30 - Tense Training

Despite the close call with the lycans, and despite my many assurances, Ivar and the others adamantly refused to stay in the pack house or anywhere near it. Instead, they've gone to Lakeside for some emergency last-minute accommodation.

The second they left, and the grumble of their engines faded to the peaceful hum of wind and the buzz of crickets, I stalked in complete silence down the branching hallways to the spare room Rowan and I share. I pulled off my shoes and crashed hard on top of the sheets, exhausted after the straining confrontation earlier in the day and the stress of an impending explosion of pent-up paranoia. I was falling before Rowan could join me, but I woke late in the morning to his arm wrapped loosely around my torso, his deep breaths tickling the back of my neck, his presence like a fog of peace swirling around me; a breathtaking sunrise after an endless, harrowing night.

And now we're lying together, fully dressed and on top of the sheets still, awaiting the return of the hunters. I told Ivar to come back prepared for a training session. They've never fought alongside werewolves before and I need to establish a line of trust — or at least a pale imitation of trust — between them if this fight is going to be anywhere close to a success.

That's easier said than done, though. Hunters, werewolves and trust don't typically go together all that well.

Rowan lies on his side, his head propped up on his hand, his eyes following the lazy, gentle caress his finger makes along the swirling figures and symbols on my arm. His touch is electric; a pleasant stirring of embers beneath my skin that keeps my wariness at bay.

"You really think these are cracks?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

I hum, lifting my free arm to study the marks; the scars of a legacy I don't want. "Imogen seems to think so."

"I care what you think, love, not her."

With a soft sigh, I admit, "I guess it makes sense. When I shook Ivar's hand yesterday and made that oath, I felt... something. It felt powerful, and almost... almost like there would be consequences." I shake my head and mutter, "I know that doesn't make sense."

"River," Rowan says, amusement turning his voice all light and airy. "I've got a wolf sniffing through my thoughts right now. There's a lot I can make sense of."

I smile a little and let my arm drop back down to my side. "If my ancestors did make a trade for their powers in exchange for killing the lycans, but they went against their oath, these look a hell of a lot like consequences to me. No one's ever had the markings cover their whole body, so who knows if Imogen's right and the cracks will kill us, but I think their existence alone proves we're not doing something right. We just need to kill a lycan and see if they disappear."

"Easier said than done," he returns. "How do you want to do this today? Are we shifting or not?"

I turn my head a little to regard him; he stares down at me with a soft smile. "It's your call. If you'll be more comfortable shifting, then shift. They'll have to get used to wolves if this is going to work, so the more they're exposed to, the better. Then again, I don't want to risk them snapping."

Rowan hums, but before he can answer, his gaze flicks up towards the window, shimmering with golden flakes. "They're here," he says, sitting up and tugging a hand through his unruly curls in a futile attempt to neaten them.

I sit up, too, and together we rise and make our way outside, ready if not entirely willing for a tense day of training in a clearing of jumpy explosives and struck matches.

– ➶ –

Just as I suspected, a fog of unease settles over the clearing. The sky is a blanket of mottled grey and trees shudder as vengeful, cool breezes tear through them. Darius and Imogen are shifted, alongside those in their pack who have joined us. The rest are out at the borders, keeping watch in case the lycans decide to bring the fight to us. The wolves gather at the edges of the woods, engaging in their own form of training at a safe distance from the Ferreus hunters. My family have shifted, too, and they're the only ones braving the clearing, weaving and darting around one another. Rowan challenges Matteo with a playful bow whilst Kay and Lachlan race one another to the woods and back.

The Ferreus hunters, by sharp contrast, aren't at all eager to start training— much to my frustration. Instead, they're gathered in a defensive group nearby, their silver eyes locked on the wolves, the silver weapons on their belts glistening. The children are a fraction less wary; Max is trying to convince his mother to let him tag along for the fight, to which Iris immediately shuts him down with a sharp glare and a warning, and Hazel and Leo watch the wolves with curious, not suspicious, expressions.

It must be strange for them, seeing the wolves they've grown up to believe are monsters fighting with a playful, carefree air. They haven't seen a hunt before, after all. And the elders, who usually see this sort of behaviour as a green light to attack, are just as thrown at the idea of not killing them. The wolves yip and roll over and chase their tails between defensive positions, or they shake between offensive movements to diffuse any lingering tension. It was strange for me to witness, too, at first. Now, it seems stranger still to even consider raising my knife to them when they have done nothing to deserve it.

I need to prove they mean no harm, and to do that, I need to shuffle out of my comfort zone.

"Rowan," I call.

Obediently, and with a little yip, his wolf comes trotting over, leaving Matteo to chase his tail. As the hunters draw back a pace, not willing to be anywhere near him, I stay exactly where I am. Rowan's wolf is a majestic creature of smooth, dark grey fur, his size and stature rippling with power, and his form seeps with calm strength as he stops a short distance away, waiting for my cue.

I got close to his wolf in the fiery heat of battle, when terror for his safety sent any unease up in smoke, but there's no terror now. There's nothing but an olive branch.

I offer him my hand.

The wolf wags his tail and approaches slowly. When he's close enough, he sniffs at my hand, and I hear a collective sharp intake of breath from the hunters when he gently nudges my hand with his snout before withdrawing. I risk a glance at the Ferreus hunters and find them in varying states of shock and fury. How dare I — a hunter — put myself at risk of a bite. Foolish, reckless, absurd.

A ghost of a smile twitches at my lips as I kneel down until I'm face to face with the wolf. I hear the hiss of knives leaving their scabbards, the exclamation of my name in a warning, but I pay them no attention. I only have eyes for Rowan's wolf as he stares back at me, tilting his head as his tail whips side to side. Once more, I offer him my hand — this time, palm upwards — and instead of sniffing it, the wolf gently rests his snout on my palm; nose twitching, ears flicking, golden eyes locked on mine as he checks for unease.

At last, I turn my focus to the hunters. "See?" I tell them. "If he wanted to bite me, he would've done it by now."

Whilst Ivar, Elias and Vera look furious with my reckless behaviour, their features twisting with distaste as they grudgingly return the knives to their belts, the others don't appear so hostile. Constance and Louis merely look confused, Blanche, Iris and Cassian all appear curious, and the children stare at us as though I've tamed a unicorn.

"If you want to fight with us, you need to start trusting they're not the threat here," I forge on. "Can you do that?"

"You seriously trust these creatures?" Ivar manages, a scowl tugging at his expression.

"I trust them with my life, and I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Vera shakes her head in disbelief. "This is madness. What if they snap?"

"What if you snap?" I retort as Rowan's wolf huffs. "We're both a danger to one another. He could kill me, I could kill him, but neither of us are going to do that. That's where the trust comes in."

For a moment that stretches on and on, the hunters are silent. Calculating. Wary.

Well, mainly silent. Leo tugs at Cassian's shirt and Hazel gazes up at him with large, doe-like, hopeful eyes, and both of them murmur for his attention.

My second cousin closes his eyes for a moment, tips his head back, and gives a long-suffering sigh. "Wait here," he says beneath his breath as he stiffly steps forwards.

Rowan's wolf pulls his head from my palm and sits down, golden eyes fixed on Cassian as he approaches. His ears flick and he whines softly. Behind him, Lachlan, Kay and Matteo's wolves watch on, alert. But Cassian doesn't make any sudden moves, he doesn't rip the knife from his belt, and he doesn't threaten either of us— instead, he stops a pace away and, ever so slowly, sinks down into a crouch. He keeps his silver eyes locked on the wolf, checking for hostility, though he won't find anything. Rowan merely holds his gaze, watchful.

"You're insane," Cassian tells me, cutting me a lost look.

I roll my eyes. "You're the one sat next to me. Hold out your hand."

His eyes go wide and his posture stiffens like a startled deer catching wind of a threat, but he swallows uncomfortably, sends one last look towards the others, and shoves past his wariness to offer the wolf his hand.

As he did with me, though with notably more care, Rowan's wolf shuffles forwards and sniffs his offered fingers before pulling back.

Cassian lets out a breath, the tension melting from his frame. "Alright. Come on, you two."

Looking torn between wariness and eagerness, Hazel and Leo approach. Cassian sends me a sharp look roughly translating to 'if anything happens to them, I'm going to kill you and your wolf and I'll make it painful', to which I respond with a challenging raised brow. Behind them, the rest of the Ferreus hunters radiate tension. Their gazes are piercing and their Hazes prowl just out of sight as the children venture into uncharted territory.

When they reach us, Leo and Hazel glance at their father first for permission, and when he nods, their gazes find mine— this time, for direction.

"It's alright," I assure them, ruffling the wolf's head. His tail flicks and he leans into the gesture; I figure he's elated with the arrangement so long as it means I'm close to him.

Hazel reaches out first, her features twisted towards a wince as she anticipates a growl or snarl. But when her hand sinks through the wolf's soft fur, her apprehension melts away and a soft smile tugs at her lips. Jealous, and not at all keen on missing out, Leo steps up next to her and reaches for the wolf.

Rowan is like a statue, correctly assuming that any slight movement would be interpreted as a threat by a whole lot of wary hunters already moments from snapping. Cassian watches on with a soft frown, ready to intervene if he senses trouble.

"He's so soft," Hazel marvels. "Where does the fur come from?"

"I... don't know," I answer, my brows pinching.

"Where does the tail come from?" Leo asks. Said tail begins to sway from side to side and the golden eyes Rowan's wolf fixes on me flicker with something close to humour.

"That's enough," Cassian cuts in. At once, the twins pull back and almost dart to his side.

"Thanks, Ro." I say. His wolf yips and goes trotting back to the other wolves, who all pounce on him playfully. Rising with Cassian, I turn to the hunters. "You have my word the wolves aren't going to try anything."

Ivar frowns at me, but he nods sharply and says, "Very well." Something about his posture subtly relaxes, and I deem my olive branch to be a success.

Assured at their acceptance, brittle as it may be, I organise a training session; hunters against hunters, wolves against wolves. I figure it'll be useful for them to familiarise themselves with the other's movements, but I don't want to push their newfound tolerance until something snaps. Observations will have to do.

Very soon, the clearing descends into organised chaos as everyone loses themselves to their own fights. Louis, Vera and Iris keep the children busy by getting them involved in a group fight, and I end up paired with Cassian.

I sink fast into the familiar rhythm of training. Back in Crescent Valley, whenever I managed to convince one of the werewolves to train with me, they fought playfully rather than roughly, but Cassian holds nothing back. It's a change of pace to what I've become used to, but I adapt fast and start matching his ceaseless onslaught with my own offence.

Until Cassian breaks the focused quiet between us.

"Is there a reason why he's watching us like a hawk?" he asks, a little smile tugging at his lips. He darts and weaves around me until I find myself facing the way he wants me to— that is, to say, facing Rowan's wolf where he's sat nearby, ears alert, golden eyes fixed on us. Lachlan, Matteo and Kay's wolves are play-fighting close by, but none of them seem to notice their alpha's attention is a little divided.

Cassian laughs, drawing my focus, and as I lash at him, he evades me like smoke. "He seems a little... protective of you."

"So what?" I challenge, glaring and forcing my advance on him. Obediently, he backs into a defensive position, letting me lead the fight.

"I'm just making an observation," he diffuses lightly. "They all do, in fact. I mean, they don't just trust you. They respect you. How'd you manage that?"

"Stop talking," I bite back. My offence sharpens as I start to fight dirty— jabbing, kicking, doing all I can to catch him off-guard so he'll start paying attention to the fight instead of sticking his nose into business that doesn't concern him.

"It's especially strange given this is a pack you've only been around for a short while. Supposedly," he adds with a wink that has me scowling.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't see your scouts doing all that much scouting, is all," Cassian tells me with a casual shrug. "And I doubt a pack would accept your help if you were alone when you arrived. A lone hunter doesn't just walk into a pack's territory unannounced and not only live to tell about it, but earn their respect. Not unless there were wolves who could vouch for you—"

In a blur, I throw myself at him — a whirl of rage — scrabbling and brawling until I manage to kick his feet from beneath him and send us both crashing to the ground. I trap him beneath me, pinning his arms by his sides with my knees, and swipe a knife from my belt.

I press the blade against his neck and hiss, "Shut the fuck up, Cassian. You've got no idea what you're talking about."

He smiles up at me. "Oh, I think I do."

My glare blazes down at him like twin beams of angry headlights as my Haze stirs. I glance sharply across the clearing to confirm the others are too caught up in their own fights to pay much attention to us before returning my focus to him. "Orion took everything from me when he killed Esme. He took my family, my home, my peace. I was lucky enough to find another, and I will not let you take this one from me. Do you understand?"

With every word, Cassian's smug expression melts and contorts towards something caught between intrigue and confusion.

"I understand," he says, tilting his head back and forcing me to relax my grip on the knife to avoid slicing his throat open in the process. He gazes upside-down at the wolves and seems to reach a swift conclusion, because he glances back at me with a noticeably softer expression. When he speaks, his voice is low. "You care about them. I get that. I just need to know they care about you, and I need to know it's genuine. Those lycanthropes..." He trails off, a frown pinching at his brows and ghosts swirling behind his silver gaze, before clearing his throat and forging on, "Well, I just don't want the wolves to make any last-minute loyalty shifts to save their hides and sacrifice yours. I know you don't consider yourself one of us, but I still care about your safety, River."

I, not we. The anomaly, not the majority.

All it takes is a bite for the Ferreus hunters' loyalty to shift.

I scowl down at him but relinquish my knife and release him. As I rise from my crouch, I offer him a hand to help him up and my gaze lifts instinctively towards the fighting wolves.

Rowan's wolf is stood now, his fur bristled, and I have no doubt he's heard every word of our conversation. When his golden eyes meet mine, they seem to sparkle with an unspoken question.

Cassian takes my hand and hauls himself up, dusting the dirt off his form and pulling at my focus.

"It's genuine," I tell him curtly, dropping into a defensive pose. "They're not like that. They're not like you. Their loyalties don't shift so easily."

"If you say so," he retorts with a smile, echoing my movements. "How'd you manage that?"

I stay quiet and lash at him; he meets my advance and blocks with ease.

"Alright, two more," he says. "I'm curious."

"Cassian," I warn.

He swipes and darts and lunges in a series of rapid, coordinated attacks, one after the other like an onslaught of ocean waves that won't let me come up for air. I retaliate, trying to claw back the upper hand, but in a blur he knocks me off-balance and we go tumbling. Landing hard, I roll in an attempt to pin him beneath me once more, but he has the exact same idea— not to mention he has momentum on his side.

In a few short seconds, I'm trapped beneath his will in the exact same position as the one I forced him into; arms trapped by my sides, his knife against my neck. My Haze burns a warning and I struggle fiercely beneath him. He's immovable, bearing down on me to keep me still.

He leans down, trapping me in the silver pool of his perceptive gaze, and murmurs beneath his breath, "Why does an alpha werewolf care so much about you, River? And why does your Haze protect him?"

His voice is the rustling of leaves, but they hit me like a strike to the face. All I can do is stare up at him, stunned to silence. He knows who Rowan is— he knows—

A growl rumbles behind him.

As though sensing my panic, Rowan's wolf manifests over Cassian's shoulder, eyes blazing golden fury, his snout drawn back into a snarl. It's a wonder he doesn't burn holes in the back of Cassian's head with the heat behind his fiery gaze. He's not alone, either. Kay's wolf is at his back, treating my second cousin to an uncharacteristic growl, and a glance towards Lachlan and Matteo shows them glancing our way with ears flicking and hackles raised.

Cassian notices their attention and smiles, obediently drawing his knife away from my neck, as though together we've given him all the answers he needs. "Ah, I see," he tells me, intrigue flickering in his eyes like the spark of a flame. He rises from his crouch, freeing me in the process, but I ignore the hand he offers, dart up, and grab hold of his shirt to tug him close.

"If you dare tell anyone—" I begin, my voice a low hiss.

"You'll set the wolves on me?" he guesses.

"I'll kill you like I killed Myles," I finish harshly. My eyes burn as my Haze stirs, whispering promises in my ear. It laces certainty in my tone— the cold promise of death, the grim intent to do anything to protect the people I care about.

Cassian recognises the threat in my voice, in my harsh stare, in the force I'm using to hold him close, in the Haze flickering to life in my veins. He raises his hands in surrender, the glint of intrigue in his eyes fading to embers.

"I won't tell anyone," he assures me, his brows pinched with something close to sincerity. "How could I when I don't understand it myself? I mean, how...?"

"I don't know."

"River," he starts, glancing at the wolves. They pace close by, their golden eyes locked on him. Cassian murmurs, "If he's forced you into anything—"

Right as Rowan's wolf growls once more, I sigh sharply. "For fuck's sake, Cassian. You don't understand a damn thing. The Ferreus hunters forced me into everything I did. Rowan's nothing like you, and he's nothing like the monster you all made him out to be. Now are we going to talk all day, or are we going to fight?"

I release him harshly; he backs out of my range, adjusting his ruffled shirt. "We're going to fight."

I narrow my eyes, trying to determine if he's telling the truth. He drops into a defensive stance, ready and willing to forge on as though nothing has happened, as though no secrets have been spilled.

"Good," I return, advancing on him.

For a flicker of an instant, my focus drifts to Rowan's wolf. He shakes off the lingering tension to his frame and, catching my gaze, turns to the rest of our pack. Yipping for their attention, he resumes their training just as I resume mine.

We'll be ready for these lycanthropes, werewolves and hunters alike. And when the beasts are dead, I'm going to make sure we find our way off the Ferreus hunters' radar forever.

Whatever it takes to protect my family.