29 - Blood in the Air

Rowan

Time drifts along and there's still no sign of the returning hunters. Kay finishes cooking and River coaxes Hazel awake to have some. After dinner, the kids crash on the sofa, huddled beneath blankets I fetched.

"They don't seem all that worried about the others, do they?" Matteo asks, his brows furrowed as he settles down on the free sofa with Kay. Lachlan perches himself down beside them with a book, stifling a yawn.

River and I have returned to the window, watchful and alert. Without shifting his focus from the woods, my fated says, "They've never had to be worried for their safety, before. They've always come back."

Matteo clears his throat, abruptly humbled, and — given River is still staring out at the forest — he sends me an apologetic look on his behalf. I wave off his concern with an assuring shake of my head.

The quiet that descends between us is broken by Darius and Imogen's footsteps as they appears in the doorway. At once, River is alert, his posture wound tight with tension, but Ivar is nowhere to be seen and I can still hear the crackle of turning pages in the dining room.

"It's getting late, and we've had a... difficult few days. We're turning in for the night," Darius tells us, his features pinched with unease.

I nod, reading the subtle cues of his concern and his silent request as he holds my gaze— he means for us to keep watch while they cannot. "Of course."

"It seems like our sources align," Imogen says, hope flickering like a timid candle flame behind her eyes. "Wake us when the hunters get back, will you?"

Once more, I give a nod of assent, and they drift down the hall like ghosts, slipping beyond our focus.

Matteo yawns and scrubs a hand down his face in a futile attempt to wake himself up a little. "I'll be honest, I don't think I can pull an all-nighter."

Lachlan hums a tired agreement, his eyes drooping a little as he reads— though he hasn't turned the page in the last ten minutes, so I think it's safe to assume he's staring, not reading.

On the edge of the sofa, Kay is curled up with a blanket, looking only vaguely aware of our conversation.

I make a swift judgement call. "Go to bed," I tell them. "Riv and I will keep an eye on things, and we'll wake you when the other hunters get back."

They start to protest, but I send them a stern look and they obediently cede to my request. As they filter out into the hallway, casting wary glances towards the dining room, I sigh softly and settle against the wall beside my fated, crossing my arms. It has been a long, taxing day after a long, taxing week, but I'm determined to soldier through.

A peaceful silence descends between me and River — save for the grating ticks of those infuriating out-of-sync clocks and the hiss of rustling pages as Ivar delves into research — and time melts between our fingers as we peer attentively out of the woods.

When I can't quite contain my yawns, River murmurs, "You can go to sleep if you want."

"I'm staying with you," I return, rubbing at my face in a meagre effort to make myself more alert. My wolf has already crashed hard; he's huddled in the shadows between my thoughts, curled up and fast asleep. His exhaustion seeps and mixes with my own like swirling paint in water.

River's silver eyes flicker to mine and resolve sharpens his gaze. Pointedly, he looks at the armchair by the hearth close by and back to me.

"I'm fine, love," I begin to argue, sensing where he's going with this.

I don't want him to be the only one awake alongside Ivar. They'll talk, and Ivar will mutter another snide comment that chips away at my fated's armour and I need to be there for him.

But River doesn't sway. His eyes narrow and he says softly, "I'll be fine, you know. You kept watch in that motel, so let me keep watch now."

"We didn't have Ivar in that motel," I mutter, casting a long, dark look towards the hallway.

Riv takes my chin between his fingers and gently pulls my gaze back on him. At once, I'm wax in his hold. "You have me. I'll wake you up if anything changes, I swear it. Go to sleep."

I reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Wake me up in a few hours and we'll swap."

He releases me and hums, noncommittal, his gaze retreating out towards the woods once more. Always alert. I get the general idea— that's not going to happen.

With a little smile, I head over to the armchair and settle down. As my tired thoughts drift back a month to the night I slept on the armchair in River's room, eager to be close to him, I feel the heat of his close attention on my skin just as I did back then. Of course, then he had been wary— I was a werewolf-turned-ally and he still hadn't been entirely convinced I was trustworthy enough for him to turn his back on me. He had fallen asleep eventually, though his brows stayed furrowed and his sleep was a light one— ready at a moment's notice to startle awake in case of a threat.

I should know. I ended up studying him as much as the woods.

I feel his gaze now, as I give myself over to exhaustion, and a pleasant shiver slides down my spine at his close attention.

All my life, I've had my family to fall back on. Friends to confide in and people I trust with my life. I could face any threat, head into any fight, and know with certainty that the people I love will be right there with me to the very end, no matter what.

River didn't know what that was like until very recently. He was raised on mistrust and the people meant to be his own family turned on his sister the moment she served her purpose. It's no surprise he couldn't trust easily.

I can hardly blame him for being restless now, with those hunters so close, breathing down his neck.

I'm determined to sleep lightly, just in case anything happens, but the next thing I know, River's hand is on my shoulder and his voice is in my ear.

"Rowan, they're back."

Blearily, I open my eyes and find him already stalking from the dark room, his silhouette lit up from the hallway like an aura.

I'm up in the instant, striding after my fated. Every shred of my focus is devoted to the chaos River unleashes when he opens the front door.

The Ferreus hunters are terrifying beacons of silver eyes and pale strikes of lightning surging beneath their skin splattered with crimson as they emerge from the dark, shivering woods. An icy breeze whips around them, stirring the sharp scent of blood in the air.

"What happened?" Ivar's voice makes me flinch as he stalks outside in my wake, eyes flickering with silver flames.

A firm hand on my arm has me startling again, but this time it's River, wary eyes narrowed as he pulls me out of Ivar's deadly warpath and puts himself between us, glaring at his grandfather.

The stoic, dangerous edges of the Ferreus hunters' armour begins to crack as they approach us; I notice slashes torn in their clothes weeping crimson, blood-stained hands splayed against wounds, shuddering breaths, limping gaits, supportive arms holding one another up. Dread blooms within me; a chaotic supernova confined.

"River's right," one of the older men, who I recognise as Louis, Cassian's father, manages. He's nursing a gaping wound across his chest whilst trying to support Vera, who appears just as worse for wear. "They're monsters. Their power's a match for ours."

Weathered features sharp with fury, Ivar ushers them all back into the house with a muttered curse. River and I follow them inside just as Lach, Kay and Matteo emerge from down the hall, bleary yet alert. They must've heard the commotion of the hunters' arrival— the walls here aren't exactly soundproofed.

They're not the only ones to be woken by the chaos. Three tired, wary children emerge from the lounge, rubbing at their eyes yet taking in the carnage with rapid efficiency. Darius and Imogen are nowhere to be seen, but I figure they could do with an undisturbed night after all the mess and losses they've faced.

Ivar stalks into the dining room and the others follow in his wake. They arrange themselves at the far end of the room, behind the table covered with open books and scrawled notes and charcoal drawings of a nightmare made manifest. Still their Hazes persist, and they stare at us with empty silver eyes as the children race to their side. Despite the gaping wounds, and despite the pain they must be feeling, there's something... detached about the way the hunters stare at us. As River and I walk into the room, we falter by the door, recognising the threat swirling in the silver pools of their empty gazes, and Lach, Matteo and Kay falter with us.

The twins cling to Cassian, their eyes wide and glistening with terror, and Max is in a similar state of shock as he stays close to his mother.

A little belatedly, I realise Matteo's had the foresight to grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom. He clutches it like a lifeline, his uncertain gaze darting from me to the hunters and back again, waiting for a cue.

As a brittle silence descends, I take a steeling breath and decide to offer an olive branch. It worked with River, all those weeks ago.

"Let us help you—" I begin, taking the kit Matteo offers to me.

"Keep that dog away from us," Elias sneers.

River glares at him. "For fuck's sake," he hisses, taking the kit from me and tossing it onto the table with a clear message— sort yourselves out. "Call him that again and I'll make those wounds look like child's play. He's just trying to help you. Arrogant bastard."

The look Elias sends him is scalding; a struck match in a room of flammable tension, a glinting knife in the dark. I find myself moving to cover my fated, prepared to defend him with my life if these Hazing hunters decide to act. The twins begin to cry; Cassian murmurs a distracted assurance, his focus locked on me and River; Vera makes a snide comment, leaping to her brother's defence; Blanche and Iris toss words like shurikens at my fated, daring him to try anything. Lach, Kay and Teo bristle at their hostility— angry Ferreus hunters are one thing, but Hazing angry Ferreus hunters are deadly, and they recognise the threat just as much as I do. Any semblance of wary peace fractures. Chaos erupts.

And then Ivar's booming command shudders through the room.

"Enough!"

The effect is immediate. Silence descends a choking, smothering fog.

Ivar takes a steeling breath and continues in a sharp voice, "What happened out there?"

"We were ambushed," Louis tells him, still staring at us with hollow silver eyes. "We barely realised we were close until they were on top of us. They nearly tore us apart. We got in a few good hits, but they ran before we could do any real damage— and we were in no state to follow after them."

Ivar curses, rubbing at his jaw. "I couldn't find any discrepancies in their notes. It's the same creature, I'm certain. If you couldn't kill them, we're in deep shit."

River watches the exchange with narrowed, focused eyes, and I can see he's trying hard to keep the 'I told you so' from escaping his lips. He crosses his arms, his brows pinching, and says instead, "So the werewolves can't kill these things on their own, and neither can you. The only reasonable option we have is to work together."

"Absolutely not," Vera snaps at once. "I'd rather die."

"You nearly did," Cassian grumbles, making her lay the heat of her glare on him. To his credit, he doesn't wilt beneath her stare— he levels her anger with some of his own. "This is a hunt, and we need to be smart about it. We can't let anything get in the way of killing these things— not even the wolves. River says they're under control, and though I don't trust them, I trust him." He grabs the kit from the table and begins checking over Blanche and Iris.

Vera's features twist as though she's tasted something unpleasant, but at last she relents with a sharp sigh. "Fine."

Ivar studies us all, silver eyes glinting, before saying, "If we're doing this, the wolves need to follow our orders. They do what we say, when we say—"

"No," River shoots back, power like a rolling storm in his tone. "You do what I say. This is their land, not yours, and you're only here because I allowed it. We do this my way or not at all."

In the back of my head, my wolf wags his tail and flicks his ears in recognition. River isn't a werewolf, but he definitely manages to command a room like an alpha. He could convince the tides to change with that voice of his, and a pleasant, entirely inappropriate shudder slides down my spine as I imagine him using that voice on me— all controlled power and intent made manifest. I have to fight to keep the smile off my face and pull my wandering, treacherous focus back into the room, but somehow I manage it.

The hunters glare at him, but none of them challenge him— something that catches me by surprise. He was right. Ferreus hunters value the hunt above all else, including, it seems, their hatred of my kind.

With a final, relenting sigh, Ivar nods and something about his posture shrinks a fraction. In a noticeably tense and uncomfortable tone, he says, "Very well. What will you have us do?"