22 - Peace Made Manifest

Rowan

I lie awake, a beaming smile tugging relentlessly at my lips even despite the frankly traumatising evening. River's words echo in my head, whispers that caress and promise, that keep my smile from fading even as time slides away.

He told me he loves me.

Since the moment I met him and realised who he was to me, I've known this fated path would be a long and difficult one for him. I know how he grew up— taught to hate my kind. I know he was raised to be wary and mistrusting and suspicious above all else. I know every shred of acceptance is a hard-won battle between his instincts.

Despite this, despite every Ferreus instinct in his body recoiling at the thought of being fated to someone like me, he hasn't given in to them. He's taken slow, steady steps — acting cautiously yet devoutly — to meet me halfway. I vowed to him, again and again, that I would never force my affections onto him, or force him into any decision when it comes to our bond. I'm elated with whatever he gives me, because I know how much it has taken for him to give it. I vowed to myself that, if the time comes where he tells me of his own affections, I would have done enough to deserve it.

He could have ran the moment I told him. He could have disappeared and never looked back. The very fact he has chosen to stay, to explore this connection between us at a pace that suits him, is more than I could've ever asked of him. I savour every drop of his affections. Every lingering look, every shuffle into my embrace in the dead of night, every twitch of a smile, every time his hand seeks mine beneath the table in my office, every proposal he makes to ensure our pack's safety. I've felt his devotion in every action, and it has been perfect.

But to hear him say those words, tired eyes ablaze with fierce honesty, is like a surge of sunlight breaching a wall of dark clouds. It feels like belonging. He loves me, and I love him, and we're going to be okay.

So long as morning, with its arms full of worries and threats and dangers, stays well back.

I think of his admission, just now. He's ready for more. He's ready to complete the bond with me. Bliss sighs through my veins; a crystal ocean of gentle, lapping waves. How I've longed to hear those words over these past few weeks, to know that he's willing to take that final step and shove aside that lingering wariness.

I savour the tranquillity of him in my arms. He's fallen somewhere deep, his form melted against me, his head on my chest rising and falling with every breath I take. His wounds are already healing, thank the Goddess. My fingers card gently, idly, through his tousled hair as his soft, deep breaths align with mine.

Peace made manifest.

– ➶ –

A buzzing sound startles me to clarity. My eyes snap open to the glare of morning, its hands splayed on the window, doing all it can to breach the curtains. Muted light floods the room, creeping ever closer, and I can make out the muffled song of birds and the insistent tap of raindrops.

As I go to stretch, blinking the sleep that crept up on me from my eyes, I realise almost immediately that I cannot move. Bliss, like a fire spark, lights up my mood.

River is still curled up against me, fast asleep, and moving would disturb him. A fond smile tugs at my lips. Usually, he's restless at night. Always shuffling into my arms and back out again, warring natures battling for his attention.

He's moved a little, but only to sink further, to splay his hand against my chest, to hook his leg over mine, to align himself entirely against me. His breaths are deep and even, quiet as rustling leaves. He must be exhausted. Perhaps his Haze has used up all of his energy to heal him, or perhaps it's all those sleepless nights catching up to him at once. Whatever the reason, I settle into his hold, resume idly playing with his soft hair, and cast my eyes across the room for the source of the disturbance.

My phone lies expectantly on the bedside table, the culprit of the noise. I pick it up and find a text from Beau.

You awake?

I send one back: I am now.

Almost immediately, the screen lights up with an incoming call. With a lighthearted roll of my eyes, I answer.

"Rowan! You're alive!" Beau greets buoyantly, his voice like a cooling wave of fresh air.

My smile stretches and my wolf wags his tail in the back of my head. I've missed him. "Just about," I return in a murmur, not wanting to disturb River.

Obediently, Beau's volume drops to match mine. "Why are we whispering?"

"Because not all of us are awake."

"Oh, cute. Give me quiet updates then, I'm feeling so left out."

As my thoughts cut briefly to last night, to the creatures and their mangy fur and flecks of spittle and blood frothing at their gaping jaws, a shudder slides down my spine. "Believe me," I tell him. "You're better off exactly where you are. Our hunter situation has become a lycanthrope situation."

"The fuck is a lycanthrope?"

"A what?" I hear Morgan's voice, more distant but just about discernible. Beau recites it once more for her.

I melt back against the sheets and describe, in the softest voice I can muster, the Lakeside pack's revelations and the events of last night. The close call, the blood, the snarls of the creatures cursed to fight. The horrific realisation that the lycan didn't kill Darius and Imogen's daughter, but turned her. The lycanthrope that used to be Grace killed Milo. It could've killed River whilst I'd been knocked out. I wouldn't have been able to help him. That thought, like a shock of lightning, brings forth a jolt of agonised discomfort and, instinctively, I tighten my hold on him a little. Even despite the close call when his relatives cornered us in Crescent Valley, amidst the chaos of the Duskland pack warring for our land, I knew River wasn't helpless. I knew, for better or for worse, he was equipped to deal with that fight. That's not to say I was eager to send him off to do our work for us— but I felt assured he knew how to watch his own back. My fated isn't defenceless, by any means.

The lycanthrope had almost killed him in the thick of his Haze— a near-celestial state of being designed for the sole purpose of fighting and, above all else, winning those fights.

He hadn't won this one. That creature had almost taken him from me. Just as it nearly took me from him. And I saw the terror in his eyes. I heard the panic in his sharp breaths, the hysteria tightening his voice. I never want to put him through something like that again.

"Fuck," Beau finalises, a fitting choice of reaction.

"Yep," I return uncomfortably.

I feel River stir, his form tensing a little against mine. For a moment, I'm expecting him to roll out of my arms, but he doesn't. He stretches against me and stays exactly where he is, a little sigh rushing from him.

"What are you going to do?" Beau asks at last.

"We don't know, yet," I tell him. "But we'll think of something."

"Fuck," he says again. "I feel so useless here."

"You're making sure we have a pack to return to, when this is all over," I remind him, my volume raising a little now I'm not at risk of waking River up. "That's not useless. How are you holding up, anyway?"

He makes a little uncertain noise. "I'm definitely not overwhelmed whatsoever."

"Hey, as long as nothing's burnt down, you're doing great."

"Speaking of, we may have had one or two close calls in the kitchen. Don't tell Kay. Is it always so... full-on? There's always something that needs sorting and organising and— well, you'd better deal with this lycanthorpe—"

"Lycanthrope," I correct patiently. "And there's two."

"Yeah, those things. You'd better deal with them and Riv's hunters as soon as possible, because there's only so many problems I can solve on my own. I'm not built for independence, Ro. The number of times Mor has had to stop me from calling you to double-check everything is insane. Also, good morning stray."

"Beau says good morning," I tell River.

He mumbles tiredly against me, "How the fucking hell does he even know I'm awake?"

Smiling to myself, I put the phone on speaker just in time for Beau to say with a cryptic edge, "I know everything." What he means is, Rowan's not whispering anymore, and I like being dramatic wherever possible.

"Creepy bastard."

"I miss you and your lovely compliments. You'll be glad to know I've kept your patrol schedule exactly as it is and we've had a grand total of zero hunters. That calls for a celebration, I reckon."

"I told you it'd work," River replies, an echo of pride lacing its way into his tired voice. Crescent Moon's patrols have been his focus over the last month. Our pack's safety is his highest priority, and I've felt confident leaving the security of my home in his more than capable hands.

"You're my beta for a reason," I tell Beau, pouring every ounce of confidence I can muster into my voice. "I trust your judgement and I trust that you know what you're doing. Have a little faith in yourself. Call if you need anything and if I'm not sleeping or fighting for my life against these lycanthropes then I'll answer."

"Well, that's reassuring."

"We'll be fine," River insists, a hard, determined edge to his tone that has my wolf's ears perking with intrigue in the back of my head. "I have a plan."

"Stay safe, alright? And keep me updated," Beau says. Though his voice is buoyant and carefree, I detect a hint of seriousness laced into the fibres. I wish more than anything that I had better news to give him. The hunters are dead, lycanthropes aren't real, and we'll be home soon.

But all I can say is, "We will. I'll speak to you soon."

I end the call and drop my phone back onto the bedside table with a heavy sigh. River pushes himself up onto his elbow to gaze down at me and I melt against the pillow, savouring the soothing heat of his close attention. A sleep-tousled, bleary River does pleasant things to my insides, because this is him with his guard entirely down, and I feel privileged to witness it. As I stare up at him, though, I watch that guard of his build itself back up.

"You've got a plan?" I prompt gently. When he doesn't say anything, I frown and reach up to brush a tousled strand of hair out of his eyes. "Riv? You okay?"

For a moment, I can almost see the brick wall behind his mercury eyes — the defence, the inevitable brush-off — but whatever he sees in my own eyes has that wall crumbling.

He wilts a little, breaks my gaze, and admits softly, "I... I don't think I can do this on my own. I don't think I can kill the lycanthropes. Not... not without help."

My brows pinch. "Of course you'll have help, love. You've got us, and Lakeside—"

He shakes his head, frustration a spark in his silver eyes. His voice hardens as he insists, "No. Lakeside has been torn to shreds. They've lost their gamma. They've lost hope. They've lost everything that makes them strong. They're giving up, Rowan. If we face those lycanthropes again, it'll be the death of us. We can't do it by ourselves and I won't risk your life. Not again."

Dread blooms in my gut. He stares at me with that familiar glint in his eyes; the one that means he's got a plan and he will do whatever it takes for it to be a success. If he's certain he needs help, I know we're in deeper shit than I first thought.

With forced calm, I ask softly, "What are you saying, Riv?"

He takes a deep steeling breath and tells me, "We need numbers, and I... I don't think the Ferreus hunters are our biggest problem anymore. I think we need their help."