12 - A Silver Edge

My car won't start.

The fuel tank is running on empty and every time I turn the key, it makes an awful screeching noise as though there's a creature in the engine screaming for mercy.

I huff out an irritated sigh and melt against the seat, glaring through the windshield. This car got me to Crescent Valley and it's dying on me. Why the fuck does everything and everyone die around me? Am I cursed? Am I being dramatic? Probably.

"Leave it here and I'll have someone check it out," Rowan suggests from the passenger seat. I can feel the heat of his close attention on my face but I don't give him the satisfaction of looking at him. He's already too close for any semblance of comfort. "I'd have a look myself but I'm no good with cars."

"I can't leave it here," I argue, studying the bustling streets around us. Rowan had me park in the centre of town and I loathe him for it. I can't sleep in my car if there's people walking past all the time.

"I'm afraid you've got no choice, unless it's magically going to start working for you," he counters, infuriatingly calm. He's already opening his door and stepping back out into the crisp morning. "Come on. It's not far to walk."

Muttering darkly, I take the money from the glove compartment, shove open my door, and get out.

My home situation has gone from bad to worse. My day cannot get any more awful— and I'm about to spend it in the heart of Rowan's territory once again.

Learn their routines and their plans. Exploit their resources. Do your job.

As we walk through busy streets towards the woods and the trail leading to his home, a refined grace ripples from Rowan as he chats away on his phone, trying to organise someone to come and fix my car. The people we pass stare at him with hopeful, elated expressions — their attention passes right over me, thankfully — and he offers them all easy smiles and little nods of acknowledgement.

It's like walking with a celebrity and it does little to sway my sour mood.

"There we go," he says at last, ending the call and offering me a smile. "Matteo's going to look at it for you. He says he'll drop it off at the pack house if he can fix it. Problem solved."

If he can fix it.

Great.

I'm suddenly eager to wrestle back some form of control. I won't be indebted to a werewolf, and so I fall back on the familiar instinct of a hunter scoping out a new enemy.

"I need a map of the town and the forest, and I need you to tell me where exactly your borders are. And the Duskland borders," I tell him, wandering ahead and shoving my hands in my pockets.

He keeps pace with me. "Very well. We've got one in my office."

I catch sight of another group of townsfolk offering Rowan bright smiles and little waves, which he returns. In an undertone, once they're out of earshot, I ask, "Why the hell does everyone like you, here?"

He laughs to himself. "I've grown up helping my parents take care of this place. They're like family friends."

"And they know about this mess with Duskland?"

"They know enough to stay safe. Speaking of Duskland, what's your plan?"

"I need to know who I'm dealing with," I allow grudgingly. Rowan, for better or worse, is giving me information. Trust is one of those inconvenient things that works both ways. I need to give him something in exchange for his alliance— but I don't have to like it. "Where all the attacks are, if there's a pattern to them."

He hums, absently rubbing at his jaw as we leave the town behind and follow the trail. It's easier in the light, and with birds flitting from emerald tree to tree, whistling harmoniously to one another, it's quite pleasant. What a shame I can't savour it with a werewolf so close.

"The only pattern we can find is that they leave their kills on our land. It's always somewhere visible where someone can stumble onto them. It's causing a mess in town and the police are losing patience with us."

"That's their game, then. They're trying to get you cornered. Get rid of your allies, get your people uncertain and scared, isolate you— then they'll close in."

"You think?"

I shrug helplessly. "It's what I would do."

"Ah, I see."

To his credit, he doesn't look all that alarmed with my admission. Perhaps he's just a bit slow and hasn't realised this alliance is a bad idea yet. If anything, his lips twitch with a smile and he deftly looks away to hide it— but not quick enough.

I don't rise to his bait. I roll my eyes and forge onwards.

We don't speak for the rest of our hike through the woods, both of us lost to our own musings.

As we emerge from the forest, I hear the telltale sounds of fighting. Thuds, grunts, sharp impacts and muffled groans. Down by the side of the pack house, where the ground is trodden down with dirt, two werewolves throw themselves at one another with animalistic ferocity. There's a dwindling crowd of onlookers with crossed arms and scrutinising expressions. Wolves trot along trails, sniffing at the air and yipping at one another and chasing their tails. A few glance at us and scarper away only to stare warily at me from a safe, unreachable distance amongst the shrubs.

I stare back, making sure none of them get close enough to attack.

"Rowan, glad you're still alive!" one of the werewolves calls, shielding their eyes from the sun as they turn to face us. Their features are androgynous, and their hair is tied back. "Are you training today?"

"Not yet, Kay. Can you find Lachlan and Morgan and tell them I need to see them in my office? Beau will sniff us out, I'm sure." He turns to me and holds out his hand. "Keys?"

Begrudgingly, I hand over a shard of my freedom and Rowan tosses them to the werewolf without pause. "Could you give those to Teo as well, please?" he requests. He must dial up the alpha fog, or else the puppy-dog eyes, because Kay nods without one noise of complaint.

If Rowan ordered me about, I'm fairly certain my fist would make acquaintance with his jaw.

Rowan leads me past the fighting werewolves and up onto the porch— either sensing my distress and eager to get me away from the wolves, or sensing the wolves' distress and eager to keep us separate.

The pack house, as Rowan had called it, is yet another maelstrom of chaos when we wander inside.

There's children fighting over toys, snarling at one another with flickering golden eyes. Older werewolves break up the fights with rolled eyes and exasperated sighs and practised efficiency before sending them outside to play. I try my best to stay away from them all.

Upstairs, a distant voice shouts for quiet and is greeted by an even louder resistance. A man comes bustling past with a pile of clothes and a trail of unwilling werewolves pulled into helping with chores.

It looks different during the day, with so much activity. It feels... alive. Despite the lighthearted atmosphere, I'm on edge with the sheer number of them so close. A few werewolves catch my gaze and stare in open shock. Their attention is unnerving. My fingers itch for the comforting hilt of my knife.

"Everyone tends to gather here," Rowan tells me, offering me an assuring, soft smile as he leads the way further into the house. "We've got cottages throughout the woods for everyone and a few sentries live in town, too. Keeping an eye on things."

I follow close behind him, as though to hide myself in the smothering fog of his alpha presence.

"As for the people in town, they're mostly humans. We've built a rapport with them. They know about our kind and the rivalry and I've warned them to stay clear of the Duskland pack and their chaos. For now, Duskland hasn't targeted them, but it's only a matter of time," he continues, leading me down a series of hallways and opening the door to a large room. Mercifully, it's empty.

There's full bookshelves lined on every wall and a huge table in its centre with a map laid out on its surface and armchairs arranged haphazardly around it. A desk sits at the far side of the room, its surface littered with piles of paperwork. The office smells of dust and incense, vaguely, and when Rowan closes the door behind us, the chaos in the rest of the house goes muffled. I feel I can breathe again.

I wander further into the room, admiring the collections of books stacked high and the windows overlooking the woods swaying in an idle breeze. It feels like a cosier version of the map room back at home— with less gruesome trophies on the wall.

The map is a rendition of Crescent Valley, I find when my exploration leads me close, with blue and red string lines meandering across the woodland and the town and intersecting. Little black dots lie in these cross sections, and I assume these are the sites of the killings, where Duskland werewolves leave the Othala symbol in their enemies.

"Sorry about that," Rowan says, rubbing the back of his neck as he falls into an armchair on the other side of the table. "I know this is a lot. Thank you for coming back with me."

I shrug, not swayed by his show of understanding. "I have no car and no choice, though, do I?"

He frowns softly. "You always have a choice."

Before I can retort, before I can tell him this alliance is an awful idea and I don't want to — or even know how to — work with him, the door clicks open and the bubble of my frustration pops at once.

In its place, suspicion rises.

"I thought I could smell silver. Hello, stray," Beau greets buoyantly, offering me an easy grin as he lopes into the room.

At his side, Morgan narrows her eyes at me, scrutinising and uncertain. I know the feeling.

Lachlan follows them both inside and closes the door behind him. "We've got a bit of an audience, out there," he says. "You wanted to see us?"

"They'll have to wait," Rowan dismisses as they all take their seats. "River wants to know about our land."

I remain exactly where I am, stood up on the other side of the table, my focus caught between the werewolves and the map. Suspicion and fascination.

Morgan crosses her arms, eyeing me warily. "You brought an armed hunter into a house with children inside, Rowan."

"A little trust, love," Beau chides, giving her a rallying nudge. "He knows what he's doing. Besides, you wouldn't hurt kids, would you, stray?" He gazes at me imploringly, wide-eyed and hopeful as he grasps for some shred of humanity. The expression falters as the silence stretches on a beat too long, and I can practically see the horror swirling behind his eyes.

"I'm not a stray," I insist. "And I'm not a monster."

I cannot say the same for others in the Ferreus Clan. To a hunter lost to their Haze, a werewolf is a threat, no matter their age. There is nothing but threats and family to them.

He blows out a relieved sigh and melts against his seat, laughing weakly. "You had me worried for a second, there."

Rowan sits forwards. "Blue is us, red is Duskland," he tells me, pointing out different parts of the map. "We claim the majority of the town, but they're creeping close here, in the west."

I note with some discomfort that Laura's bookstore is right in the middle of the bit of town the Duskland pack have claimed. I was on dangerous territory and I didn't even know it. Then again, the entirety of Crescent Valley seems to be dangerous territory, at the moment.

Do I need to apologise to her? No. She's a werewolf— an enemy. Will she even want to see me? Probably not. I know I wouldn't want an apology off the wolf that bit Esme and sealed her fate. I'd want it to suffer.

"These are the sites of our losses," Rowan says, pointing out the black dots. "When Duskland kills one of our own, they give us a little howl to tell us they've won. We check in with our sentries and follow up on those that have gone quiet. It's becoming more frequent."

"Three this week. I heard."

Lachlan frowns. "How do you know that—?"

"You were there? In the alley?" Morgan asks me, her brows raised with startled incredulity. "We smelt silver, but... By the Goddess, that's quite scary."

"Well, thanks for not killing us," Beau says. "I appreciate it. Where were you even hiding?"

"Behind you."

He blinks, abruptly alarmed. "You know how creepy that sounds, don't you? Are you going for creepy? Because it's working."

"Regardless," Rowan forges on, sending his beta a pointed look. "At this rate, Duskland is going to plough straight through our defences. River thinks they're trying to get the townsfolk and police to lose faith in us."

Lachlan hums, looking displeased. "And then Duskland can claim them."

"Exactly. We lose our edge."

"We've still got an edge. A silver one, to be exact. Stray, what are you thinking?" Beau asks me. He sits forward eagerly. "When you take out a pack, what do you start with?"

I glare at him. "The beta."

"Rowan, I'm scared."

I roll my eyes and explain, "Gale. If they've got a secure line, the best thing we can do is rid them of it. Get them vulnerable and defensive and reckless. Kill the alpha pair and their line will riot. Kill their line and they'll panic."

"Except how do we get near Gale?" Morgan asks, a tentative brow raised with careful approval as she considers my approach.

Lachlan rubs at his jaw, pensive. "He's an arrogant fucker— just like his fated."

Of course. Werewolves and their odd couplings.

"Who's his fated?" I ask, curious.

"Seb. Well, he was."

I blanch as dread hisses like ice along my veins. Fuck. Fucking fuck. So Laura isn't the only one with a reason to kill me. If I'm not digging graves for Esme, I'm digging them for myself. All I do is dig.

"Seb was the radical one of the two— always leading his friends into fights with us and getting himself into trouble just to prove he could get himself out again," Lachlan explains to me. "I guess that puts you at the top of Gale's to-kill list. Maybe it would be best if you stayed close, for now."

"For fuck's sake," I mutter, tugging my hands through my hair as my gaze finds Rowan. I don't want to rely on werewolves to protect me from other werewolves. I'm stuck in some sort of nightmare.

He doesn't look happy. His features are set in stone and his form is tensed up. I wonder if he's reached the same conclusion as I have.

Back with my family, any problems would need to be mentioned and addressed. So, with a sharp sigh, I say, "His sister knows me. I think she knows what I am, too."

"Who, Laura?" Morgan asks. "She knows everyone. That's her job."

"She's one of Duskland's sentries," Lachlan explains.

"We don't need to worry about her," Rowan dismisses distractedly, thunder still rumbling behind his dark gaze. "If she has reason to suspect you for what happened to Seb, she's already told Gale and the rest of them, but she won't dare cross so far into our land. None of them will. The problem is what happens when you leave."

Of fucking course.

"Uh... stray?" Beau chimes in hesitantly. "Not to alarm you, but the scent of silver was all over those bodies I left on their land. Your scent. I tried covering it, but..."

"I told you to clean them up," Rowan tells him, a sliver of ice in his tone.

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to be petty," Beau sulks, crossing his arms and melting into his chair to escape his alpha's wrath.

Morgan winces and offers him a sorrowful glance, but he returns it with a little smile and sparks fly between them.

I tear my gaze away. "That's our way to Gale, isn't it?" I ask bleakly, already knowing the answer. "I've got to lure him out because I'm the one that killed Seb. I have to be your bait."

What a fucking mess.