13 - On The Hunt

That night, as Kay, Teo and Lachlan settle down around the table for a late dinner, Rowan and I join them. Imogen has disappeared to speak with Darius and Milo about the wolf body. Hopefully she can talk some sense into the alpha and convince him to start seeing us as allies instead of threats.

In the meantime, the rest of us discuss the night's events in hushed tones— or, the others do, at least. I'm sat at the end of the table, a vast array of weapons displayed before me. One of the essentials I couldn't leave home without was a whetstone, and I use it now to sharpen my blades with the added benefit of seeming too vengeful for anyone to bother me.

Plans flit through my head; ideas are sparks attempting to light the embers of my frustration into infernos.

I can feel the heat of my family's attention on my skin but I'm caught too deep in my distraction to give them any of mine.

The keys to Teo's car are in my and Rowan's room. If I leave at dawn, I can catch the hunters unaware, sleeping and blissfully ignorant of my presence until it's too late. I'll break in through the fire exit, take them out one by one, and force answers out of the lone survivor. Are there any more of you? Where did you come from? What was your plan? How did you find this place? What gave them away?

"... know emotions are running high, right now," Rowan says, his voice a beacon in the fog smothering me. Against my better judgement, my eyes flicker up to regard him through the cover of my tousled hair. As though feeling my attention, his bronze gaze fixes on me for a moment before sliding away. "We'll keep trying to convince him. We could lead the hunters out into the woods bordering the warehouse— that way, we can shift and no one will see us."

Lachlan hums thoughtfully. "If we station a wolf or two there, maybe they can pick up on the hunters' plans. We'll be ready for whatever attacks they're planning."

"We need to do something," Matteo adds, frowning as he crosses his arms and leans a little closer. In a quieter voice, he forges on, "I think grief has clouded his judgement. We're sitting ducks here and he knows it. Taking the fight to the hunters is the only way to stop them without risking more lives. Without the hunters to worry about, we can focus on whoever's killing his scouts. Right, Riv?"

At my name, every pair of eyes fixes upon me. The open trust behind their gazes catches me off-guard and for a moment I only stare back.

I won't risk their lives over this.

The shutters slam down behind my expression. "Exactly," I say, my knife hissing against the whetstone in symphony.

As the others continue their conversation, throwing around potential plans, Rowan stays quiet. His gaze is locked on me, tracking every slight movement. Brows pinched, posture wound tight, a frown tugging at his features.

If he has any idea of my own plan, he doesn't mention it.

Once we've cleared the table and dispersed into our respective rooms, I set my belt of freshly-sharpened knives on the bedside table and dress down for bed.

Rowan follows my lead, and though the air feels thick, he doesn't break the silence gathering between us.

Until, at last, I get beneath the sheets.

"I know something's bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, his voice a gentle murmur as he slides into bed behind me.

I pull the covers over me a little more and shake my head.

"That's alright," he tells me, his tone a soft caress. Guilt spears my chest, but the desire to make sure he's safe keeps me in check. "I just... I want you to know I'm here to listen whenever you're ready. Goodnight, love."

His understanding and patience is as devout and perpetual as the mountains watching over Crescent Valley. An assuring, constant presence. He stays on his own side of the bed— probably assuming I want a little space.

The bed is small for a double, and yet the distance between us feels like an endless stretch of no man's land.

I can't stand it.

With a sharp sigh, I roll over and shuffle into his arms. He sighs in return — a pleasant, relieved sound — and warmth stirs in my chest.

"I hate it here," I whisper, keeping my eyes closed.

His lips brush against my forehead with the delicacy of a feather. "I do, too."

For a moment, I say nothing, and then the words come flowing. "I want to face the hunters on my own."

He blows out a soft breath. "I know."

For a while, neither of us say anything. I'm expecting Rowan to bring up our deal — the one where he'll look out for me and I'll do the same for him — or ask me to change my mind. Anything to keep me from doing this alone.

"Do you remember when Alessandro ordered that knife to your throat?" he asks suddenly, the question so random it has me risking a peek at him. The bedside lamp is on behind him, casting his form in a halo-like glow.

"Yeah, of course I do," I answer. It's a night I've tried hard to forget to no avail. The night I tore a pack to pieces.

"I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life. The thought of losing you like that... I felt like I couldn't breathe, like gravity had stopped working and you were too far out of reach," he continues softly, his eyes trailing over my features with lazy familiarity. "You're a strong person, River, but you don't have to carry me like a burden. I want to fight by your side because that's where I belong. We are your pack. Lach, Teo, Kay and I— we're all here to help you. I know you want to keep us at arm's length to keep us safe, but who's going to watch out for you? You don't have to shoulder this on your own. I need you with me, River. I need you safe. So if there's a way I can help you with these hunters, you have to let me help."

Against my will, his words work their way past my defences, right to my very core. His dark eyes meet mine; an endless pool of sincerity.

"You trusted me when Gale cornered you. I trusted you when we faced Orion, Liliana and your mother," he murmurs. "We've got an alliance, you and I, to keep each other safe. Do you still trust me, River? Because I know I trust you with my life. Do you trust me with yours?"

I can't break the gentle hold his gaze has over me, and I don't want to, either. He's the sunrise after an endless night. He is a light flickering above the surface of a deep ocean, reaching for me, grasping to pull me up for air.

"I trust you," I whisper.

"Then let me help," he returns, swiping his thumb across my cheek and offering me a tentative, assuring smile.

"I want to head over at dawn and catch them off-guard," I say at last. "If I draw them out, you and the others can ambush them in the woods."

He nods thoughtfully, his eyes fluorescing golden in the dim light. "That could work."

A smile touches my lips. His focus darts down appreciatively. "Of course it will. My plans always work."

He laughs softly, closing the distance between us. He kisses me, his lips caressing my own like silk, and the heat I'd felt back in that alley stirs once more. The embers of arousal within me catch a spark. I return the kiss with fervour, making a little desperate noise rush from him.

At last, we pull apart only to rest our foreheads together, gazing deeply into one another's eyes alight with passion.

"Thank you for trusting me, love," he breathes against me. "We're going to be okay. I've got you, and you've got me."

I nod, closing the distance between us. He meets me halfway, our lips meeting in a ripple of warmth and bliss and velvet. Fizzles of a pleasant heat courses down my spine but we keep things soft and gentle, since neither of us want to be overheard in a house of paper walls.

When we break apart, lips twitching with smiles, Rowan sweeps his thumb across my cheek in steady motions and I take hold of his wrist to keep him there.

"If you want us out of here by dawn, we should try and get some sleep," he tells me.

When I nod, he releases me and shuffles back to switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He finds his way back into my embrace and we melt into one another.

It isn't long at all before he sinks into sleep, his form going heavy against mine, his embrace loosening a little.

Time drifts away but I'm wide awake, absently admiring my fated. My eyes have adjusted a little to the dark — an aftereffect of the ritual, no doubt — and I study his graceful features softened with sleep.

As minutes melt into hours, and still I lie awake, admiration falters into impatience. It's the uncomfortable bed, or the unfamiliar room, or the wariness lurking in the air— whatever it is, I lie staring up at the ceiling.

When Rowan rolls out of my embrace, I sit up with a sharp sigh and shuffle out of bed. Sleep evades me as though I've held a knife against its neck at some point in the past and now it wants to stay as far away from me as possible.

Snatching up my belt of knives — a force of habit, but one I'm glad of — and securing it around my hips, I pull on some shoes and cast a furtive glance to Rowan. He lies in the tangled sheets, his features softened with sleep, his form seeping with a pleasant fog of peace.

Even in the heart of this pack of unrest and suspicion, he is a beacon I want to cling to.

I need to clear my head, so I slip quietly from the room and make my way outside to train. The pack house is silent except for the out-of-rhythm ticking of distant clocks. Shadows cling to every surface they can find. I get the impression that the house is holding its breath, invisible eyes watching me from the dark.

My footsteps fall silent on the old floorboards — it is somewhat of a habit of mine to remain undetected when I want to be — as I reach the front door and slip out into the night.

A cool breeze whips around me, making goosebumps rise on my skin and a shiver scuttle down my spine. Idly, as I stalk towards the wall of trees swaying in the dark, I wish I'd worn a thicker jumper.

I let the shadowed trees swallow me whole and fill my lungs with cool air scented with moss and musk. Training always helps me clear my mind, but I don't want to risk waking anyone up with all the noise. My feet carry me onwards and time slips away.

As I wander off the trail, studying every shuddering bush and sighing tree for the golden eyes of wolves on patrol, a twinge of unease has suspicion prickling in the back of my head.

The woods are eerily quiet.

That's the first little tug on my focus. The first warning light that tells me something's not quite right.

A nervous breeze weaves through the canopy above my head. Leaves rustle and whisper to one another. Other than that, a heavy silence hangs in the air. No owls, no crickets. No signs of life.

My eyes narrow a fraction and I scan the dark woods. Gnarled trees cast humanoid shadows across the mossy ground. Outstretched branches masquerade as grasping fingers— or claws. I've been walking for a quarter of an hour at least and still haven't encountered a single wolf out patrolling.

Something's not right.

Twin throwing blades hiss as I rip them from my belt, twirling them in my hands as my focus darts from one shadow to another. Whispers of lightning stir in my veins— a Haze rousing from a long sleep. I urge it back, will it to calm. These are unfamiliar woods and I'm helping a new pack. If I fall, I'm not certain if I can stop myself from turning on them in time.

My breath curls into a fog before me. I stay still, as frozen as the trees surrounding me, and listen.

Branches crack and groan. A cool breeze murmurs and rustling leaves pass on their secrets in a rush.

Somewhere off to my right, I catch the snap of a stick, the crunch of fallen leaves.

My focus obediently darts towards the sound, my grip tightening on the knives. It's too sharp, too heavy, too spontaneous to be mere sounds of nocturnal life rummaging from the safety of their dens.

And then I see it. A dark mass shifting between the cover of shadowy trees— too tall to be a wolf.

Before I can send my knives flying, there's a commotion of howls and shouts and cries off to the left.

The dark figure darts into the shadows — slipping from my sight — and I hiss out a curse and turn my focus towards the chaos. At once, I'm rushing through the shrubs, every footfall a whisper.

Vaguely, as sounds of a brutal fight rise on the once quiet air, I'm glad I brought my knives.

As I breach a clearing, I skid to a stop and find wolves and humans locked in close combat. Yelps and whines and growls— slashing knives and aimed guns and splatters of blood. It's utter bedlam. My blood sings in my veins.

The hunters have made their move.

I charge in, knives flying, and within the instant, two hunters fall— blades sticking out their necks.

A few break away from the wolves to challenge me. Gas canisters and knives come flying. I dart and weave between them as a choking fog explodes into the clearing, smothering everything. Yelps and choked howls rise in morbid symphony. Aconite, then. So these hunters aren't entirely useless.

I do not falter, but the hunters do when they see me stalking through the smoke. Unaffected. Knives twirling. Piercing glare fixed upon them. A hunter on the hunt.

"Bastard," one spits out, rushing for me. The air splits in two as his blade comes slicing through the air.

I dart beneath it and, as I rise from my crouch, my own knife obediently makes its home in his exposed neck. He gasps and splutters, falling backwards. Another hunter steadies him, her eyes wide with rising panic. Either side of her, two more break away from their own fights to fix their attentions on me. One of them trains a gun on me. The other lifts a crossbow and aims it at my chest. I falter, swiping another knife from my belt.

Close by, the wolves on patrol are caught in a brutal fight. Surrounded by eight hunters, they're corralled into a vulnerable position. Whines and snarls and yelps are met with slashes of silver. For fuck's sake.

The hunter in another's arms slumps, dead, and she guides his limp form to the ground. The moment she's free, she rushes at me with a war cry, knives glinting.

I meet her challenge in a flurry of slashes and hits, of pivots and parries.

In a blur, I bury my knife to the hilt in the gaping hole of her defence, right in her abdomen. As a scream rips through her throat, I tear the knife free and send it flying for the crossbow-wielding hunter. My aims lands true.

The second hunter fires two shots in the chaos— an explosion of noise that makes my ears ring.

For a moment, I think he's missed. And then pain surges for my focus. Damn it.

Clarity takes a plunge; my Haze rushes up to catch me.

My world electrifies as lightning surges beneath my skin. It strips the agony to shreds.

In its place, a raw power thunders through my soul. Elation tears through me.

The hunter who fired the shots meets a swift end at my hands. I grapple him to his knees, watch the spark of terror in his eyes as I take my knife and press it against his neck. A sharp slash and a splatter of warm blood on my face and he slumps to the ground.

I rise and stalk for the ring of hunters who, by now, have noticed the true threat in the clearing. They turn their backs on the injured wolves, giving them up as lost causes, and focus on me. Most of the wolves dart for the cover of trees, out of the worst of the smoke, but a couple leap onto the closest hunters and drag them down in a blur of snarls and claws and fangs and screams.

So they can be useful, after all.

My lips twitch with a smile as the rest of the hunters surge for me with war cries. Bullets and arrows hiss past me; I dart free of them and retaliate with knives slicing through the air.

We meet like a shock of thunder.