20 - The Hunter Becomes The Hunted

Time slows to a crawl, cooped up in that dingy bar. With exposed brick walls and fairy lights strung up into a canopy and a wall of stained glass and ferns, it's not the worst place for a breakdown. At the moment, though, all I can focus on is my family out there somewhere. Way too close for comfort. Everything else is unimportant. They're rallying and they've found me and I was a fool for ever thinking I could stop running. Whatever drew me towards Crescent Valley, that desperate urge to find a home, conveniently forgot about the fact that Ferreus hunters stop at nothing to settle a grudge.

I killed Myles, and they're going to tear me apart for it. Morgan mentioned three hunters — Orion, Liliana and my mother, no doubt, cleaning up the mess I made — but they could've called for reinforcements.

I'm curled up in a booth in the far corner of the spacious bar, feeling sorry for myself and watching the blood dry on my hands. A pitiful excuse of a hunter, doubting his instincts and hiding from his family with a bunch of werewolves.

Morgan has decided I'm not a threat, and she's turned her rage onto Beau, who won't stay still whilst she tries fixing up the gaping hole in his leg with limited supplies, or at the very least cover it up until it can heal properly. She's forced him to sit at a bar stool but he keeps hailing Lachlan to pour him a commemorative shot.

Lachlan merely sends him a light glare over his shoulder. He's stood like a bouncer at Rowan's side, arms crossed, close to the fire exit. They murmur softly to one another and listen out for any approaching Duskland werewolves or hunters. Every now and then, they'll glance at me.

I assume I'm the leading topic of conversation.

Rowan comes wandering over, soon enough. Without a word, he falls onto the booth seat opposite, his finger tracing a knot in the wooden table. I feel his gaze on me, his intrigue hanging like a fog over the table, but he stays quiet. Musing.

I sigh heavily and look up at him. "What?"

"What will you do?" he asks, his eyes holding an intensity I can hardly look at; a blazing sun of focus. "I know today's been... tough. What, with my bombshell this morning and the mess with Duskland and now this. I just... I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave, but I think numbers are your best bet. We're halfway decent at hiding from hunters because we've learnt to be, and I'd like you to stay with us until the threat's gone."

"They're not going anywhere as long as I'm here," I counter, my voice holding a harsh bite to it. With an effort, I soften my hackles and break his gaze and I say, "I never meant to lead them to you. It... it's not a trick, or an elaborate plan to get you to trust me, I promise. I just... I wanted to get away from this life, and it's caught up to me. It'll always catch up to me. You don't have to help me out of my own mess, this time. I got myself into it, and I'll get myself out of it again."

"I'm sure the whole point of an alliance is for things to go both ways," Rowan reminds me. "You'll learn it soon enough, River, but werewolves are incredibly loyal. Beau's actually right for once— your mess is our mess, now. You're one of us until you decide otherwise, and we protect our own."

A charge lurks beneath his words; one that explodes like streams of electric bubbles across my skin and burns my cheeks and turns all thoughts to ashes. It's a new, strange sensation, to feel so... exposed in a pleasant sort of way. Like his gaze is fire and I'm feeling the heat of his attention on my skin.

I look into his liquid bronze eyes and I want to explain why my family are hunting me. I want him to assure me everything will be alright and that he's not going anywhere. I need it. I need to know he's not going to turn on me like my family did. I thought I could trust them, and they killed Esme. Ever since then, I've been spinning uncontrollably from one moment to the next, never knowing if I'm going to be safe. I want, more than anything, for him to tell me I'll be safe— and I want to believe him.

It's too much too soon, so I drop his gaze, shuffle out of the booth and retreat to the fire exit, determined to keep watch if only to give myself something else to focus on except Rowan.

This is going to be a long day.

– ➶ –

Hours melt away. At first, I distract myself by watching the fire escape, eager not to be caught off-guard again if my family find us. Every noise, every car horn or loud voice, has me bristling with razor-edged nerves. My guard is up and reinforced with silver, my form tense and my focus unwavering, and I become something like a statue— if a statue was prone to slashing at any slight noise with a knife.

Rowan and the others leave me to my fear and keep themselves busy— Lachlan has disappeared to watch the main entrance, a phone pressed to his ear as he checks on some pack members holed up a few streets over, Morgan has pulled Rowan aside for a hushed conversation near the toilets (not the best of places to gather for an intervention, but it's the furthest point from me so I couldn't care less), and Beau is behind the bar surveying his options. He seems to be healing rather quickly, I muse, even despite the arrow to his thigh mere hours ago. The way he's acting now, the arrow could've been nothing more than a bee sting.

He notices my attention and comes wandering over with a bounce to his step and a grin tugging at his lips and a bottle of whisky in his hand.

"You look stressed," he tells me simply, resting his shoulder on the wall and raising his brows and his drink in a meagre toast. "Want to vent? I'm a great listener."

"You're drinking now, when hunters could storm this place at any second?" I ask instead, my tone harsh and incredulous.

He merely shrugs, as though there's a bubble of security around him that lessens the bite of my voice. "I was shot in the thigh with a silver arrow, stray, cut me some slack. Let me drown my sorrows. Besides," he muses, taking a swig, "this is nothing. I've got a high tolerance. Want some? You look like you need a good distraction."

I say nothing and turn my focus back towards the fire escape, crossing my arms and hoping Beau will get the message.

Unfortunately for me, he does not.

"Look," he begins. "I know you're a badass hunter and you've got a reputation to uphold and you're terrifying and nothing ever bothers you— I get it. But it's okay to admit when you're scared, or when you need help. Even just to yourself. I mean, shit, when that arrow hit, I thought for sure I was going to die. I thought if I let myself fall, they'd swarm me. It fucking terrified me. I don't know what you've grown up hearing about us werewolves, and I'd imagine it's nothing good, but if there's one thing we do well, it's work together. I knew I wasn't alone, and I knew someone would try their best to help me— just like I would've done if it was Mor, or Ro, or— hell, even Lach."

"Hey," a distant voice grumbles.

Beau merely smiles his usual buoyant smile, but he doesn't take his gaze off me. "I would've helped you, too, stray. We all would have. You know that, right? I mean, yeah, the smoke hurt like a bitch and the arrow didn't help, but if you got hurt or trapped, back there, I wouldn't have to think twice."

Despite myself, I have to swallow a lump at the back of my throat and blink against the unexpected sting of tears. Maybe it's because my family are no longer a nagging shadow on my thoughts but right here in the city I thought was safe from them, or maybe it's because my nerves are frayed after the fight and Rowan's close attention earlier, but his words slip right past my defences to my very core. It means a lot to know I don't have to do this on my own. To know there's a safety net ready and waiting to help me— not just because of the alliance, but because I've proven my worth and they've accepted me into their ranks. Rowan said the same thing. All it took was a bite for my family to turn on Esme, to discard her as an enemy. These werewolves know what I am, and what I can do, and they're helping me in spite of it.

They are werewolves and I am a hunter. It's an alliance that shouldn't work, that goes against everything I've ever known.

And yet.

"I just want you to know you're not on your own," he forges on, taking another swig from his bottle. "Please don't kill me in my sleep for any of this. Honestly, you're terrifying."

"Are you drunk?" I ask him. Maybe he's a lightweight and a liar, and it only takes a few sips for him to bare his soul.

He rolls his eyes lightly with a little laugh. "High tolerance, remember? I'm just feeling sentimental. A brush with death will do that to a guy, you know."

"I won't kill you in your sleep," I decide, my focus snagging on movement further in the bar.

Rowan, Morgan and Lachlan make their way over to us, their features pinched.

"Or when I'm awake?" Beau asks hopefully.

I stay quiet, trying to discern whether they're coming with more bad news or a plan. And, despite myself, I find my gaze locking on Rowan. Studying the way any unease slides off his form. It must be an alpha thing, to appear so calm in the midst of chaos. It's enviable.

"Stray? You won't kill me when I'm awake either, right? Right?"

"We've got a plan," Morgan says by way of a greeting, crossing her arms. Her eyes shimmer with the first embers of strategy— a look I know well. "We're going to meet up with Matteo at his garage and drive home using your car. He's fixed it for you, so really this is two birds with one stone."

I blink. And again. "You think the best way to hide from hunters is to... drive right past them?" I ask, an incredulous note to my voice. "That's like a spotlight."

"Or is it?" Beau asks conspiratorially, wiggling his brows. "They'll be expecting stealth, right? Skulking wolves tying to lie low and avoid detection is a spotlight to hunters. If we're driving, surely they'll think we're just humans going about our human business."

"I think I'm going to confiscate this," Lachlan muses, plucking the bottle of whisky from the beta.

They all watch me with startling intensity as I think the method over, weighing up the options. Though I hate to admit it, he's got a point. When the main fight is over, and the threats are dead, we would usually spend our time checking the surrounding woodland for any wolves that escaped our attention— it's what Orion, Liliana and my mother did on the night of the raid. It's something I've done countless times. We'd check the shrubs and the caves and the undergrowth for cowering werewolves and, on the rare occasions our fight led us close to urban life and a car drove past, my first instinct would be to assume there were humans nearby. My efforts would hasten to avoid detection from the wrong sort.

"We don't know what they know," I say, going to great effort to appear nonchalant as I realise exactly how dire my situation is. "They could know where your land is— they could be there already. We'd head straight into an ambush."

"If that's the case," Rowan begins, strength gathering in his voice like rolling clouds promising a storm, "it's best we get back as soon as possible. I will not leave my pack to their mercy— or lack thereof."

The very last place I want to go is the heart of a werewolf den when hunters are lurking. Then again, it's best I stick close to the few people who genuinely seem to want to help me instead of facing them on my own. Rowan's right. Numbers are my best bet to staying alive, right now.

Trust is one of those strange things that works both ways. Rowan trusted me when I grabbed his wrist and pulled him blind and spluttering from the chaos in the woods, and now I've got to trust that he'll keep me safe from my family. What a delicate, odd alliance this has become.

"The car will work," I decide at last. "If they're on foot, we can run them over."

A smile tugs at Rowan's lips. "Alright. Let's go."

– ➶ –

Our walk to Matteo's garage is brisk and full of tension. I'm not helping matters by glancing around nervously and keeping a firm grip on my throwing blades tucked away in their belt, so the others try and cancel out my concern by appearing aloof and nonchalant. They surround me— something that would've put me even more on edge this morning, but now I'm grateful for the cover. Knowing my family are so close is a sure way to shift my priorities. Rowan leads the way, Lachlan takes up a place behind me, and Beau and Morgan walk on either side of me. A little security circle.

I busy myself searching for familiar faces amongst the groups of townsfolk that meander past, and our route is a bit of a blur. With the sun setting behind the mountains and casting the valley in a lilac, dusty haze, the shadows lengthen and my paranoia grows. My family could be anywhere— around the next corner, in the alley opposite, following behind us.

My clothes are covered in splatters of blood and I'm certain my face and neck are no better. I'm in desperate need of a shower and a change of outfit, but it will have to wait. For now, I keep my head down and peer through my lashes at everyone and everything.

Matteo is waiting for us outside his garage; shoulder braced on the roller-shutter, arms crossed, gaze flickering from one passerby to the next. Subtly watchful. A tow truck lurks down an alley. I check fervently for shadows that do not belong.

He straightens as we approach, inclining his head to Rowan and offering us all a tentative smile. "Busy day, huh?" he asks, jerking his head for us to follow him through a squeaking door and into the garage.

"You can say that again," Lachlan mutters.

"How's Kay?"

"They're fine— watching over everyone at the pack house and keeping things quiet," Rowan returns.

It's a spacious room made tiny by piles upon piles of clutter taking up every inch of space. There's cabinets overflowing with paperwork, car skeletons dotted around with their insides strewn across the floor like a macabre art display, toolboxes lie open and overflowing. A sweet tang of oil hangs thick in the air and the lights overhead are clinical and glaring.

And in the middle of all the chaos is my car. Old and tired and looking particularly sorry for itself, but mercifully whole. I've missed it, strangely enough. Or maybe I've only missed the promise of freedom it holds for me.

"Brand new— almost," Matteo says, appraising the car with a proud little smile. "Only needed a new flywheel, and your gearbox survived. The plate flagged up a few hundred miles away. The police were getting suspicious, so I cleared that up, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I dismiss.

"Stray, you little deviant," Beau scolds, shaking his head. "Stealing is bad, you know."

"Thanks, Teo," Rowan says. "Lie low here for a while, alright? I expect we'll initiate some form of lock-down, so it'll help to have eyes on the outside."

"Got it," the werewolf assents. His gaze snags on me and he takes in the blood and the glint of panic lurking in my eyes. To his credit, he keeps any alarm under wraps and merely nods in acknowledgement. "I'll watch for any movement on Duskland's end, too."

"Keep us posted," Lachlan requests, wandering over to the car.

"I'll drive," Morgan insists, following close behind. "I was shifted— they didn't see my face."

Matteo tosses the keys and Morgan snatches them from the air. She swirls them victoriously around her finger as Lachlan holds up his hands and surrenders the driver's seat.

Somehow, I end up sat in the middle in the back, wedged between Rowan and Lachlan— given Beau has pulled the injured card to ride shotgun. I'm not mad about being away from all the windows, and I slouch to better hide myself. It's the way my focus keeps drifting to the insistence of Rowan's form pressed up against mine that I'm mad about.

His confession lurks between us with its brows raised, waiting to be brought up. I turn my nose up at it and rip my focus elsewhere.

"Seat-belts, children," Beau tells us from where he's sprawled in the passenger seat. He glances at us over his shoulder and smiles. "Mor, love, aren't we just the happiest family? Who wants takeout?"

"Just so you know," Rowan muses, doing his best to shuffle as far against the door as he can, giving me some space, "I'm in perfect range to strangle you."

Lachlan snorts and Morgan heaves a tortured sigh. By then, Matteo has raised the shutters and Morgan wastes no time in pulling out onto the street.

I'm torn between studying the town for any familiar faces and concealing myself. I can't shake the awful sensation that my family know exactly where I am and they're going to act right when I least expect it. It has me going rigid and quiet, stuck in my head as dark thoughts swirl and reason scatters. I hate it.

Rowan nudges me gently, startling me out of my panicked reverie. When I glance his way, I find his brows furrowed and a frown tugs at his lips. Concern sparks behind his eyes; a flash of fire. "You okay?" he asks in an undertone, as though no one else in the werewolf-infested car can hear him.

Though, to their credit, they go to great effort to focus elsewhere. Beau messes with the radio that won't work and Morgan and Lachlan do not so much as glance in our direction.

Rowan's gaze dips pointedly to my lap, and I realise my hands are shaking. Fervently, I cross my arms and stare out the windshield. "I'm fine," I mutter. Today has been a long, difficult day and I want it to be over.

He doesn't push. He merely nods and turns his focus towards the town shooting past the window, leaving me to my hounding thoughts.

To distract myself, I ask, "Why did he ask about Kay, back there?"

Lachlan answers, "Teo was out on patrol a few years back, when we had a bit of a run-in with a rogue wolf. He found Kay bitten and helped them through their first shift, then brought them back to the pack house. They've been close ever since."

"Are they mated, then?" The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it, and a blush burns my cheeks as Rowan clears his throat at my side, staring determinedly out the window.

"Ah, technically no," Lachlan tells me. "Fate draws them close, but it's purely platonic."

"That's a thing?"

"'Course it is," Beau adds, turning to face me with an eager smile. "There's so many different kinds of love— not all of them are about attraction." His gaze cuts, briefly, towards Rowan and back, and his smile turns a little sly. I'm suddenly all too aware of the lack of distance between us. "Some most definitely are, though."

"Wonderful contribution, thank you," Rowan says, his voice a little strained.

"Any time."

– ➶ –

It doesn't take long at all to reach Rowan's home. I spend the whole drive surveying the shadows between the trees, checking for anyone who doesn't belong, so I'm quick to notice shapes slinking through the bushes.

Right as I tense for my knives, right as panic thunders through my blood, Beau hums pleasantly. "Nice to know it all doesn't fall apart when we're gone," he muses. He's looking out at the woods, too, and his general aura of peace has my own fear stuttering to a hesitant stop.

Rowan notices my alert stare and explains, "It's alright; they're out patrolling our borders." Ah. Wolves. Not hunters.

Relief squirms in my gut— treacherous and inherently wrong. Everything I've ever known has been torn apart and the morals I once clung to are choking me.

I melt back against my seat and rub at my temples, trying to relieve the stress headache pounding at my skull. This fear is primal— like prey avoiding the jaws of an untimely, painful end. Is this how werewolves feel when my family and I descend on them? Hunting them and ensuring the very last thing they feel is terror— all because they dared to let us catch up. The irony isn't lost on me.

Morgan drives us right up to the pack house, where there's already a small crowd of panicking werewolves. The wave of relief that sweeps over them as Rowan steps out of the car is palpable. They all fall quiet and await his orders.

He clears his throat and surveys them all, setting his shoulders and exuding pure, refined grace in his posture and his features and his voice as he says, "There is nothing to worry about. We've faced hunters before and we will face them again. I want our borders locked up tight."

Beau, Lachlan and Morgan gather around their alpha, a force to be reckoned with. I stay in the shadows, caught between joining them and getting in my car and driving somewhere safe.

But I'll always be running from my family, wherever I go. Better to face them with an army at my disposal than on my own somewhere remote when they inevitably catch up.

Rowan settles into the chaos like a king to his throne. It's enviable, how he controls his subjects not with fear but with trust even in the face of certain death. They all stare at him as though there's a bubble of security around him and everything will be alright as long as they keep watching in reverence.

So when he gives them orders, they scatter to make him happy. All those eager to help the werewolves out on patrol race for the woods, with Rowan and Morgan leading the way, and the rest converge on the pack house and neighbouring cottages.

Beau and Lachlan find their way to me.

"We're on keep-everyone-calm duty," Beau informs me pleasantly. "And that starts with you."

Lachlan swiftly cuts in, "Look, our approach has always been to get everyone together. It's when we feel at our safest, but I know that particular approach isn't easy for you. Do we have your permission to let people stay in the pack house? I'll make sure your room is off-limits. No one will bother you."

"Fine," I relent. This is my first time hiding from hunters instead of wielding the silver myself, and I figure it's best to leave it to the professionals.

So, whilst werewolves flit about carrying pillows and blankets and hastily-packed belongings in an effort to move into the pack house, and whilst Beau and Lachlan get swept into the duties of keeping everyone calm, I slip away for a shower.

The blood has been on my skin for so long that it takes a painful amount of scrubbing to rid myself of it all. The marks lurk stubbornly beneath my skin, angry and irritated. I hide them beneath a thick jumper and escape into my room.

It has been a long day of horror after horror, from Rowan's mate announcement to Gale's death to the ambush from my family, and though I know the best approach is to spend my time in Rowan's office planning a counter-attack, I can't stop myself from collapsing onto the bed and hiding from all my troubles beneath the sheets like a child scared of the dark.