Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This scenario is based vaguely off the end of 6x08 where we last see Denise and Alpha-wolf walking out of the door of the house and into the street. – Two part of my "Wolves under your front porch," series. And sequel to "Salt of the earth (type of dangerous)"

Warnings: Spoilers for 6x08, kidnapping/hostage situation, Alpha-wolf is not a good person, Denise is a puff pastry of goodness. I think you guys know how this type of stuff works out, animal death, canon appropriate violence.

Sow thy seeds (and learn thy lessons)

Chapter One

"Just be still."

"Don't-"

"Lower the guns. Lower the guns. Good. Slide them over. I want them. "

"You don't need her."

"No, I don't. Back. …Back."

"You're not going to make it out there."

"We'll see."

They waited for three days at the den, but the pack never returned home. He called for them. Singing the songs they'd sung together into the wind. Howling for them by night and doing wide-ranging circles through the brush during the day. But he received no answer.

Part of him knew the reason.

Pack was a constant thing. Predictable. Comforting. Grounding. Those who'd survived Alexandria would have looped back to familiar ground. They would have waited to regroup in their territory. His Beta would have assumed control in his absence. Perhaps even challenged him for leadership on his return. They would not have abandoned the nest, especially not with their packs and supplies still cached and half hidden under rotting stumps and tin-can trash heaps. There could only be one reason why the den was empty.

But the rest of him also understood what it was to be Alpha.

This was his pack. His responsibility. And while even the most practical part of him knew what had happened, he still had to go through the motions. He had to double check that the tracks in the dirt around camp were still smoothed over and old. That the fire pits were cold – empty. That the traps Aphid had set had been left unattended and the prey inside spoiling slowly in the late summer heat. That the nest of blankets inside the den – an earthy hollow of rock and soil, shielded from the elements by a sheath of camouflaged tarp – remained untouched.

He tied her to a tree at the mouth of the den after dawn every morning. Paying her little attention as he reacquainted himself with his territory in quarter-mile stretches as his side itched and burned. Sweating the fever out as he dug his fingers deep into the bark of the trees he already knew by smell. Wondering sluggishly if he might be able to feel the forest's pulse if he could only reach deep enough. If he could just reconnect with that barren little shard that lived in the center of his belly and-

It took him longer than it should have to recognize the expression on her face.

To understand the meaning behind the careful, hesitant words falling from her lips.

Pity.

He took great pleasure in slapping it off her face.

Pity was something given by the weak to commemorate those they thought less fortunate than themselves. It was not something that applied to him in any respect. In fact, it made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle at the insinuation. He was an Alpha without a pack. But he was still an Alpha – an apex predator. It was high time she learned her first lesson the hard way. Never believe you are above the animal that has already scented you as prey.

She didn't look at him in the eye at all after that.

Not for a long time.

The first lesson he taught her was what hunger - real hunger - tasted like. How it curdled like old blood across your tongue as the acids in your stomach tried to climb up your throat and choke you. How it was like a hole in your belly that couldn't be filled. That it weakened you. That it killed you in inches and that no matter who you were - an Alpha or the lowest of prey – you had to know to how to provide for yourself.

"I'm hungry," she told him the first morning.

He nodded then ignored her. Uninterested in anything more complicated than the water he willingly shared with her as his side burned, threatening fever again. He slept on and off and looked for signs of his pack.

She went hungry.

She said the same the second day. Biting on her lower lip like there was a pain there she couldn't soothe as she wrapped one of the blankets from the den tight around her shoulders. Anger and resentment deflated in favor of more fulfilling prospects. Wary, but this time with needs that had to be met. Just like any animal.

He nodded again. Feeling his own stomach burble hungry for the first time since the infection had set in. He cleaned the traps carefully – mindful of the spreading weakness in his limbs – setting aside the spoiled game before resetting them. Burning the carcasses and burying the ashes as she watched, shifting her weight from one foot to the other – nervous.

By the time night fell, one of the snares near the small gully-river had trapped a skinny, yearling hare. He snapped its neck with a pleased sound and returned home. The spoils of his hunt drawing her out of the den yet again as he gutted the hare and set it over the fire to be cooked.

She fidgeted, settling onto the log opposite him across the fire when he eased it off the roasting spit. Licking his fingers with long, exaggerated draws as she waited for him to pass her a share.

Again, he ignored her.

Instead he ate the entire thing without offering her even a sliver. Crunching at the gristle and gnawing laboriously on the ends of the bones. Even going so far as to suck the marrow out of the bones before letting them drop one by one, hissing into the fire. Watching her struggle with herself until she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"You bastard," she hissed, eyes glittering. Threatening angry tears between clenched teeth. Meaning every second of it as he stamped out the fire and tugged the length of rope that bound her hands.

"It's time to rest," he told her, yanking her into the den after him as the predators of the night eagerly took their place upon the greater forest stage.

The next morning he woke to find her staring down at him in the dark of the den. Pale skin streaked with dirt, eyes glittering a desperate sort of manic he remembered well from when he had been forced to learn the same lesson.

He ignored the instinct that urged him to streak up and take her neck between his teeth.

To remind her.

To make sure she knew.

To see how pretty she looked when she submitted.

Instead, he forced himself still, eyes sliding from the smudged-moist her glasses to the raw-red of her bound wrists. Meeting her, inch for inch as she looked him right in the eye.

"Can you teach me?"

Again he nodded. But this time a predatory-pleased smile split his lips.

He'd been waiting for this.

"All you ever had to do was ask," he told her, sleep-hoarse and strangely proud as she wrenched her hands in front of her to be untied. Clearly ready to get started as he stretched in place, taking his time to ease the kinks of his bones and check the dressings around his wound as she made impatient noises in her throat and bled determination – hunger - rage into the air around his head.

He arched a brow before he reached up and untied the knots, feeling her stiffen as he jerked her down – close. Breathing her in as her breath haze warm and insolent across his cheek. Clearly wanting nothing to do with him despite their coming lesson as she scrambled away - crab-like - the moment her hands were free. Hating him with her eyes as she jammed her glasses straight and wriggled out of the den like the very air he breathed was offensive.

Feisty.

But better yet, she was learning.

Authors Note #2: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Big thank you to gunslingerdixon for the dialogue. – There will be one more chapter to this part of the series, stay tuned.