words hung between you like a challenge, like a promise. His lips parted in a snarl, but his hand betrayed him—fingers twitching as if aching to touch you. His self-control wavered, centuries of discipline cracking beneath something primal and raw.

“You are my ruin,” he whispered.

“Or your salvation.”

The wolf in you knew no lies, and Caius could hear the truth in your heartbeat. Slowly, he reached out, his cold fingers grazing your jaw. The contact was electric, pain and pleasure entwined, the bond singing in both of you.

For once, Caius was not the executioner, nor the king upon the throne. He was simply a man, claimed by destiny, undone by a creature he thought he loathed.

----

Over time, you became his shadow and his strength. The Volturi whispered of the blasphemy of it—Caius, the most merciless of them all, tethered to a wolf. But none dared challenge what fate had written.

You were fire to his frost, wildness to his order. You clashed, you burned, you fought, and yet—together, you were whole.

Caius, who had lived in centuries of hunger and war, finally tasted something different. Not peace—never peace—but passion. A reason to rise from the throne and bare his soul.

And though he would never admit it aloud, in the quiet of your shared moments, when your warmth pressed against his cold body, Caius realized the truth he had spent eternity denying:

He had not been made to rule.

He had been made to find you.

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