10 - Bloodstained Reputation

The rest of dinner passes in a solemn and wary blur that reminds me all too well of life with the Ferreus hunters. The knife pressed against my ankle has never felt so comforting. Even though it's not silver, it feels good to have something familiar. Something I know how to wield within easy reach should Darius wish to test my patience until I snap.

He came very close, earlier, to seeing a side of me I have tried hard to bury over the past month. My Haze recognises a dormant threat in the alpha, its promise whispering assurances through my blood. I devote most of my focus to breathing through the mounting tension, to urging that stirring chaos within me to still. Darius may be an asshole, but he has a pack at his beck and call. If I fall, I'll kill him, and the rest of his pack will have no problem turning on me. They have the advantage through numbers alone.

My family wouldn't make it out alive if I make this pack my enemy, so for their sake, I bury the urge to fall back and let the Haze take care of the problem. He isn't the true threat. The Ferreus hunters are, and I need all the help I can get to take them down. If that means swallowing my rage at Darius' brutish excuse of communication, then so be it.

Once we're finished, Rowan offers to clear the table and, eager perhaps to escape the vines of awkwardness choking the rest of us, Kay rushes to help him. As they both disappear into the kitchen, Lachlan and Matteo remain by my side like stoic sentries.

Darius clears his throat, drawing my focus. "You wanted to see a map of our land?" he asks, breaking the quiet that has settled over us. To his credit, he looks a little guilty; his eyes flicker with a silent apology and his brows are drawn tight. Even his posture seems a little smaller than before— though whether that's because he's genuinely remorseful or because Imogen is close enough to snap at him, I'm not too sure.

I nod, and Imogen rises from her seat. "I'll show you," she tells me, offering a warm if timid smile before sending her fated a pointed glance. "You ought to find Milo, dear."

"Of course," Darius says, rising and disappearing through the hallway in search of the elusive gamma. If he had a tail in this form, I'm certain it would be tucked between his legs.

Lachlan, Matteo and I follow after Imogen as she leads us through a maze of hallways and into an office. It's small, like the rest of the house, and gives the impression of a detective's lair. The far wall is lined with shelves stocked full of old books and the scent of them permeates the air in a haze of dust, old vanilla, and coffee left to go cold. Before the bookshelves stands an ornate mahogany desk full to the brim with files, with one armchair behind it and two arranged before it. A large window on the adjacent wall looks out over the woods and set before it is a table housing a worn map.

It's this which I approach first, pulled along by instinct, and Lachlan shadows me dutifully.

Imogen strides for the desk and gathers the piles of paper up before shoving them into one of the drawers. With a heavy sigh, she takes a seat on one of the armchairs and stares hard down at her hands.

"How are you holding up?" Matteo asks softly. He perches on the armchair next to her, poised and ready to offer assurances.

"It's been tough," she admits, her voice holding a touch of strain. "Thank you for coming back, Matteo. And for bringing your friends. Darius didn't mean any harm— he knows as well as I do that we need your help. It's just... he's never called another alpha an ally before. You know what he's like. If he can't do something himself, he never asks for help."

"I thought it was strange of him to ask for my help," Matteo muses, his dark brows pinching. "I knew it must've been serious if he did, so we came as quickly as we could."

"I appreciate it." Imogen lifts her eyes — red-rimmed and glassy with unshed tears, until she blinks them back — and meets my gaze. "You're not what I expected."

A frown ripples my brow. "How so?"

"Well," she says, dropping her gaze to her lap, where she wrings her hands together fervently. "I've heard stories of Ferreus hunters. Told a few, too, to keep the little wolves in line. Bringers of death, silver shadows— your reputation precedes you, River, and it's a bloodstained one, at that. And yet here you are, fated to an alpha and willing to offer your service for strangers. I won't pry — it's none of our business how you came to call these people your family — but I appreciate your help all the same."

I blink, a little taken aback by her... benevolence in the wake of Darius' mockery.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I say at last. "I'll help however I can."

She raises her gaze to mine, a ghost of a smile twitching her lips. "I have no doubt you will."

We're disturbed by the thud of approaching footsteps and Darius comes marching into the room, a very subdued Milo in tow. Rowan and Kay emerge with them.

For the remainder of the evening, I settle into the familiar notion of security. Milo points out the pack's borders on the map and talks me through the approach of the hunters— where they attack, how many, the force they use. He explains the measurements he and Darius have put in place to keep the patrols as safe as possible. Their scouts keep constant watch on the borders — which have been tightened to make up for the reduced numbers — and the younger, older, or more vulnerable werewolves have been brought closer to the epicentre in a bid to keep them safe. Every able-bodied werewolf contributes to the patrol on a cycling rotation. Their security is stretched a little thin, but that's unavoidable.

In all, it seems like a decent defence. Tempting to the hunters, most definitely, but they have no other choice. If they hide and cower, they make themselves an easier target.

"What are you thinking?" Rowan asks me. He stands at my side, arms crossed, features pinched as he studies the map.

"I need to see these patrols for myself," I tell him, scrutinising the map. Nestled in the corner of the page is a town — the closest by miles, Milo claims — and it's here I expect the hunters will be staying. They won't want to venture too far, after all. I point it out— Lakeside, the namesake of this pack's land. "I think we need to check this place out. See if there's any evidence of hunters there. If we can find them, we can gauge their numbers more definitively and figure out their plans."

Rowan nods, pensive, and glances past me towards Lachlan, Kay and Matteo, who has since joined us at the table. "If Riv and I check out Lakeside, you three can help monitor the land. Check for gaps where these hunters are sneaking through."

"Yeah, of course," Lachlan agrees at once. At his side, Teo nods enthusiastically, and Kay stifles a yawn before nodding as well. The gamma's brows pinch as he regards us both. "If you do find them, don't engage, alright? Wait for backup." He levels his admonishing stare on me at that last bit and I roll my eyes lightly in return.

"We'll be careful," Rowan assures him.

"I can take you on a tour of the patrols in the morning," Darius says from where he lounges on the armchair behind the desk. As I turn to lay the heat of my attention on him, crossing my arms and resting back against the table, his gaze retreats to the window. "It's getting late, and I'm guessing you're all in need of a good rest after the journey. Are our measures up to your standard, River? Will they hold the night, or are we doing something horribly wrong?"

"They'll hold," I allow grudgingly.

Something about his posture wilts with relief. "Good. In that case, I think it's best if we pick this up in the morning."

– ➶ –

The night is a restless one. Every slight movement is punctuated with squeaks and murmured curses and heavy sighs as Rowan and I attempt to find a single comfortable position on a bed that feels as though it has been filled with shards of glass. We've already disposed of the clock, leaving it out in the hallway, but Rowan complains he can still hear it.

There isn't even a lock on the bedroom door to give me a little peace of mind, so I've tucked my knife beneath the pillow like I used to back when I first met Rowan.

As minutes melt into hours and sleep evades me, there's nothing I want more than to be back in Crescent Valley. Comfortable and safe and at peace. I miss it like oxygen. There's a cavern in my chest and with every squeak of the mattress, every unfamiliar creak somewhere further in the house, the void grows.

I've never been homesick, before.

No sooner has the thought crossed my mind that Rowan shuffles close, enveloping me in his warm embrace. His presence is a sunrise chasing off shadows; a lighthouse guiding me home in a tempest.

"You okay?" he breathes against the shell of my ear, sending a cascade of pleasant shivers down my back. I settle in his arms with a sigh and a little hum of assent.

"Are you?" I return, my voice the rustling of leaves.

"I am now," he murmurs tiredly against me.

As his form aligns against mine, and as our breaths sync in a swaying rhythm, some of the tension to my frame eases. I fall asleep like that, safe in his arms, only to startle awake to the creak of distant floorboards. The room is all shadows and silence, and for a moment or two I lie there in the dark, wondering where the hell I am.

Then it clicks. I'm in Darius and Imogen's cottage, in an uncomfortable bed hours from home. After a couple of minutes, my eyes adjust to the dark enough to see by— no doubt aided by the thin stream of moonlight struggling its way through the curtains. When I glance behind me, I find Rowan fast asleep. Tousled curls frame his soft features and his arm is wrapped loosely around my torso. He looks serene. Peaceful.

Distant creaks and wails disturb the quiet as the house settles. Or, I muse with some discomfort, as people wander around in the dead of night.

I don't like it here. I feel observed.

So I resolve to keep watch for a little while, to put my nerves at ease.

Sitting up carefully so as not to disturb Rowan, I fetch my knife from beneath the pillow, settle against the headboard, and toss it in lazy spins in the dark. My hazy thoughts drift over bleary plans for taking care of the rest of the Ferreus hunters— the true reason for my restlessness. There's too many unknowns. Will they all be there at the den? What if they've moved on to a new place, or some are out tackling packs? What if they've been lurking all this time, waiting for me to leave Crescent Valley, waiting for my pack to be vulnerable so they can attack? What if we go home and chaos has visited in the form of sharp knives and silver eyes? What if this was a terrible idea?

Hounding thoughts chase sleep away. Darkness has given way to a muted lilac by the time I give in and decide to have another go at getting some rest. My edges need to be sharp, after all.

With a heavy sigh, I tuck the knife away and shuffle into Rowan's sleepy embrace.

It seems as though I've only just dropped off when Rowan stirs. He stretches against me and gently runs his fingers through my messy hair. Outside, a raucous birdsong greets the rising dawn.

"Morning," he murmurs, pressing his lips to my temple. Bliss blooms in my chest. After a slight pause, he asks, "Are you awake?"

"I haven't slept," I mumble in return, melting further against him. Opening my eyes is too much effort, right now, and I'm already sinking when I add, "I don't like it here."

"Me neither," he admits, his embrace tightening a little. "Try and get some sleep, love. I have you. I'm not going anywhere."

I'm fading fast already, but his assurances help. It's not often I lie so sprawled over him, and yet his warm embrace is a security blanket I'm all too eager to bask in. I want to know he's close by. Feeling his warmth against me, with his cinnamon-and-musk scent caressing every breath, leaves me suspended in a fog of comfort.

At least until a sharp knock startles me from peace. I come awake with a flinch, clarity a spotlight shining in my face. Sunlight glares through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a searing glow. Before panic can set in, I hear a familiar voice.

"I'm heading out on a patrol if you both still fancied that tour." It's Darius, his gruff voice carrying easily through the thin door.

As I push myself up a little, bleary and put-out at the sudden disruption, Rowan offers me a wince of apology and announces, "We'll be right out."

Darius gives a knock of acknowledgement and must wander off, if the creaking floorboards are any indication.

With a heavy sigh, I shuffle off Rowan — in my sleep, I've used his chest as a pillow — and melt against the sheets, rubbing at my eyes and feeling only marginally better. Even despite the glaring sun, I feel as though I've been asleep for mere minutes.

"At least he knocked," Rowan says, sitting up and stretching. "Beau would've stormed right in."

"Don't remind me," I grumble. For a moment or two, I lose myself in open admiration as Rowan shrugs off his top and crosses the room to fetch some fresh clothes for us both from the dresser.

He catches me staring and offers a coy smile before tossing a pile of clothes onto my lap. Begrudgingly, I rise and get dressed.

We find the others in the kitchen. Kay is curled up on a chair at a little breakfast nook with a view of the swaying woods, looking about as ruffled and tired as I feel. Matteo and Lachlan lounge on island stools, discussing what life was like when Teo called this place home. They all glance up as Rowan and I wander into the room and offer us greetings. Behind the counter, Imogen is making up a cup of coffee. She smiles warmly at us, tells us to help ourselves to breakfast, and bustles off, coffee in hand, to fetch Darius from wherever he's wandered off to.

"Yep," Lachlan decides, studying us with a smile. "You didn't sleep well, either."

"It's that easy to tell, is it?" Rowan asks, retreating into the kitchen. "Toast?" he asks me over his shoulder.

"Please." I fall onto the stool next to Teo and perch my chin on my hand, trying hard to keep my eyes open.

Matteo gives me a friendly bump with his shoulder. "Riv looks like he wants to murder someone."

"To be fair, he always looks like that," Kay comments, a taunting edge to their tone that has me giving them the middle finger. "Aw, you're so cute when you're tired."

"Careful, or it'll be you he murders," Lachlan retorts lightly.

Once we've eaten and filled up on caffeine to stay awake, Darius manifests in the open doorway to fetch us, and together we all head out into the bright morning, ready if not entirely willing for that tour.