16 - Harrowing Truth

The sound of muffled voices and the thud of approaching footsteps rouses me to clarity. I sit up a little, abruptly alert. Tension hangs thick and choking in the air.

Either side of me, Rowan and Lachlan tense against invisible foes; a pair of stoic sentries. Whilst Kay melts a little further into their seat, Matteo rises just as Darius appears in the open doorway.

He doesn't give the alpha time to say anything. Instead, he demands, "What the fuck else have you hidden from us?"

Darius raises a hand in submission and skulks into the room with Imogen and Milo. Their gazes, as one, flicker to me and drop down to the floor. Apprehension, and perhaps a little bit of guilt, twists their features.

"Please, Matteo. I can explain. I never meant to deceive you. Any of you," Darius says, sinking heavily onto the armrest of the empty sofa opposite us.

With clear reluctance, perhaps due to the five fiery gazes being directed their way, Imogen and Milo take their seats as well.

"Are those wolves alright?" Rowan asks, breaking the silence that gathers between us. When I glance his way, I find his dark brows pinched and his lips pulled into a little frown. He catches my gaze and his arm tightens securely around me.

"They're fine, thanks to your fated," Darius returns. His eyes shimmer a little when I look at him, and he nods a sombre acknowledgement. "I owe you a life-debt, River."

"You can start by explaining what the hell we saw in those woods," I grumble. "You called it a lycanthrope."

He nods and rubs a hand over his stubble-shadowed jaw. "To put it plainly, it is a monster. A curse."

"Did you know about it when you called Teo here?" Rowan asks, a rare sharp edge to his tone. The others pick up on it; even though his words aren't directed at them, Teo and Kay shuffle uncomfortably.

Darius drops his gaze to the floor, his answer clear.

"You bastard. You're saying you would've let him die in your place if he came alone?" Lachlan speaks up, his eyes blazing golden fury.

"You have to understand, we thought it was the hunters mimicking a rivalry, at first," he rushes to explain himself. "Wolves started showing up dead— but not from the hunters on our tails. Their bodies were torn apart. We picked up this foul scent and tracked it. When we found the creature down by the lake, I realised how much shit we were in. It all happened so quickly. We were all there— Klaus, Milo, Imogen, Grace and I. We knew it was our duty to put an end to the abomination, but it— it lunged at our Grace. We tried to stop it, but Klaus got there first. It tore him apart like he was nothing, and it snatched my daughter away. It took my baby. So I started calling for help. We couldn't face a war on two fronts, but no one would come if they knew about the lycanthrope and what it could do—" He breaks off, his voice shuddering with emotion, his eyes fluorescing golden sorrow as he covers his mouth with a shaking hand. "I lied to you about that wolf you found because I couldn't risk you running. I thought if I could just get some help with the hunters, I could take on the lycan alone. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Bullshit," Matteo snaps. "You're not taking on anything, you're telling your own patrols to run from it. You're drowning, Darius, and you're pulling us down with you."

He didn't want to send any werewolves with us to deal with the hunters because all of his attention — all of his pack's attention — is on this creature. A creature that shouldn't even exist prowling and tearing his people to shreds.

"I will not let my pack pay for the mistake I made," he returns, though his tone is lacking its usual fire. Instead, something awfully close to defeat cools his expression. It makes me uneasy seeing him this way; a timid candle's flame compared to his usual inferno. "Their only hope is to run before it catches them."

Realisation trickles coolly down my spine.

"You don't think you can kill it, do you?" At my voice, all eyes land on me. I stare at Darius and, meekly, he meets my gaze. "You've given up fighting."

"It's my fault," he tells me, his voice shuddering with raw emotion. "I should've gotten to her sooner. It should've been me the lycan killed, not Klaus. It's taken my baby and killed her and— and there's nothing I can do about it. I was ready to let fate intervene— if the Goddess has chosen to forsake us, who am I to stop the beast? And then... then you showed up."

"You asked for help, and we came."

"No, not all of you. I'm talking about you, River."

I frown but, before I can ask, Imogen speaks up.

"Whilst Darius called for reinforcements, I did some research. You're a Ferreus hunter," she says, reverence coating her tone in a haze of honey. "It is in your blood to kill this thing. Your kind take out entire packs with hardly any effort because werewolves aren't your true enemy— lycanthropes are. "

"What are you saying?" I demand, sitting up straighter. "I've never heard of a lycanthrope before. None of us have."

"Because your own ancestors nearly wiped them out," she insists, her eyes gleaming. "That's what your family do. Milo, get the books and the notes."

I bristle against her wording. Family. Those hunters are not my family. They never were.

The gamma obediently darts from the room— though whether to do as he's told or to escape the mounting tension between the rest of us, I'm not sure.

It isn't long at all before he returns, handing over a stack of papers and books I recognise from the office. Scrawled symbols, drawings and annotations litter the pages. Rowan takes an old book Milo offers and flips it open to reveal worn pages covered with drawings of beasts in the dark, of gaping jaws, of death made manifest in a creature with crimson eyes. A shiver scuttles down my spine— one of horror and grim recognition.

"Centuries ago, lycanthropes used to be the main threat to werewolves— not hunters," Imogen explains as Milo takes a seat once more at her side. There's an almost... feverish glint to her eyes as she stares at me in rapture. It's unnerving as hell. "When a human is bitten by a lone werewolf, and they aren't accepted into a pack early, their bite can become a curse. It rots, and becomes putrid, and turns them into something monstrous. They have no feelings, no control. They are forced into this state caught between man and wolf and it destroys their soul. They turn on our kind, on werewolves; driven by envy, furious with isolation. According to the legends, they consume werewolves in an attempt to forcefully gain what they lost; their humanity. Their bite can curse us— either it kills us, or it turns us. They don't stop there, either. They target humans too. Turning them. Forging their own pack of monsters. Centuries ago, the humans began to retaliate. It's written a family of hunters begged the Goddess for a weapon that could kill such a beast. They were bestowed with a gift — from the Goddess herself — and they became the weapons against lycanthropes. Every kill, markings would appear on their skin, channelling their power."

Cold certainty trickles down my spine. Vaguely, I wonder if I'm still passed out and this is just a strange fever dream of beasts and legacies and silver markings.

Imogen forges on, "They were Ferreus hunters, River. Your family. Over time, they used the gift bestowed upon them to hunt down the lycans and to stop them from raining terror down on humans and werewolves alike. A few escaped their wrath, but the hunters were bloodthirsty and didn't put aside their weapons or their gift once they believed the threats were gone. They had grown used to violence and turned on werewolves to whet their blades and appetites. And, just like the lycanthropes, they became legends. Shadows in the dark. They've become blinded by hatred and the lycanthropes have passed unnoticed. Turning humans to forge their own packs, killing werewolves and consuming them to keep strong. There have been monsters out there all this time and your kind have raised your weapons to innocent people. But you can make it right, River. You're the only one who can kill these things. You're the only one that stands a chance."

As she speaks, Rowan, Lachlan and I look over the drawings, and Teo and Kay watch us closely for our reactions. The symbols etched in charcoal are the exact same as the ones on my skin. Each speaks of power, of strength, of healing, of protection; an interconnected tattoo of runes and symbols.

But there's no lighting strikes. No lichtenberg figures.

I study my arm against the drawings, comparing, and the Haze lurking in my veins — that ever-present shadow — stirs with recognition. Archaic and weighted with sacred meaning. Duty, it whispers.

"Bullshit," I say, glaring at Imogen and gesturing to the streaks of lightning beneath my skin. "Since you apparently know more about me than I do, what about these? The lichtenberg figures."

"Don't you understand?" she asks, shaking her head softly. "They're not figures. They're cracks."

I blink, as startled as if she'd reached across that distance between us and struck me. "What did you just say?"

Sensing my discomfort, Rowan bristles, glaring sharply at her.

"Your soul is breaking apart at the seams because you've been killing the wrong creatures all this time. The power behind your legacy has been forced to conform into something that can't hold it. Not properly." She studies me closely, tilting her head. "Some sources think the cracks show the Goddess' wrath, and that when it is complete, when it covers every inch of your skin, it will kill you. They call it the Curse of Ferreus— that your own hatred for our kind will be the ultimate death of you. But your ancestors made an oath, hunter, and fulfilling it is the only way to save you from your mistakes. Only you can kill these lycanthropes, and only they can save you."

"That can't be true—"

"I didn't believe you could help us, at first," Darius cuts in, bowing his head in apparent regret. "I tried to drive you out because I know your kind are dangerous. I didn't want you to flip and turn on us— but tonight you... you killed those hunters and took a bullet for my pack."

"Two bullets," Rowan interrupts, his meaning clear. Two, not one. Intentional, not an accident.

Darius nods, glancing up at us. "I understand you owe us nothing. And I'll understand if you want to pack up and leave us to deal with our own mess. But if you stay, if you decide to help us with this lycan... I'll be forever in your debt. Whatever you need, it would be my honour to deliver it."

My mind is a little clouded with information of curses and legacies, and with pain lurking stubbornly, but one idea trickles towards clarity like a match struck in the dark.

I need numbers to take out the Ferreus hunters.

For fuck's sake.

All eyes turn on me. I'm suddenly reminded of the tense dinner last night — though it feels like an age ago — when Darius offended me and my family looked to me for my decision. Stay or leave. They're staring now, dedication alight in their eyes.

I understand. What we do now is entirely up to me once again. Only, this time, we need to face a monster to secure allies for a whole lot more monsters.

Releasing a sharp sigh, I say, "I'm not making this decision alone. Too many lives are at risk. You asked for our help with the hunters first, but they're not gone just yet. More will be waiting at the warehouse for the others to return. If we get there soon, before sunrise, we can catch them unaware. I need you to fetch all the silver weapons you can find from those hunters in the woods. My family and I are going to kill the rest of them, and after that, we'll decide whether to help you or cut our losses. If we come back, you'll have your answer."

Rowan frowns softly at me, brushing a stray strand of tousled hair from obscuring my eyes. All at once, he has every shred of my attention, and the rest of the room fades a little. "You're sure about rushing into another fight now, love? You're hurt."

"I'm sure," I tell him. "I'm fine, and I'm not going alone. I'll have you with me. All of you."

He nods and, together, we turn our focus to Darius, Imogen and Milo. Whilst the alpha looks torn between relief and pain, the luna frowns with clear apprehension. Milo's expression is twisted with guilt and apology.

"Very well," Darius says, rising from his seat. "If you need numbers—"

"No," I return, shaking my head. After the fight in the woods, the playing field is a little more even. I can rely on my family to follow the orders I give them, whilst Darius has flipped from furious to remorseful in a matter of hours and I don't want him changing his mind again. Besides, his pack has enough to deal with. "You focus on keeping the lycanthrope out. Let us deal with the hunters."

We all rise, too, sharing looks that speak a thousand words as we prepare ourselves for another fight. Rowan is attentive at my side, but the pain is slowly fading.

It has been a harrowing night of fights and revelations, of monsters and blood, of curses and legacies. And it's not over just yet.

Maybe I should've just stayed in bed.