18 - Tempting Fate

If Esme could see me now, she'd probably clip me round the ear and call me an idiot tempting fate, but she'd be smiling, and I'd give anything to see that smile one more time. The one that makes everything alright.

I walk down the middle of the street in the heart of Crescent Valley, covered in splatters of drying, sticky blood, twirling my knife, my gaze locked in front of me. I've given up on the notion of calling this town my home. With Rowan's lies about the fated bond between us, I'd be better off as far away from this place as possible. And yet, I do not run from a fight. It's not in my nature.

And so I vow to myself, one last job. Help Rowan and his pack take out Duskland. Make good on the alliance. Hope something fixes itself inside of me and I can raise my knife to him without hesitating again. Kill him and let his pack fall. Get the fuck out of Crescent Valley and find a new home away from damn werewolves. Easy enough.

In the meantime, I stalk down the street heading for the west side of Crescent Valley— the heart of Duskland's stolen land.

I'm finding Gale, if he doesn't find me first. After that, I'm not entirely certain what I'll do. I could kill him and fight my own way to the alpha pair. Right now, he's a threat. If I don't kill him, he'll hunt me down and exact his revenge for Seb. Better to tie up the loose end now. Then again, I could throw this alliance aside, steal a car and leave without getting any more blood on my hands.

But I cannot. Killing werewolves is my duty. Fighting them alone is foolish and reckless and I was taught better than that.

I was also taught better than to stoop so low as to work with werewolves, and yet here I am.

Esme's probably cackling, by now. Clutching her stomach and rolling on the ground and wiping tears from her eyes.

All around, people cross over to avoid my path, keeping their gazes averted and pretending they don't see me. I'm making absolutely no attempt to hide myself or my weapons. Children point at me and their parents clutch them close and tug them away down side streets. With any luck, word will reach the heart of Duskland soon enough. There's a crazed hunter covered in blood, come quickly. Preferably bring Gale.

I find myself faltering outside of Laura's bookstore, my thoughts drifting as I gaze absently through the front window. She was the first one to give me a chance here, letting me work for her and giving me some money to help me get by. Granted, she turned out to be a werewolf and her brother was a bit of a prick before I shoved my silver knife into him, but still.

Somehow I doubt her manners will extend so far for me a second time.

My own reflection gazes back at me, distorted with piles of books but there all the same. Silver eyes gleaming after the little moment I had with that Duskland werewolf, dark hair tousled and windswept, sharp features smeared with blood. I look a haggard mess, which speaks volumes about my mental state.

Movement inside the store catches my attention, and my gaze shifts to peer beyond the books.

Laura's in there, hugging herself and pacing with mascara streaks staining her cheeks like twin strikes of dark lightning. She's not alone, either. There's a man with her, bracing his hands on the counter. He looks as shitty as I feel; eyes bleak, features slack, posture deflated. He looks to be around my age — nowhere near old enough to be Laura's father, I muse, and she never mentioned having another brother — and he pushes himself off the counter to embrace her. He holds her close and I see his mouth moving, offering condolences or promises. His eyes shimmer with golden flecks and tears.

A few others emerge from amidst the maze of shelves, dressed in dark cargo clothes with frowns pinching their stony features. They cross their arms bulging with muscle and survey the aisles around them for invisible threats.

And then their gazes snag on me. An actual threat. Whoops.

Their gazes trail as one down my form, taking in the blood stains and the knives in my grip. It's almost comical— those few moments of startled confusion.

The illusion cracks soon enough, and they're suddenly all caught in a flurry of activity, shoving one another out of the way and racing for the door.

I turn and bolt, thoughts on fire, instincts driving me forwards. I hear the bell above the door screech a warning, muffled behind sharp shouts and calls to order. People on the street cower in shop doorways and side alleys, watching on in fear.

Amidst the chaos, I hear Laura's voice. Harsh and fierce as a wildfire. "Gale, it's him. It's the hunter!"

Gale? Wonderful.

"On it," a man's deep tenor almost growls.

I dart down the middle of the road, skirting round cars and startled pedestrians, narrowly avoiding bicycles and only saved by my razor-edged reflexes. Every shred of my concentration is devoted to the path leading for the car park and the woods beyond. If I can just get Gale to follow me there, Rowan will—

What the hell am I thinking? I spend one day in his company and already I'm relying on him as though we're allies. We are not. This is a temporary solution to a problem and nothing more. I don't even know if I can trust him— if I'll ever be able to trust him.

I could lead Gale and his lackeys to a secluded area of Crescent Valley, as far away from Rowan's ambush as possible, and take them out on my own. Prove to myself I don't need help.

But I'm not proving anything to myself. I'm proving it to my family, as though after everything they've done, I need their approval. Fuck no.

What do I want? Me. River. Not a Ferreus hunter. Not an ally to a werewolf pack in the midst of a rivalry. What shall I do with the vengeful shadows on my tail? I need to start taking control of my fate instead of letting it tug me from one mistake to another.

I risk a glance to gauge numbers, but all I manage is a quick survey of the quickly diminishing distance between me and a whole lot of furious faces. Their eyes shimmer golden rage and they shove aside anyone who gets in their way. The man Laura was speaking to leads the assault, gaining on me with long, vindictive strides.

"I'm gonna fucking tear you apart!" he vows, his words like an oil slick. Absolutely fucking useless without a spark.

I snort and race on, the familiar burn in my legs a comforting sensation. "Don't you have to catch me first?" I call over my shoulder.

The growl that follows rips through the air and sends my bones shuddering in their sockets. Nerves sizzle and spark at the threat; a primal urge to feel his warm blood on my face and his demise marking my skin in lichtenberg figures.

Right now, all I want is a few extra hands to help me out. The reassurance of a few people to fall back on should the worst happen. I could take on the werewolves racing for me, but the second I stop, they'll be upon me. Back in the alley, Seb and his fools didn't know my full strength. I caught them by surprise. I doubt these ones will underestimate me. They'll throw everything they have at me.

I'm outnumbered, but I've got the means to even the playing field.

So, as Gale shouts orders at his lackeys to cut me off and wring my neck, I race for the car park and the woods beyond, praying with every shred of hope in my soul that Rowan will stick to his word and meet me there.

If not, I'm royally fucked.

It feels a little like running into a cage as I cross the empty car park and dart into the trees, thunderclaps of footsteps on my heels. I catch the shredding of fabric and growls rise on the air as dark shapes dart past me to cut me off. Fuck.

I skid to a stop and turn to face Gale's challenge, brandishing my knives before me. Only he and Laura remain in their human forms, approaching with all the confidence of a lion pride who've lured their prey into a corner.

Wolves snarl and prowl, circling me. Trapping me. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

What if Rowan and his pack don't show up? I've cornered myself like a fool and he's going to leave me here for dead. He saw the monster in me and he's going to let these werewolves kill me to save himself the trouble—

Gale starts for me, a smirk tugging at his lips. The wolves stalk around me, gradually tightening the circle they've got me trapped in. I'm more worried about their fangs than Gale's fury, but I do not give them the satisfaction of seeing me scared. I hold Gale's fiery gaze and ignore the prickling knives of instinct demanding I turn in a slow circle to keep them all in my peripheral.

"I'm curious," he muses, his gaze absently dipping to my bloodstained knives. "What's a hunter doing here all on his own? Kicked out of your own pack, is that it?"

I bristle at his choice of wording, and he notices. His smirk glints like a knife's edge.

"Maybe I'll leave you on their doorstep, all broken up into little pieces. See, that's what happens to the people that mess with my pack."

"I'm sure Seb would approve, if he could," I reason, absently scanning the treeline. Rowan, where the fuck are you?

He flinches as though I've struck him with my silver knife. Laura releases a strangled cry and lunges for me, but in a smooth movement, Gale catches her arm and hauls her back against him. "Settle," he commands. "He is mine to finish, do you understand?"

Her features twist with agony, but before she can answer, a howl rises on the air and wolves dart out of the shrubs, snarls in their throats and fury glinting behind their golden eyes. Fucking finally.

Chaos descends.

Rowan, Lachlan and Beau are the only ones not shifted, but they join the fight with just as much ferocity as the wolves, throwing punches hard enough to break bones. Wolves collide, snarling and biting and scratching in a rush of blood and fur. I leave them to their maelstrom and race for my target.

Gale is caught up in the fight, grappling with a wolf, but before I can reach him, Laura steps in my way. She's a force of fury; her hair wild and windswept, her features stricken with agony, her hands bunched into fists.

I falter.

"You're not running this time," she hisses, her form shuddering beneath a desperate urge to shift. "You killed my brother."

"He tried to kill me first. Get out of my way," I say, glancing past her to the beta. I watch as he wrenches the wolf's jaws apart and sends it sprawling, limp and lifeless. He stalks for his next target — for Rowan — and time stutters to a stop.

The throwing blade is hissing through the air within the instant, nestling deep into Laura's exposed throat. She gasps and gargles and falls to her knees, and as I race past her, I rip the blade from her neck and leave her there to bleed. Nothing else matters but getting Gale's attention.

A wolf has Rowan pinned, snarling in his face as he struggles to shove it off him. It's going to tear his face to shreds. Do I have to do everything around here?

Without conscious thought, I collide with Gale and send us both tumbling. I throw everything I have at him in his distraction, punching him hard in the jaw and wrestling him to his knees. He is at my mercy with frightening efficiency, as though I have become one with the air howling all around us; an unyielding force slipping through his grasp. A beta wolf is at my mercy, and all is right in the world once more. I haven't lost my edge.

"Enough!" I shout, pressing my knife hard against Gale's throat.

He struggles, trying to rise from his knees, but his efforts only make the knife bite harder. He presses into me, falling still with a barely stifled groan of pain. Music to my ears.

One by one, as the werewolves notice me, their chaos comes to a brittle end. The wolf pinning Rowan scurries off him to join the rest of his pack, watching me warily with his ears folded back and a snarl tugging at his snout. The clearing is smeared in blood and bodies lie contorted and limp— all wolves, except for Laura's slump form. I haul my focus away from her before guilt can latch on.

Lachlan helps Rowan up and checks him over. The alpha brushes leaves off his top as though he had merely tripped and was not moments from a painful death. With the upper hand all but ensured with my knife nestled against Gale's throat, he checks his own pack for injury and calls them over. They gather close by, watching their rivals closely for any attempt to claw back the advantage.

"You took your time," I mutter.

Rowan shrugs, offering me a smile. His hair is all tousled and his eyes shine with relief. "I saw you run past with this lot on your tail and got everyone here as quickly as I could. Didn't you like your chances?" he asks.

I glare at him, but the expression lacks its usual bite. I took a risk coming here and relying on a werewolf but, once again, Rowan has proven his sincerity when it comes to our alliance. In plain, simple terms, he saved my ass, just now.

"Not particularly. What shall I do with this one?" I ask him, tensing my fist a fraction and revelling in the way Gale shrinks into me with a grimace.

Before us, his wolves snarl and paw at the ground, but they do not come closer. I hold their beta in the palm of my hand and any movement could send my knife slashing.

Rowan comes wandering over and crouches before Gale, tilting his head a little in a way vaguely reminiscent of a curious puppy. "I've got a proposition for you. Take your pack and leave Crescent Valley, or River here is going to slice your neck open. You are trespassing on my pack's land, and there will be consequences if you do not leave. Do I make myself clear?" He speaks with slow, purposeful conviction, every word spilling like silk from his mouth. He could convince the tides to shift with that voice, I muse privately.

"He will, you know. I've seen it. The stray's a psycho, but he's our psycho," Beau chimes in. I scowl at him, but he merely grins and gives me a double thumbs-up, as though he's offered me the highest compliment. At his side, a wolf huffs and bows its head— Morgan, I assume, once again questioning her life choices.

"You're working with a fucking hunter?" Gale chokes out. "Did you lead him to my fated?"

"Your fated cornered a hunter and got what he deserved. We've got a mutual understanding. River is under the protection of my pack, now. What is your answer?"

Gale rises as tall as he can, sets his broad shoulders, and says, "You can shove your proposition up your ass."

Rowan hums, rising and dusting himself off as he rejoins his pack. "I'll take that as a hard no. River?"

Before us, Gale's pack pace and snarl, muscles bunching as they prepare to lunge. The werewolves at my side answer with rolled shoulders and stony stances and fire in their eyes, accepting their challenge.

A noise is lost in the shrubs— a long, low whistle that the others pay no heed and dismiss as a mere birdsong in the melody of nature. They're too focused on one another.

But it is a whistle that I know all too well. One that cuts through the woods and calls for focus and slices every thought to ribbons. One that rips me back through time, to a night where Esme and I twirled our weapons and waited on our family, to the night everything went to shit.

One that means, everyone's in position and ready when you are.

Oh, fuck.