17 - What a Night

Rowan

The drive to Lakeside is quiet and sombre. Lachlan is driving, with Teo up front in the passenger seat and Kay on my right. River is melted against me, his head resting on my shoulder, his form all lax with sleep. I sit as still as I can, not wanting to disturb him. He's had a taxing night— first with the hunters out in the woods, then the ordeal with the bullets and the blood loss, not to mention the lycanthrope revelation, and now we're heading towards yet another fight. I desperately want to take him somewhere safe so he can recover, get a full night's rest, and stay out of harm's way. But he's right about the hunters left over. If we leave them to their own devices, they'll try again — perhaps with reinforcements — and with that monster roaming the woods, we cannot afford any distractions. The hunters need to be dealt with.

The shadowed woods flit past in a blur as the car hums steadily along a ribbon of asphalt. Above the swaying canopy, the sky is a blanket of navy punctuated with twinkling stars. Dawn creeps over the horizon.

The air in the car is laced with the distinct, sharp scent of silver belonging to the weapons Darius and Milo fetched from the dead hunters. Crossbows with silver arrows and a pile of bloodied, silver knives. We've put them all in the trunk, save a few knives on River's belt, but their scent persists regardless.

The windows up front are open, in an attempt to let the fresh air whisk away any hint of silver. Instead, it stirs River's woods-after-dark scent around me. As such, I'm fast sinking into a world of bliss.

Matteo scrubs a hand down his face, exhausted. "Fucking hell," he breathes, breaking the quiet between us all and drawing my focus. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known—"

"You have nothing to apologise for," I cut in swiftly as Kay bristles at my side and Lachlan sends him a sharp look of disapproval. "You didn't know. None of us did."

"You don't have to stay," he forges on, turning a little in his seat to regard us all. His dark, springy curls frame a face twisted with something awfully close to agony. "They're my former pack. Milo raised me like I was his own when I lost my mum. So did Darius and Imogen. I can't leave them like this. But you guys owe them nothing. You can get out."

"Like hell," Kay retorts sharply. When River stirs a little, they continue in a softer tone, "I'm not leaving you alone with that... that thing out there, Teo. If you're staying, so am I."

"I don't think any of us are going anywhere," Lachlan muses, his eyes flicking up to meet mine in the rear view mirror. "Riv won't want to leave like this, will he? Which means you're staying, Ro. So I am, too. We came here to sort out hunters— and now we've got another sort of hunter to deal with. The mythical, shouldn't-even-be-real kind."

Absently, I run my fingers through River's tousled hair and he melts a little further against me with a soft sigh. Lachlan's right. My fated isn't the sort to run from a fight, and I will not leave him behind— no matter what. "I know."

"They seem to think he's their only chance," Kay muses, leaning forwards a little to regard my fated curiously. "All that talk of legacies and destiny and curses. Do you think any of it is true?"

"That lycanthrope definitely looked cursed," Teo comments with a little shiver of revulsion. Lachlan snorts a laugh.

Unwillingly, my thoughts drift back to the dark woods, to the horrific caricature of a wolf, to the blood and grizzle dripping from gaping jaws. Horror scuttles down my spine. My idle hold on River tightens a little, as though that creature could reach through the open window and snatch him away from me if I'm not careful. Recalling the way his markings seemed to blaze like bottled lightning at the sight of the lycanthrope, and the way the beast backed up as though hesitating, a cold shock of certainty lances through me. Imogen is right. River might be the only one who can kill this thing, but that won't stop me from fighting by his side.

"I think it must be," Lachlan answers Kay. "You saw those drawn markings. They were an exact match. Imogen has clearly done her research on Ferreus hunters— and lycanthropes, for that matter. If she's right, and Ferreus hunters are the only match for this thing, it's lucky we've already got one on our side."

"It can't be a coincidence," Matteo muses softly, his brows pinching. "My old pack needs a Ferreus hunter, and the alpha of my new pack is fated to one."

"You're saying the Goddess has a strange sense of humour?" Lachlan returns with a smile.

"The strangest," he agrees, laughing a little.

"Let's focus on these hunters first," I decide, eager to switch the subject from impossible myths lurking in the woods to something we're more familiar with. "Then we can figure out what to do about fate and curses and lycanthropes."

Kay nods with a yawn. "What a night."

"We'll be fine," I assure them all, pouring as much confidence into my tone as I can muster, until the words feel thick as honey in my mouth. "They would have sent their best for the fight in the woods earlier, their guards will be down, and besides, River called us all decent fighters. That means something."

"Hell yeah, it does," Kay says, puffing out their chest with pride and making the others laugh softly. "Coming from him, that's the highest form of compliment."

When at last the quiet woodland melts into suburban life — dark cottages, streetlights battling against the haze of blue — I gently brush a finger along River's jaw, hoping to wake him up as carefully as possible.

Despite my best efforts, he flinches awake anyway and sits up, scrubbing at his face and glancing around to acclimatise himself. Abruptly alert, as always. He catches my gaze and a spark of bliss shimmers in his mercury eyes. The shadows of doubt and dread retreat beneath the heat of his close attention, and I offer him a little smile in return.

His eyes dart down obediently, appreciatively, before slowly dragging back up to hold my gaze once more. Pleasant embers stir in my chest.

I don't want to break the spell of peace, but I know I must.

"We're almost there," I tell him. "Are you ready for this?"

His dark brows ripple and, seemingly instinctively, his hand darts to the belt at his waist. Tonight, it's full of borrowed silver instead of his usual set, though I doubt the hunters he left in the woods will be needing them back anytime soon. I assume he wants the silver close in case of any more encounters with the lycanthrope.

"Are you?" he counters, a challenge in his tone. My smile stretches a little as he well and truly backs into that comfort zone of his; all sharp tones and glittering daggers for glares. Given where we're going, I'm glad he hauls up his guard.

"Well," I muse, shifting a little in my seat as I consider. "I'm tired as hell, my nerves are frayed, and I think I'll be seeing that lycanthrope in my nightmares for the foreseeable future, but apart from that, I'm good. You?"

"I'm fine," he assures me. When my focus shifts deliberately to his shoulder, where a bloodied bandage lurks beneath his jumper, he scowls lightly at me. "I mean it. They're almost healed— I can feel it."

"As long as you're certain. Where do you want us?"

"The woods," he decides, appraising us all. "If you shift just outside the warehouse, I can find a way to draw them out."

"Ah," Lachlan says with a nod. "We've got ourselves another luring-Gale situation. Got it."

"It worked out last time," I defend lightly.

River stifles a little laugh — perhaps at my optimism in the face of uncertainty — and the sound does pleasant things to my insides and stokes those embers into sparking flames. "Yeah, until the last bit."

My thoughts drift back to that day out in the woods. The day River had Gale pinned. I'd been ecstatic that he had trusted me enough to lure Gale to me instead of facing that mob alone, and then — seemingly out of nowhere — he'd thrown himself at me in a blur. Covering my body with his, protecting me against the onslaught of those he once called his family. He'd told me to trust him, and I had.

I'd known in that moment he felt what I did. A devotion. A duty to protect one another no matter what. He could have bolted and left us all for dead, but he took my hand and hauled me out of there.

That's what we do. We watch each other's backs, drag one another to safety— whatever it takes to emerge from the storm still holding hands.

I lift a shoulder into a casual half-shrug and correct myself. "It worked out in the end."

Before long, Lachlan parks the car a few streets down from the warehouse we found under River's instruction and we all shuffle out into the cold. The roads are silent except for the buzz of streetlamps and the muffled bass of a distant club on the other side of town, and the air is cool and revitalising after what feels like an age trapped in that fog of silver. I take a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly.

Lachlan and I stand idly by as River pops open the trunk and sets about arming himself with grim ease. Matteo and Kay wander further down the street, checking for witnesses, but they stay within range just in case.

River grabs a crossbow, folds it on his belt, and shrugs a quiver of bolts over his shoulder. I watch him, lost in thought at his casual manner. Every time I catch echoes of his past life, of a life with hunters, a sombre, grief-stricken fog enshrouds me. This used to be his whole world— arming himself before a fight. It has become second nature to him.

By the Goddess, I want him to know a life of peace and sanctuary. A life where weapons are kept on high shelves and left to get dusty. A life without fights for survival.

I'm hauled back to clarity at the snap of the trunk closing once more. Without preamble, River turns and stalks through the streets towards the warehouse, and the rest of us fall into step at his side.

Instead of finding that alley where we almost got caught, he cuts down a parallel walkway a few buildings up the street. It opens out into a stretch of dark woodland shuddering beneath the onslaught of a cool breeze. Leaves rustle and hiss to one another and owls cry mournfully at the approach of dawn as we let the shadows swallow us whole.

River leads us along the back of the industrial estate until he stops outside the familiar warehouse, concealed behind a row of bushes and trees standing like the front line of soldiers.

"What can you hear?" he asks softly, scrutinising the unassuming building with narrowed eyes.

Obediently, I shift every bit of my focus towards it, listening out for any sounds that give away the hunters lurking inside. The forest falls away as my awareness drifts.

Heavy breaths, shuffling feet, soft snores. Yawns and the scratch of stubble against a hand.

"Sounds like most of them are sleeping," Kay decides, their eyes fluorescing golden in the dark. At their side, Teo hums in agreement.

"There's a few awake," Lachlan adds. "Two or three. Lookouts, I'm guessing."

River hums, pensive, before turning to face us with a spark in his eyes. I know that look, and I await his instructions as eagerly as the others. Pride stirs in my chest as he settles into the role of leader with ease. He might not realise it, but he holds as much sway over our pack as I do, and there's no one I trust more to lead them against these threats than him.

"Come on," he says, turning and striding deeper into the woods without making so much as a twig snap or leaf crunch.

We all follow him dutifully, until at last he falters in a tiny clearing bordered by trees like bars on a cage. Unruly shrubs and underbrush weave between the trunks— they're lost in shadow and good cover, I muse.

"This will do," he decides, crossing his arms. The swirling figures and symbols of his Ferreus legacy are hidden beneath his jumper, but the power in his frame is unmistakable. "Shift and hide here, and I'll lead them to you."

"What if you run into trouble?" I ask, a frown pinching at my brows.

He sends me a smile that momentarily steals my breath. "I'll try not to."

I narrow my eyes and close the distance between us to brush an unruly strand of hair out of his eyes. "Be careful, alright?" I say, my voice low. Serious.

"I always am," he assures me.

With that, River turns and disappears between the shadows of trees. In a matter of moments, he slips beyond my sight. My heart gives a painful lurch and my wolf whines sorrowfully and scratches at his confines for freedom. River is heading towards a warehouse full of hunters after taking two bullets in a fight. Even though I know he can take care of himself, I can't stop myself from worrying about him, and I fight an urge to go after him before he can get too far.

But this is his plan, and he trusts me to stay here and rally the others into an ambush. I have to trust that he'll be alright.

So I take a deep, steadying breath, and begin to undress. Folding my clothes as I go, I toss them under a bush for safekeeping. Sensing my discomfort, the others keep quiet and follow my lead.

That is, of course, until we shift.

Where do you want us, Ro?

Are we close enough to the warehouse? Or is this too close?

Shall I do a quick perimeter check for any ambitious joggers?

As always, when I shift, the voices of my pack members flow through my head as seamlessly as though they're speaking to me. Distance has silenced all but three voices — those of Lachlan, Kay, and Matteo — and as my wolf surges forwards, I settle back to answer them.

Stay calm and quiet. Teo, go and check for any humans but keep out of sight and be quick, I tell them as my wolf shakes off the lingering stiffness of an abrupt shift. I sniff at the air and a wave of scents blasts through my focus; musk and sweat, silver and aconite, moss and rain-soaked grass. Sounds sharpen almost as much as my sense of smell. I catch the soft, quiet breaths of the hunters within the warehouse, the idle tapping of an impatient, bored foot against concrete, the incessant buzz of crickets, the hiss of a blade leaving its scabbard.

River.

All at once, every shred of my focus hones in on the sound. My fated is a master of remaining unnoticed by even the keenest of senses, and even now I'm shifted, and now I'm devoted to hearing him, I can just about catch the whisper of his footfall. My wolf huffs, caught between frustration and admiration.

As Matteo darts out of sight, Kay comes up on my left, snout tipped back to sniff at the air, ears flicking. Any idea how long he'll be?

On my right, Lachlan stretches and shakes. We'll know when he's coming. Or, rather, we'll know when the hunters are following him. He's real quiet— it's impressive.

Come on, I say, turning and trotting over to a wild underbrush. Obediently, they fall in behind me as I scope out a hiding place. The shadows help conceal us, with the rustling canopy keeping dawn at bay.

I settle down, gazing out at the clearing with unwavering focus as Lachlan and Kay settle around me.

Though River has slipped beyond my senses, I know it's only a matter of time until he strikes a match of chaos in the dark. I'll be ready for him.

When Matteo's wolf comes trotting back into view, I yip at him to draw his attention. Tail wagging, he comes crawling into our hiding spot and the others grumble as they make room.

We're all good, he assures us. No joggers, no early risers, no witnesses. So long as we keep things quiet here, no one will know anything is wrong.

Get your tail out of my face, Kay snaps lightly.

Sorry, he returns, a humorous lift to his voice.

We all fall quiet and settle in to wait. After years of training, we know our approach. Wait on my signal, attack in a group, watch one another's backs, don't let the hunters separate us, disarm them, destroy them.

It isn't long at all before chaos disrupts the gathering quiet. All at once, I hear shouting and thundering footsteps fast approaching. The others tense around me, fur bristling, ears flicking.

River manifests from the shadows, stalking forwards like the cold promise of death. In a smooth movement, he turns, takes the crossbow from his belt, snaps it into place, and loads a bolt before aiming it at the shivering woodland before us. His form is tensed and poised for a fight. I watch his shoulders rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath.

For one moment, there is peace. And then the hunters explode into the clearing with furious shouts. In the same instant that River fires his shot — hitting a hunter right in the neck and sending him sprawling — I leap out of the bushes with a thundering snarl, shadowed by my pack.

We descend on them in a hoard of savage fury; tackling hunters to the ground, biting at their throats for a clean, fast kill, claws scratching at their chests. Shouts and yelps and cries light the morning air as River weaves between the chaos like a vengeful ghost, crossbow firing. When he runs out of bolts, he tosses the weapon aside and rips twin throwing blades from his belt, letting the fight swallow him whole.

Knives slice at us; some connecting, others falling short. Streaks of pain flit through my mind— either my own or echoes of Lachlan, or Kay or Teo's pain, I can't be sure. It's a blur of a fight.

I keep my pack close, my awareness constantly shifting between the wolves and River as we pick off the hunters one by one.

It's fast and bloody and brutal, and the hunters never stood a chance.

As I bite the scream from a hunter's throat, his blood welling thick in my mouth, I catch a strangled cry that has my head snapping up at once, alert. Slump forms lie contorted in the clearing. As fast as it started, the fight is drawing to an abrupt end.

Kay and Teo are just finishing off another hunter and Lachlan is trotting a perimeter, hackles raised, checking for any that got away.

In the middle of the carnage, River has wrestled the last hunter onto his knees. Locked in a choke hold, he grapples and claws for freedom but to no avail. There is no mercy in my fated's eyes as he glares down at him. With furrowed brows and clinical precision, he swipes another throwing blade from his belt and holds it steadfast against the hunter's neck.

I shake out the lingering energy from the fight and yip for the others.

At once, they trot over, letting me check them over for injury, their voices echoing assurances in my head. When I'm certain they're alright, and all except one of the hunters are dead, I approach my fated.

He only has eyes for the hunter at his mercy. "Are there any more of you?" he asks, his voice soft yet chilling.

When the hunter stays quiet, River presses the knife harder against him. Eyes bulging with fear, he gasps out, "The others went out to take care of the Lakeside pack. They— they haven't come back yet. Please—"

"How many?"

"Half! Half our group. Please don't kill me. Please."

River's eyes narrow a little with unwavering concentration. "And that's it? What about your other contacts— the people who'll check up on you."

"There's no one, I swear!" the hunter rushes out. "Just us. It's just us."

I step forwards and snarl, hackles raising. A cool breeze ruffles my blood-soaked fur and sends a shiver along my spine.

The hunter blanches and shrinks a little further against my fated, eager to put as much distance between himself and my fangs as he can, as though River will be any more forgiving.

"You're sure? Because if you're lying to me—" River begins, his voice a glittering knife in the dark.

"I'm sure! I swear it's just us. There's no one else."

"Tell me what your plan was."

"We've been picking them off," the hunter manages, his voice shuddering. He shivers in River's hold, yet his form strains to keep still beneath the press of my fated's knife. "Bit by bit. They've been distracted and clumsy and— we thought it'd be easy to get rid of them."

River sighs, as though the approach disappoints him. "Thank you."

"No, no, no, please don't—!"

In a blur, River slices the knife across his neck. The hunter gurgles and chokes on a stream of crimson before slumping to the ground. Dead. It's over.

River rises, wiping a splatter of glittering crimson from his cheek with little success. The rest of his form is just as covered in blood, though mercifully very little of it appears to be his own.

He watches, stuffing the bloody knife away, as I idly stretch into a bow. My wolf goes a step further and rolls onto his back to gaze at River upside-down, his tail wagging.

We're okay. We made it.

River tilts his head a little to better meet my golden gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips. "We'd better clean this mess up before someone stumbles onto us," he muses, scanning the limp bodies lying contorted across the clearing. "I'd rather not explain to anyone what's happened here. And I want to take their weapons. The more silver I have to take on that lycanthrope, the better."

I give a little yip of understanding and roll back over to stand once more.

Kay's wolf tilts their head and whines softly.

Surprisingly, River seems to understand what they're implying. "I won't ask any of you to stay and fight with me. And I don't have to remind you that this is a fight we might not win. That's your choice— to stay and fight or go before it's too late. But if Imogen is right, and it's in my blood to kill this thing, then I can't turn my back on it. Besides, when I kill it, Darius owes me a favour. I'll have the numbers to take on the Ferreus hunters."

As I step forwards, devotion and loyalty blazes in my head— courtesy of myself and the others as they follow at my flank.

We all yip and bow playfully and wag our tails, hoping to convey a simple message. We're with you and we're not going anywhere. You're not facing this alone.