2 - The Family Business

Crowded in the back of the car, jolting with every bump in the road, I breathe deeply and force my mind to empty. Pre-battle nerves are a luxury I cannot afford, tonight. My mind must be razor-sharp and my reflexes even sharper; there is no room for error.

At my side, Esme's leg bounces— though whether with apprehension or excitement, I cannot say. She keeps glancing at me, trying to catch my attention, but I can only stare blankly ahead as I run through my training one last time.

My mother, sitting up front with Liliana driving, keeps flicking her gaze towards me in the rear-view mirror. I don't look at her, either, or else I risk a lecture on upholding the family's legacy and traditions and how important tonight is. I already know all those things— I've grown up with honour and valiance shoved down my throat. I'm convinced my first words were probably si vis pacem, para bellum, or something equally philosophical and tragic. If you want peace, prepare for war. Our family crest, meant to signify our desire for freedom and the lengths we'll go to ensure it.

Orion drives the van up ahead, packed full of weapons and ammo and the equipment for a hasty bonfire once the fight is over.

On the other side of Esme, Myles sighs heavily and melts against his seat. "You're so lucky," he says, fixing my twin and I with a jealous stare. "You're leading the fight for a whole pack. My initiation will probably only be a couple of rogues."

Because that's all you can handle, I think bitterly. I get grouchy when I'm nervous, it seems.

"You'll have your own pack to fight, sweetheart," Liliana gushes, though the firm set to her brows and the tick in her jaw says otherwise. "We'll find one by the time it's your turn. They're cropping up everywhere, these days."

Myles turns twenty-five in seven month's time, and then we'll have to do this all over again— only then, we'll all have to suffer beneath his aloof decision-making and overall smugness. He'll want to make a fool of himself and play hero, and he doesn't care who he has to step on to achieve it. He lives life chasing after approval from parents who couldn't care less. It's pitiful.

Esme gives me a little nudge and says, "It's just like all the others, really. Easy stuff."

She's right. This isn't the first time I'm going into a fight against werewolves and hopefully it won't be the last. The battle tonight, if all goes well, gives us the right to join the elders of our family and undergo the ritual. We'll be regarded above the others as hunters of esteemed renown, able to take charge of missions and lead the others in training and, most importantly, go from subject to ruler. In other words, Orion and Liliana will have to stop looking down their noses at us, our mother must accept us as halfway decent hunters, and Myles cannot boss us around anymore.

So I suppose there is a silver lining to it all, in the end.

We reach the reserve before long and park up. Swathes of lilac and amber paint the sky as eager stars flicker and shimmer. Trees and shrubs glittered with raindrops shudder in a cool breeze that tousles my hair and sends flurries of leaves twirling into the air; an emerald tornado in miniature. Crickets buzz into the quiet and owls disrupt their incessant chatter with mournful hoots.

As we emerge from the car and fetch the bulk of our weapons — an assortment of bows slung over our shoulders and guns strapped to holsters (only the elders get these, unfortunately) and gas canisters for emergencies and a spray Orion nearly chokes us with that stinks of musk and moss — I survey the quiet woods. The spray helps to conceal our scent— an extra precaution, given Ferreus hunters naturally smother our scents to avoid our sworn enemies tracking us easily.

It's a peaceful, picturesque evening, to all intents and purposes. A quiet, clear night. Good visibility.

But I don't have time to admire it for long. Orion, Liliana and my mother don their weapons like monarchs fitting crowns atop their heads, and I watch with mingling awe and terror as they shift their focus and bring forth their hunter nature.

It's a sight to behold, when a Ferreus hunter gives in to their instincts and loses themselves to a Haze.

The light of recognition goes dim and cold behind their eyes; like embers compared to a blazing inferno as everything that makes them who they are is stamped out and smothered and replaced with something cold and dark. The constellation of runes and symbols etched into their skin glows and flickers, streaks of bottled lightning in their veins.

Their eyes melt and gloss over until nothing but mirrored silver remains. No pupil, no recognition, just a blank, silver, expectant stare.

They twirl their knives and they survey the quiet woods and they look like assassins from another world; a force to be reckoned with.

But tonight, their mirrored gazes fix on Esme and me, watchful and waiting for orders. It takes years to build up the control they have. The newly-initiated have to work to rein in their razor-edged instincts— which means, if I survive this night, the challenge has only just begun.

So I set my shoulders and level their intense stares with a look of clinical indifference as Esme recites the plan.

Obediently, and with little nods, mother and Liliana split up and disappear into the woods, going in opposite directions to circle back and trap any running wolves. Orion and a fumbling Myles follow after Liliana to cut west, adjusting the bows on their backs as golden rays of sunlight come filtering through the trees. The sun will set behind them and hopefully lend them some blind-spots to work with. God knows Myles could use the help.

The werewolves will not see us coming. We learn all we can about their routines and behaviour until the time is right to strike. We leave no hint of our presence until it is too late; we are vipers lying in wait.

A moment of silence passes between Esme and me as we wait for the others to reach their positions. It won't take long. Besides, if our research is correct, all the werewolves are lounging after an intensive training session— lethargic and tired and their guards firmly down after play-fighting all afternoon, as they have every other day for the past seven months.

"Are you okay?" Esme asks softly, surveying the woods.

"I'm fine. You?"

She huffs out a laugh, twirls her knife, and says, "Shitting myself."

I can't help but smile. "They'll smell that, you know. You'll blow our cover."

"Idiot," she shoots back, pretending to aim for me. As I raise my hands in an exaggerated show of surrender, something behind her eyes goes cold and empty, and she abruptly backs off. "I'm sorry about your wrist. I should've been more careful."

"It's nothing," I insist.

But her eyes shimmer and she sniffs and she says, "Yeah, but it's a liability for you, now. A distraction, and— and tonight we can't afford distractions."

I know exactly what she's trying to say. So I approach and throw my arms around her, forcing her into an embrace.

"I'll be fine, Es. I can beat you with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back— a bunch of wolves will be nothing to a seasoned professional such as myself."

She snorts, shoving me back. "Seasoned professional, my ass. Come on," she says, wiping at her cheeks, "before I sprain your other wrist."

There she is.

A distant, low whistle echoes through the trees; a call to action imitating a simple birdsong. Different songs mean different things— and this one signifies everyone is in position and ready when we are.

I blow out a breath and meet Esme's gaze. Apprehension and exhilaration dance behind her eyes; a mournful ballet.

We stalk through the woods, searching for our prey. We've been tracking this pack for just shy of a year, and in that time, we've learnt all we can. Their numbers, their routines, their allies, their enemies, their fight patterns— everything about them. If one of them pisses a new scent marker, we make a note of it.

Marking their territory. They're more animal than man. It's a mercy to kill them. I'm not sure if the voice in my head is mine or Orion's.

It isn't long before we close in. We tread carefully, the rain-softened grass muffling our approach and the spray Orion doused us in masking our scent.

We find them shifted and lounging beneath the tree canopy, as expected; some wolves groom others, some playfully nip at ears or tails or paws or whatever is close enough, goading one another into a fight, one younger wolf whines and folds its ears back and wags its tail and presses its nose close to the bared fangs of its elder, attempting to get its own way with puppy privilege.

My sister and I settle behind trunks, gazing at our enemies from the cover of shrubs.

I nock an arrow, waiting on Esme's signal as she prepares a gas canister.

She nods slightly, and I send my arrow sailing. It hisses through the air and lands with a thwack into the soft ground between the elder wolf and the pup. A warning. It wouldn't be any fun, otherwise.

In the same instant, Esme sends her canister flying and a plume of aconite-laced smoke explodes in the clearing.

The reaction is immediate. The wolves yelp and dart for clean air, keeping the younger ones close and racing for home.

Our mother sends them right back on course.

Esme and I race after them, sending off arrows to keep them running, tossing knives at their hinds. Any that fall behind meet a swift end at our bloody hands.

They're fast and desperate, snarling and eager to claw back the advantage. Right as Orion and Myles send arrows flying from ahead, and once the wolves realise they're trapped as Liliana sets off a cloud of smoke to the south, they skid to a stop. Fighting, not fleeing. A worthy challenge.

We rain down on them; a force of shadows and silver.

Chaos descends. Knives hiss through the air. Bullets explode from guns. A morbid symphony of whines and yelps and growls rises as the woods around us fall quiet.

I lose Esme in the rush. Rabid wolves race for us; blood splatters across my face and across the mossy ground; the hilt of the knife in my grip is a heavenly sensation.

Lunge. Feign. Pivot. Kill. Kill. Kill. One after the other, I send my enemies to a swift end.

I have no room in my mind to consider anyone or anything else. There is only the stretch of seconds between ripping my knife from one wolf and nestling it in another. The sharp, acrid stench of blood on the air is a perfume of victory and pain.

I'm so focused on splitting up the alpha pair that I don't notice when one wolf lunges from the bushes for me until it's much too late.

It collides with me and sends us both crashing to the ground. We roll in a tangle of limbs and snarls and shouts. I hold the rabid wolf at arm's length and try to reach for the knife at my belt, but the beast is heavy and bearing down on me — jaws snapping, eyes on fire — and I cannot hold it back with my sprained wrist screaming at me.

I stare into its eyes and see death stare back.

For one moment that stretches on and on, as the wolf's fangs snap mere inches from my face, I debate holding it back or giving in and reaching for my knife.

There's no time to do either. An arrow comes hissing for us and nestles itself into the wolf's head.

Warm blood splatters across my face as the fire in the beast's eyes goes cold and glassy, and its rabid attack slumps into a deadweight. I shove the thing off me, gasping for breath, and it's all I can do to lie there in the heat of battle and grapple with the reality I was just mere inches from death, just now.

But then Esme manifests above me, a force of fury and silver. She's slinging her bow over her shoulder, bloody freckles dotted across her face and her hair sticking to her temples with sweat as she holds out a hand to help me up.

I take her hand, and once I'm up, she performs a rapid assessment of my form, checking for injury. For bites.

"I'm fine," I manage, ripping the knife from my belt and pivoting to face the onslaught.

"You're so welcome," she says, shoving past me with a delighted grin and rushing back into the fight. "Watch your footing, next time!" she calls back to me.

There's no time for witty comebacks as I race after her, into the heat of battle.

Clarity melts into blood and fur and arrows hissing past and yelps of agony and the crunch of bone beneath the force of the knives I drive into my enemies. Chaos descends as Esme lands the killing blow on the alpha male, slashing her throwing knife across his throat. In the disarray of mournful howls and snarls, as the alpha female leaps into the path of her scattering pups, calling for a hasty retreat, I send a knife flying straight for her.

In the instant before it lands its fatal blow, her golden eyes fix on me and a snarl rushes from her throat.

The sound breaks off into a whimper as my aim lands true, and the wolf crumples in a limp, bloodied heap. Dead. Her pups crowd around her, whining and digging at her and howling.

"Yes, River!" Esme shouts, grinning at me from across the clearing. "Finish them off!"

Grief melts into fury, and the wolves snarl and shift their focus towards us all. Retreat forgotten, they charge. A blur of snarls and thundering paws.

We meet their challenge. We send glittering knives cutting through the air, silver-tipped bullets darting past, and arrows hissing fatal paths from strung bows to tendons.

They never stood a chance.

Right as I finish off another beast, I turn my focus towards Esme. They're swarming around her, and though my sister is giving all she can, she's vastly outnumbered.

I know she can hold her own, but I race for her, anyway. Determined to repay my debt.

All around us, my family forges on. Killing any who try to run, painting the woods crimson, setting off gas canisters to send wolves scattering right into their traps.

I'm closing in when it happens. When time stutters to a stop.

Esme is so focused on keeping the wolves on the defensive, snarling and circling and feigning, that she isn't prepared when one does not simply feign.

The wolf lunges for my sister and clamps its jaws onto her shoulder, using its momentum to send her crashing to the ground. The rest dart for her, a wave of bloodthirsty monsters.

I set off a canister. Smoke laced with aconite explodes into the air and they all scatter, whining and yelping and limping and giving her up to raise hell somewhere else.

I drop to my knees and haul my sister free of the smoke. She's covered in blood and smiling up at me and there are puncture wounds burrowed deep into her shoulder. The monster has ripped off a chunk of her uniform and its fangs have found her skin.

Dread drops in my gut; a supernova of ice. It rips a sob from my throat.

"Did we get them?" she asks, peering up at me with a hopeful glint to her shimmering eyes.

Adrenaline thrums through my veins, dulling the agony of my throbbing wrist. She doesn't know. She can't feel the bite, just yet.

"Yeah, we got them," I manage, my voice shuddering.

She frowns vaguely up at me, and I watch as pain flickers behind her features. "Oh shit," she breathes, reaching up for her shoulder. When her hand comes away bloody, she lets out a weak laugh. "One of the fuckers got me?"

"Esme," I begin shakily.

Around us, the woods fall quiet. Our enemies are dead and leaves crunch beneath the weight of approaching footsteps.

Arms snake around my chest and haul me up. Myles pulls me back against him, muttering in my ear about the successful hunt and how he knew I could do it all along.

Orion, Liliana, and my mother all stare down at Esme, their expressions closed-off and their attention razor-edged in the wake of the fight. The lightning in their veins goes dim and the life returns to their features. Victory swirls beneath their skin, crawling up their necks in tangled roots of symbols and runes and strikes of lightning, and an answering itch beneath my own skin, scuttling across my chest, echoes their success.

Another hunt, another trophy scratching its way onto our skin.

And my sister has been bitten by the enemy. She has become one of them.

"Check him," my mother says curtly.

Myles, obediently, begins running his hands along my arms and chest, the heat of his gaze sliding over my legs and waist, checking for bites. I struggle, but he holds me firm.

"He's good," he says at last.

Liliana drags Esme up as Orion plucks the gun from his belt. He meets my mother's gaze, and she gives a stoic little nod. Any shred of maternal love is torn apart behind her eyes until nothing but cold indifference remains.

My sister stands straight and stares my mother in the eyes, meeting her verdict with dignity and grace. "Si vis pacem, para bellum," she whispers.

I can't stand it.

"No, no, no, please. You can't," I rush out, tripping on my words. I can't force them out fast enough as I struggle against Myles. "We'll find a cure— we have to. Please don't. There's still time to fix this, please—!"

"There is no cure," Orion says, the words spilling like shattered glass from his lips; sharp and jagged and all knife edges. He squeezes the trigger.

The bullet nestles between Esme's eyes. My sister sprawls in the dirt. Blood streams like tears down her face.

"No!" I scream, breaking free of Myles' hold and dropping to my knees beside her.

Her body lies limp and contorted. Her eyes are glassy and empty as she gazes vaguely up at the night sky and the constellations blazing above the trees swaying in a cool breeze.

She's dead.

They killed her.

I cradle her close, sobs choking the breath from my throat. She was the best of us, and they killed her.

"Burn her with the rest, son, and we'll check for stragglers. I'll leave the van. We have a ritual to prepare for," Orion orders. He turns and stalks back into the night, letting the woods swallow him. Liliana and my mother follow without a second glance, without a shred of remorse, until there is just Myles and me left in the clearing, surrounded by carnage and blood and carcasses. The subordinates clean up the mess, and they will drive home and gain all the glory for a successful hunt.

Unbidden, I think of the altar back in the den. There's a section for every fallen member of the Ferreus Clan who died honourable deaths. My father, Rafael, has a plaque dedicated to him. Photos and offerings and candles that never burn out. He died saving my mother, sacrificing himself for her, and he will be remembered for his honour for generations to come.

But Esme won't be remembered; she'll be a warning and nothing more. She made a mistake and let her enemies get the best of her. There is no sacrifice, no honour, in being bitten. In becoming one with the enemy. She'll become a story for children at bedtime; a warning, and nothing more. My sister fought for them her whole life, and they threw her aside with the wolves the moment she served her purpose. The moment that wolf's fangs sank into her skin. The moment the curse of the werewolf tainted her silver blood.

My sister was everything I aspired to be. One hell of a fighter, a beacon of light when all I saw was darkness. Esme won't get a plaque dedicated to her. She'll be burned with our enemies. Her ashes will become theirs and get lost in the currents of idle breezes. I can't even take her home and bury her properly.

And in that moment, with my sister's warm blood seeping into my clothes and her form melting uselessly against mine, I make a decision.

I need to get out of this cursed world of silver and blood before it kills me, too.