24 - Fire

All I know is agony. It claws at my shredded nerves and tears strangled gasps from my mouth. I lie there on the forest floor, writhing beneath the spearing weight of it, wishing for one final pain to finish me off. I'm not sure which is worse— the fire in my veins or the bolt in my side. Liliana is a good shot— she hasn't hit anything vital. No doubt she wants me to suffer a bit, and an untimely death isn't her goal.

So when a wolf comes slinking from the shadows of swaying bushes, I manage a little, breathless laugh. Of course it would end like this. I should've known.

It races over and whines, its ears folding back as it sniffs tentatively at the bolt sticking into my side. But it doesn't bite me. It just sniffs at my face and paws gently at my arm. I cringe away from it and hiss as the agonies flare.

And then the wolf throws its head back and howls a long, lonely, mournful melody. I flinch. It's calling for reinforcements and they're going to tear me apart.

The wolf whines and falls back, pacing back and forth with bristled fur. It's watching the bushes around us — not me — and I melt against the ground and hope I die from blood loss before its friends can get here.

There's a strange growling noise lurking beneath the persistent rustling and chirping and sighing sounds of the woods. It seems vaguely familiar, but I cannot lend any focus to it.

Get the bolt out and you'll heal. Leave it and you'll slowly bleed to death. At least you can get up and fight when it's gone.

Delusional with pain, I force my shaking fist to close around the shaft of the bolt stuck deep into my side. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin and the lichtenberg figures on my arms glow and pulse as though a fire lurks in their roots. With a sharp breath, I rip—

An excruciating pain slams through me, tearing a scream from my throat. A smothering darkness rolls over my sight and everything fades.

Only to come rushing back, bringing agony with it.

The wolf is back. It whines and takes my arm in its mouth. I can't feel it, but I fall still, frozen with terror. If it bites down, I'm gone. I'm dead. They're going to shoot me. They already have.

But it doesn't bite me. It hasn't even got my arm— only my sleeve— and it tugs my hand away from the bolt with a grumbling noise that sounds creepily close to an admonition. It didn't work. The bolt is stuck fast. There's so much blood.

A strangled sob rushes past my lips as I gaze up at the melting whirlpool of the tree canopy. The wolf sniffs at my face, its wet nose brushing against my cheek. I haven't got the energy to push it away.

The ground beneath me trembles in tune to that growling noise, louder than before. Maybe it's a whole pack coming to kill me, their paws thundering against the dirt.

With a yip, the wolf bounds into the shrubs. Lost in a fog, I just manage to catch a screech, a slam, a sharp voice.

"Kay, what the fuck— I almost hit you!"

I'm fading. There's more voices, but I can't quite make sense of them. I can do nothing but gaze up at the blurred ocean of emerald and listen and let my eyes flutter. I need to... I need to get the bolt out.

"Are you hurt? I smell blood." This voice, I know. It seeps through all the cracks in my mind. Clarity flickers like a timid candle's flame battling against a hurricane.

Rowan's alive. Thank fuck. At least his day has been successful. At least his nose is still working.

The wolf races into view and hazy figures follow close behind, but I can't quite open my eyes more than halfway anymore. I'm cold and I'm tired and I want them to leave me alone.

"Riv...? Oh, fuck, River?!"

There's a lot more noise and a lot more movement. Someone collapses to their knees by my side.

"Shit, shit, shit—! What the fuck happened?! River, can you hear me? Wake up. Please wake up."

The agonies within me are unbearable — fire in fire— and the sharp sting on my cheek melts into obscurity.

But clarity comes rushing back regardless, and my eyes flutter open weakly.

"That's it," Rowan praises, his melodic voice strained. He's knelt above me, a fog of tousled curls and shimmering golden eyes. His hand is on my cheek, his thumb absently caressing. "I thought I told you to stay at the pack house." He manages a weak, trembling smile.

I can't answer. My mouth is disconnected from the rest of me and focus is hanging on by a fraying thread. Something warm slides down my cheek and his thumb wipes it away.

Vaguely, I realise we're not alone. The others are here, too. Morgan drops to her knees beside me, gently prying my fist away from the bolt shaft in my side. When it jumped back, I have no idea. Beau is next to her, covering his mouth with a shaking hand, his golden eyes wide and electric with terror.

Over Rowan's shoulder, Lachlan's blurred form studies the treeline. The wolf is gone and Kay comes rushing into view, shrugging on a jumper.

"I'm so sorry. Elliot and Savanna saw him leave and by the time I found him, he was like this. His family were here. Finn's dead and there was a note and— holy shit, is he going to die?"

Lachlan takes them by the shoulders and leads them away. "Deep breaths. Tell me what happened."

"Rowan—" Morgan says, her tone leaden.

He glares at her, his eyes snapping golden fire. "Do what you must. I'm not losing him, do you understand me?"

"I need my supplies, then."

"And a few miracles, while you're at it," Beau adds.

"Not helping."

My gaze starts to drift. I check the treeline— I need to warn them my family are close by. All I see are shapes slinking through the bushes and glowing golden eyes. Wolves. Fuck. They're going to kill me or I'm going to kill them and—

"River. Hey, look at me. You're okay," Rowan rushes out, his hand on my cheek coaxing me into meeting his gaze. "I need to lift you, alright? Stay with me. I've got you. Beau, get the car."

"On it."

"Careful, Ro—"

"I know."

Ever so gently, he takes me into his arms. I'm wax against him, melting against the contours of his form with a stifled cry of pain. The movement, careful as it was, has jostled the bolt and agony surges forwards. I can't take it. It's going to kill me. It's going to rip me apart.

"I know. I know," he soothes, hysteria tightening his voice as he holds me close. "Stay with me."

Clarity fades and melts from my grasp, and the next thing I know, I'm in hell.

That's what it feels like, anyway. Flames upon flames of excruciating agony race up and down my frayed nerves.

I don't know where I am, but I'm inside. Rowan's got his arms around me and I'm struggling wildly beneath him. Pained screams tear their way from my throat, muffled behind the hand locked against my mouth. More hands hold me down.

Morgan rips out the bolt.

There is nothing but pain.

I collapse against Rowan's embrace, screaming and writhing and begging them to stop.

"Shh, it's alright. You're alright," he manages. Through the agony tearing focus to shreds, I see his face is wet and shining with tears streaking down his cheeks. "Come on, River, please. Stay with me."

"Can we give him something?" Beau asks desperately. "Anything? Will it even work?"

"Lachlan— my bag. There should be a syringe in there. It's meant for us— I don't know if it'll work—" Morgan says, her focus divided.

"Try it," Rowan begs. "Please."

"No—!" I gasp. "No, no, stop, please stop, stop, stop—!"

Every breath rushes in and out of me; an endless, desperate pursuit of oxygen even as dizziness prickles the edges of my vision. I'm gasping— hyperventilating— and I can't speak past it.

"River, please," Rowan says, sounding choked. "Come on, love, you're alright. Everything's going to be alright. I've got you. Breathe for me."

"Keep him still," Morgan orders. "I need to clean it and stitch it up before he loses any more blood."

I can't see her. I don't know what she's doing. I only know the fire fights back with a vengeance.

I have no air to scream. I use every ounce of dwindling energy to fight against the hands holding me down— if I can only get up, I'll be fine—

A pinprick in my arm goes unnoticed in the blaze tearing clarity to shreds.

They won't let me go. The fire builds and builds.

I melt against Rowan's hold with an agonised, hoarse scream, dizziness clawing at the edges of my vision. I can't breathe.

And then— something dark and smothering crashes over my head like a cresting wave. It sweeps through my veins and douses the fire in a thick relief that has me falling still with a shuddering breath.

I feel nothing. Not the fire, or the hands, or even my own body. I merely float in smothering shadows, sagging against Rowan. I can do nothing but stare up at him through a vague vision, some distant, detached part of me admiring the way his eyes shimmer. The way his brows tug together.

He wipes the damp hair from my eyes and says something I can't quite catch.

And I hurtle into a world of emptiness as choking and silent as death.

Silent for a while, at least.

I hear incomprehensible mumbles, too distorted for any semblance of words. Heavy weights hold down my eyes. I'm untethered and falling further. The bliss is stifling, but it rips the pain apart and I haven't got the energy to fight against it.

A few words trickle through the fog. Stitches. Gone. The fuck.

– ➶ –

Crinkling paper. Warm sheets. The melody of birdsong. No pain.

Blearily, with the last of the smothering tendrils of that fog falling from my head, I force my eyes open.

I find myself sprawled on the bed in the room I claimed as my own, submerged beneath a thick duvet and feeling as though I've just had the nap of a lifetime. Rowan is sat in the armchair — which I realise belatedly has been pulled over to the bedside — and rifles through files, lost to his work. There's a focused glint to his gaze and I watch through tired eyes as he scribbles notes down.

The focus doesn't last for long. With a sigh, he tosses the files onto his lap and rubs at his face, drained.

He looks at me and it takes a moment for him to realise I'm looking back.

And when he does, he startles so badly he almost slips off the chair in a desperate effort to sit up. "River, thank the Goddess— are you alright?"

Still a little delusional, I push myself up and clutch at my head with a groan. There's a pounding at my temples that makes concentrating near impossible. My limbs feel heavy and useless.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, tugging shaking fingers through my sleep-tousled hair. "I thought I could get them to leave. The police, they... they're working with the fucking police. I told you they're a liability."

Desolation is a weight pulling me down, and though I know I need to tell him about the ritual and what it means — what it makes me — I suddenly can't stand the idea of him turning on me. It might be one revelation too much for him and I cannot do this on my own.

So I say nothing. Like a coward.

"You don't have to apologise," he assures me at once, taking a tentative seat on the edge of the bed and looking sorely tempted to close even more distance between us. He settles for gazing at me with such intensity I can feel his attention burning against my skin. "We'll cut all ties with the police. Kay told us about Finn and the note. I think they thought you'd make a run for it, but—"

"I don't run from fights," I dismiss at once.

A smile tugs at his lips. "Exactly what I said. I only wish you'd waited for us to get back— we could've helped you. You don't have to face things alone, River." Though his voice is soft, delicate, his admonition strikes me right where I'm at my most vulnerable. The moment he finds out what my family did to me, he'll make sure I'm alone. I'll be nothing but a danger to his pack and his peace.

"I needed to know what they know," I argue, rubbing at my side with a wince. "I needed to do that on my own. Maybe not the getting shot part, though."

"Um..." Rowan begins as I pull up my top — a new, clean one — to see the damage. "About that..."

Where there should be a gaping hole in my side, there is nothing but smooth skin. No mark, no stitches, nothing. The lichtenberg figures lurk, but nothing disturbs them. Not even a scar. Either it has been a lot longer than a few hours, or my healing capabilities have reached a startling level. No doubt courtesy of that damned ritual.

"How long was I...?"

"A day. We, uh... we found you out in the woods and brought you back, but you were in a bad shape and you lost a lot of blood. Lachlan gave you a painkiller. It's meant to be strong enough to dilute the effects of silver and aconite for us, but... fuck, it knocked you out and I thought we'd killed you."

I hum. A day. Definitely a product of the ritual. No wonder Liliana shot me; she knew I'd heal.

"My knives," I say, looking down at myself. Not only are my knives gone, but the belt is, too. I discarded them in the woods, and now—

"Right here," Rowan tells me, gesturing to the nightstand. "We found them by you and brought them back." Lying in an unceremonious pile on top of the belt, my throwing blades are a sorry sight. Atop them is the knife I kept tucked against my ankle, looking marginally more dignified.

Paranoia has me taking it and tucking it beneath my pillow and, beneath Rowan's lost expression, I explain, "A precaution."

It's not a precaution against werewolves, anymore, but rather against my own family. If they storm this place, I need to know I have a weapon close to hand. The next time they show themselves, I want to be ready for them.

"Your skin was glowing," Rowan says, fascination and fear dancing behind his eyes; a morbid ballet. "You had a bolt in your side and it's already healed. Morgan doesn't know whether to be impressed or jealous." His voice rises with humour, but I can't quite bring myself to smile.

"You were right," I say with a sniff, messing with my hands. "When you said I wasn't human. I... I don't know what I am, but it's nothing good."

Ever so carefully, Rowan shuffles close and hooks his finger beneath my chin. He guides my head up until I'm looking at him— until I'm losing myself in the rich chocolate of his close attention. "I know that's not true. You went out there to confront them— you're admirable, River. What did they say to you?"

The words come spilling, as though his attention has torn down the wall keeping them locked away. "They said you'd turn on me the second Duskland isn't a threat. They said you're only using me."

It feels wrong to be so caught up on the idea of Rowan using me. When I first arrived, all I wanted was to use his resources and take him out when he least expected it. Along the way, our alliance has become something more. Something deeper. Now all I want is for him to stay.

Rowan hums, his brows pinching. "Do you know why I brought up the fated bond, the other day? It wasn't to scare you off, or to trick you. It's sacred to werewolves. I wanted you to know I was sincere. I wanted to bare my soul to you so you'd see I could never turn on you. I can think of nothing worse than losing you, River."

He doesn't move his hand, and I realise I don't want him to.

"I thought I was using you," I admit softly. "I thought you were foolish to let me in, to give me so much control over your pack. I wanted to use you to take out Duskland and I'd kill you once you served your purpose. I thought you were all monsters and I was doing my sworn duty, but... I was only doing what I had been taught. You're not a monster. You helped me and you saved my life and even now, when my family are trying to tear your pack apart, you won't stop helping me. I... I don't know anything about this connection between us— but I know I trust you."

His lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. "I trust you, too."

The heat of his close attention is a pleasant thing, like fizzing bubbles of bliss exploding across my skin, and I find myself wanting to drown in it. Wanting to let his focus dull the horror of my family and what they did to me.

His gaze wanders down my features before slowly, lazily, lifting to meet my eyes.

"What happened with Duskland?" I find myself asking. Even as the words rush past my lips, an attempt to keep my focus locked on the issue at hand, an urge as desperate as breathing rises within me. My eyes keep drifting from his dark gaze to the stubble shadowing his sharp jaw to the tattoos snaking down his arms to the delicate lines of his lithe form displayed for my close attention. I try and haul my focus back up to his face and instead find my progress faltering at his lips as he speaks.

"They weren't sure, at first," Rowan admits. His thumb drifts across my chin and leaves a pleasant fire in its wake. "Remember when Beau left Seb and his lackeys on their land? Apparently, by the time they were found, the scent trail had gone cold. They could only pick up the scent of silver and thought a group of hunters had crossed into their land and attacked them. They said Gale went to check in with Laura to see if she had seen anything suspicious, but he didn't come back. With any luck, they'll follow their noses to your family instead of you. We eventually agreed on a temporary cease-fire until the hunters are gone. As far as they know, this group of hunters killed Seb as well as Gale and all their friends— so they're eager to align with us to take them out."

Maybe it's the fog of that painkiller lurking in my head, dulling what little self-preservation I have left, or maybe it's because Rowan's close attention smothers my instincts, but I find myself closing the gap between us, wanting nothing more than to be close.

Or maybe, I muse vaguely, I trust him enough to do it. To take a step into uncharted territory. To let down the guard I've grown so used to.

He meets me halfway, and when I reach up to brush a few stray curls from his eyes, I find myself lost in his gaze; lost in liquid seduction.

He doesn't move— instead he waits for me to make the choice, frozen beneath my attention as though I'm a bird he doesn't want to startle to flight.

So I make a choice, and I kiss him. A tentative, delicate brush against his lips as I test the water. An urge grips me and I kiss him again, deeply, tugging my fingers through his curls.

A desperate whine rushes from him as he meets my advances with fervour. And it is as though we come alive— as though the magnetic poles keeping us apart have flipped and suddenly it is all we can do to become one.

He tastes of cinnamon and musk and pure, charged bliss; a fog I'm all too eager to lose myself in.

I melt against the sheets, languid and lost in the heat of his attention. He follows, his thumb grazing against my cheek, his form pressing against mine.

A mewling noise rushes from my throat as his tongue caresses my own and his velvet heat sends clarity scattering. I lose myself in the sensation of his lips on mine, of his hair laced in my fingers, of his scent washing over me. It's heaven. It's peace as I've never known it.

He pulls away, his lips trailing along my jaw and down my throat, leaving a trail of fiery bliss in their wake. And then his lips gently brush against my shoulder.

Did we get them? my sister gasps, her shoulder torn open in a gaping bite wound.

With the force of a bullet, a primal instinct rises within me— choking all reason, smothering everything. Lightning hisses along my veins. My eyes burn. The world around me snaps to shadows and back, again and again. My body begins to shake.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop—!" I exclaim breathlessly, struggling wildly beneath his weight as one hand presses against his chest to shove him off me.

My other hand, as though someone else controls it entirely, darts beneath the pillow at my head and clasps the hilt of my silver knife.