26 - A Show of Good Faith

I'm still reeling from the Haze, but Morgan's revelation grabs hold of every shred of my attention. Duskland is here.

"Fuck," Rowan says, tipping his head back and taking a deep, steadying breath. "I thought we agreed on—"

"I know," Morgan tells him with a wince. "But they're on their way. I just had a call from the werewolves on patrol at the border and they say they've asked for a meeting with you to deal with the hunter situation quickly— and they mean real fucking quickly."

No sooner has she finished that their gazes, as one, snap towards the window and the billowing woods beyond. I follow their attention. Trees glisten with a golden glow as the sun drifts lazily towards the mountains. It would be a picturesque view, if not for the group of people and wolves alike stalking from the forest trail, radiating strength. At the forefront, leading them on, is a man, a woman, and a younger girl. Duskland.

Horror rushes ice cold over my head; a cresting wave eager to drown me. Without conscious thought, my gaze darts to the knife on my bed, my fingers twitching to snatch it up, and it takes an effort to drag my focus away.

"Fuck, they're all here," Beau manages, his features slack with shock as he cards his fingers through his hair. "How did they get across town without—"

"My family must've let them pass," I mutter, hatred thickening my voice as my attention snags on the wolves prowling. "The more werewolves there are, the more threatened I'll be."

"The more likely you are to go bat-shit," he muses solemnly. "You're like a ticking time bomb. No offence."

"Beau," Morgan snaps, sending him a disapproving glare. She doesn't know how right he is.

I shrink a little against his onslaught, abruptly wary of myself, and he winces in apology.

I'm not sure what's worse— being backed into a trap or being aware of the cage door closing after me. I cannot leave because Rowan's pack are my allies and my family are out there, waiting for me. I cannot stay because I'll threaten the truce with Duskland by mere presence alone.

All I want is peace— and yet, every passing moment, I'm sinking further and further into an abyss.

"Come on," Rowan says, adjusting his torn shirt as though he has any hope of fixing it and starting for the door. "Let's get this over with."

He's still covered in scratches and blood stains mar his clothes, but he walks with a purpose and grace that almost has me following blindly after him, desperate to cling to the peace flooding from him.

But Beau and Lachlan don't move, frowns tugging at their features, as they glance between their alpha and me. Perhaps they're wondering if all of their hard work winning Duskland over will be ruined.

I deflate a little and sink onto the edge of the bed. "I know," I mutter. "I smell like silver."

Some problems, I muse unhappily, cannot be fixed with a hunter and a silver knife. Some problems need to be left alone. The tentative alliance with Duskland isn't my responsibility.

Rowan falters before me, catching my straying attention. As I peer up at him, his expression is inscrutable — all pinched brows and an uncomfortable twist to his full lips that I can't quite place — but he does something unexpected, as he always does.

An alpha werewolf would've never associated with a hunter in the first place. Now he knows I'm not just dangerous but uncontrollable, his duty to his pack should be all the reason he needs to kick me out. He's not at war with Duskland, he's at war with my family. There's no need for him to keep me around.

And yet, Rowan is a strange alpha werewolf.

He offers me his hand, and all I can think is, that's one hell of an olive branch.

I blink up at him, at a complete loss.

He smiles softly. "You and I were allies first, and if Duskland doesn't respect that, they do not deserve my respect in return. Come on."

Fuck, I realise. He's really not lying about the whole mates thing. He honestly, truly trusts me. Just as I trust him. Even after the mess.

Despite myself, despite the horror of the Haze and the warring instincts inside, my lips twitch with the ghost of a smile in return and I take his hand and pull myself up.

Rowan releases me, but I stay close at his side, and Morgan, Beau and Lachlan follow as we make our way towards the front door and the nightmare lurking beyond.

I'm unarmed and still reeling from the close call, just now, and I'm fairly certain that apprehension leaks like a fog off my skin. And yet, any unease I give off is cancelled out by Rowan's general, unwavering aura of serenity. I cling to it like a life-jacket.

We emerge onto the porch and find our guests gathered in a loose semi-circle in the clearing, surrounded on all sides by members of Rowan's pack; curious and uneasy.

The man in front radiates power, as though the word was carved in his image. His broad shoulders are set back and his dark eyes scan the clearing with clinical focus. Lines of tension and age pinch his features and his form is tensed up as though expecting a brawl. If he were in wolf form, I'd imagine his fur would be bristled and his hackles raised to attention. He looks like a bouncer you wouldn't want to mess with. He also, I think with a grimace, reminds me of Orion. As we emerge, his attention — like the laser point of a rifle — is fixed on Rowan and unwavering. His nostrils flare and his eyes fluoresce golden. The alpha of the Duskland pack— Alessandro.

At his side, a woman stands poised and certain. She's tilted her head up to peer down her nose at everything and everyone around her, and one of her hands is fixed on the girl's shoulder, keeping her close. There's a vague scowl tugging at her sharp features, as though every moment she spends in Rowan's territory is against her will, and a long, jagged scar weaves a white ribbon down her cheek. She looks every bit as burly as her mate, and her form carries the evidence of years upon years of training; a Goddess of war made manifest. The luna— Natalia. A force to be reckoned with.

The girl appears barely into her twenties, but her expression carries the weight of grief and she sticks like glue to her mother's side. She sees me at once and bristles, her lips twitching with something close to a snarl. On her neck, I can see a thin white scar slicing its way across her skin like a frozen ravine, and ghosts shimmer behind her eyes. I know the look well. The gamma— Elsie. She's quick to pin me as a hunter and, therefore, a threat.

"Alessandro, Natalia, Elsie," Rowan greets smoothly, inclining his head as we stop at the base of the porch steps. His pack soon shuffle close until the clearing resembles a war zone on hold, with each side waiting for the other to snap. "I assume you're here to talk business."

Alessandro notices his daughter's unease, follows her attention to me, and recoils with a scowl. "What is this?" he demands, his eyes sparking golden fury as he glares at Rowan. "Are you crossing us? Are you working with them?"

Rowan shakes his head. "This is River— he's not one of them."

"Bullshit," the alpha hisses, his nostrils flaring. "I've heard of those markings before. I know what these monsters are capable of. Kill him."

A few of his wolves snarl and start forwards and are at once met with resistance. Rowan's pack crowd in close to stop them.

Lachlan, Beau and Morgan bristle, starting forwards to better cover us.

Rowan's fingers brush against mine; a spark of warmth and bliss. "Like I said," he addresses Alessandro. "He's not one of them— he's one of us."

"Are you insane?" Natalia says, her attention flickering between us as though keen to keep me in her sights but equally attempting to give Rowan a stern look. "This kind of hunter shows no mercy, you cannot simply trap one and force it into obedience, you fool—"

"It has a name," I fire back, hating that apparently the reputation of my family precedes me and ruins any chance of winning their trust. Damn the markings to hell. On the rare occasions a lone wolf escaped the attention of Ferreus hunters, the story of our ambush spread like wildfire. "And I'm here because we have the same enemy."

"Is that so?" she asks, her voice shrill with incredulity. "Rowan, I know you're inexperienced, but seriously. I thought your parents would've taught you better than this. What are you expecting? He's here to gauge your numbers and defences and destroy it all from within. He's a spy. A scout. Tell me— how long has he been here? Days? Weeks? Did he arrive just before the rest of them? Awfully convenient, isn't it?"

Just as I bristle, rage churning in my gut and setting my veins alight, Rowan takes a deep breath and says, "If your purpose here is to poison me against my own fated, I'm afraid you've wasted a journey. Now are we here to discuss the matter of the hunters looking to kill us, or the one who's trying to help us?"

"Your fated? That— that's impossible," Alessandro murmurs, his fury slackening.

Rowan's unshakeable peace has me taking deep, calming breaths. I try to build up a wall to keep any unease locked away. Discomfort prowls regardless. I trust Rowan, but that trust does not extend to his allies— to the same werewolves who have been taunting him and his leadership for weeks and have only ceased to save their own skin.

"You're here because these hunters have taken someone you love from you," I say, setting my shoulders back and levelling their wary gazes with a steely stare. I fervently keep my expression neutral, because if they find out I'm the one who killed Gale, I may as well stare down the barrel of a loaded gun. "I know what that is like. You can either align yourselves with them and kill me, or you can help us kill them. Your choice."

For one agonising second that drags on and on, the clearing is silent.

And then Elsie steps forwards, her gaze hard and unflinching. "I want the one who killed Gale to suffer."

I incline my head. "Naturally."

What a mess this is turning out to be. An endless cycle of death and blame and retribution. But at least Elsie already has her wish— I am suffering. My own family have ensured it.

I was taught many things as a child, from holding a knife the right way to walking without making a noise to controlling my breaths and steadying my heart rate in order to remain undetected by those who can quite literally smell fear. Paranoia is my safety net.

So I hold her gaze and I lie right to her, and it comes as easily as breathing. "I don't know who killed your brother but, believe me, they will all suffer. Will you help us?"

Alessandro takes a long breath and lets it out as a sigh. His unease shimmers into obscurity and he shrugs. "Very well. But first, a show of good faith," he says, holding out his hand to me. I narrow my eyes, uncertain, so he forges on, "Come now, hunter. Or is it in your nature to see us as enemies? If you cannot see past your prejudice, the deal's off."

I glance at Rowan, but his expression is inscrutable as he stares at Alessandro. His brows are pinched and his jaw ticks but, when he meets my gaze, some of the tension melts away. "You don't have to do that," he tells me softly.

Of course. Always looking out for me, even if it means losing his alliance with Duskland.

But I cannot let Rowan's pack suffer. I cannot risk losing out on more werewolves to go against my family. Selfishly, I want every extra hand — and paw, I suppose — I can get. And to do that, I'll have to shake his hand. Prove I'm one of them. Prove I can be trusted.

And when my family are gone, and they toss this truce aside, I will help Rowan destroy them. Werewolf alliances are brittle things, after all. Their loyalties lie with their pack and no one else. This is simply two enemies concealing their weapons behind their backs and shaking hands, waiting for an opening.

I don't like it, but I ignore the instincts screaming at me — God knows I can't trust those, anymore — and step forwards.

Obediently, Rowan's pack shuffle aside to make room for my advance. They keep their focus locked on the Duskland wolves and all the people standing guard around their leaders.

Alessandro stares me down as I approach, and a jerk of his head is all it takes to send Natalia and Elsie backing out of range.

I stop before him, my gaze sliding down his form to his outstretched hand, mapping every inch of him and checking for weak points. He's holding his cards close to his chest and he knows exactly what he's doing. Just as I reach for him, he rips his hand back.

His lips curl with a scowl and he says, "You reek of silver. Whenever you're ready, Elijah."

There's a blur on my left as a few of his men rush for me. Chaos descends; voices shout for order; I retaliate the only way I know how.

But just as I turn to face my attackers head-on, hands flexing into fists, I hear Rowan's voice cut above the rest— a warning.

I'm hauled into a chokehold from behind. A steel-capped boot kicks the back of my knees with jarring efficiency and I drop right into the heart of Duskland's comfort zone— unarmed and at their mercy. I push back against the man — Elijah, no doubt — holding me in place on my knees, struggling wildly whilst trying to keep the panic at bay lest I fall into madness. He pins my wrists behind me.

Flickers shoot through my head. The fight I had with Lachlan where he almost killed me because I didn't tap out. Getting Gale on his knees and slicing my knife across his neck. Liliana forcing me into the same position.

I'm getting a little too acquainted with being at the mercy of those who have little to spare, and I do not like it.

And then something cold and sharp rests against my throat. Dread descends and I fall still— partly to avoid slicing my own neck open, but mainly because if I fight, I don't know if I can stop the Haze from taking me.

The clearing has descended into chaos, I find. Rowan's pack are snarling and grappling with Duskland, trying to break past their defences and reach me. Rowan is alight with fury, his form rippling and his eyes blazing and a thundering snarl in his throat that sends a shiver down my spine. Lachlan holds him back, looking just as murderous. Beau and Morgan are at the forefront, trying to force their way through to me. Duskland have formed a wall between us.

There goes the cage door.

Alessandro claps his hands together and wanders in front of me. "Rowan, control your mutts, will you? Or I'll make him bleed all over your land."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rowan demands, but he falls still and — in symphony — so do his pack.

"Maybe your parents forgot to teach you the basics, so let this be a lesson. The first rule when it comes to dealing with hunters," he says with a sneer. "Don't fucking trust them. Elijah, slit his throat. We'll sniff them out and leave him on their doorstep. Show them if they kill one of ours, we kill one of their's."

The man behind me tenses; for an instant, the world goes dark and rushes back. Fuck.

"Enough of this!" Rowan orders, his words so seeped in power and fury it's a wonder the ground doesn't quiver beneath us all. A few Duskland werewolves cower back and Elijah hesitates. "He's not one of them! Alessandro, if you kill my fated, I will destroy you— do you understand me?"

Natalia steps into view, pinning her icy glare on me. "The thing is, he's not your fated. He cannot be. It's unnatural. A trick and nothing more. Hunters have all sorts of weapons against us— of course they'd learn to use our greatest strength and turn it into our greatest weakness. The Goddess is testing your loyalty to your kind. She will give you another when you've fulfilled your duty and killed this impostor."

"That's bullshit—!" he exclaims, struggling wildly against Lachlan. "I know what I feel."

"Do you? No fated would harm their other half— and I can see those scratches from here. It's not real."

Rowan's gaze shifts to mine, blazing with raw intensity. I cannot tell if he's desperate for me to know he trusts me or if he's desperate to see past whatever mask Natalia seems so sure of. Either way, I cannot spare any focus to defend myself. I'm breathing hard through my own rage, trying fervently to keep the Haze in check. It's descending like a rolling fog seeping through my fingers. It's taking every shred of my attention to keep it at bay, but it creeps ever closer. Tendrils of shadow crawl through my wavering clarity.

I gave up my knives for him. If that's not a show of my loyalty, I don't know what is.

The truth is, I don't know what the fated bond entails. All I know is that werewolves kill for it and live for it. It is their blazing sun in a world where hunters like me lurk in the dark with glinting knives ready to tear their peace to shreds.

But I know how I feel about Rowan, and I know it's real. I know he's a light in the dark, a hand pulling me to the surface when all I know is drowning. I can only hope he feels the same.

"Release him at once," he says. "I said release him, Alessandro, or the deal's off."

Alessandro huffs a laugh. "You've really got your claws in deep, haven't you?" he asks me before turning to Rowan. "He and his family killed my son. I deserve retribution. You're lucky I'm feeling generous and honouring our deal, which is clearly more than I can say for you, associating with the enemy. Tell you what, I'll kill him and let you live. We can forget this whole territory quarrel and focus on getting rid of the hunters. Our land will be safe— our packs, too. That's what you want, isn't it? Peace. I can help you with that, but this—" He gestures to me and Rowan bristles— "is unacceptable."

"River's working with us," Rowan tries, desperation sharpening his voice. "He'll lead us to the other hunters."

"Of his own free will? I doubt it. He'll lead you into a trap. And what about when the rest are dead, hmm? Are you going to let him go so he can bring even more down on us? Better to tie up the loose end now, wouldn't you agree?"

"Alessandro—"

"Which one of you fuckers killed my boy?" the alpha asks, kneeling before me. His tone is light, unassuming, but rage lurks behind his gaze. "Tell me or I'll send your head to your family."

I say nothing, holding back the Haze with a fraying net in case I turn on Rowan and his pack. Alessandro grips my hair and wrenches my head back, and Elijah presses the knife so hard against my skin it stings.

"I will not ask again," Alessandro sneers.

In harmony, the wolves on either side of him growl and paw at the ground.

The wall I shoved up to lock away any feeling starts to crumble beneath the onslaught of a choking, dense fog seeping through the cracks. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

I'm on my knees at the mercy of werewolves and, even despite my attempt at indifference, instinct claws for a foothold.

My concentration wavers and fear sends the wall crumbling. Shadows fight back with a vengeance.

"I can't stop it," I manage, my breaths coming fast and sharp as a burning sensation crawls along my veins. The edges of my vision go dark.

No, no, no. Stop, stop. I will not Haze. I will not lose control.

"River!" Rowan exclaims sharply, his eyes wide. He struggles against Lachlan, trying to reach me, but the gamma doesn't let go. Good. He's keeping him away.

Alessandro isn't joking. His eyes glimmer with rage and he gives a curt nod to Elijah. I hear his sharp intake of breath. I feel the knife bite harder.

And there is suddenly nothing I can cling onto to keep from falling.

Instinct catches me.

I explode.