Red Moon Rising

4. plot

Chapter Song: Your Rocky Spine - Great Lake Swimmers

XX

The relief I feel when I see Cameron walking toward us is crushing. Cameron doesn't pretend to be nice—he just is that way, and he gives a wave to Jackson while still wearing an expression of reservation. He has a way of sensing how I'm feeling, and I can tell that the reservation is stemming from how tense I am around this stranger—not from jealousy at Jackson's lack of respect for boundaries or from some macho-male impulse to puff his chest at other dominant men—but purely because I don't feel right about the situation. When he puts his arm around me, I lean into him and try to absorb some of his calm, his warmth.

"Dylan and Elena called to say two hunters left. I'm guessing you both met them here?"

"Yes," I sighed. "We need more people at the gate. Or barricades. We can't have vehicles slipping in when they get busy."

"I sent two more to set up barricades and direct traffic today. Did they bother you?"

"They wanted to follow a deer they shot onto the territory. Mr. Courtland here had the good sense to tell them we'd bring it to them, so I've got to deal with that now."

I can feel Cameron's shoulders tense, just for a moment, and I know he had the same thought that I'd had, that these hunters were the same ones who set the traps. "We've been clear with the locals that we won't permit hunting on our territory, and we won't enable poaching." When he addresses Jackson, he has the calm, easy voice of someone who got any amount of sleep the night before. And more than that, he has the voice of a leader. I feel another sting of shame for losing my temper so easily. "If we don't abide by regulations we lose ground to protect our treaty rights when they're infringed upon later."

"Are things really that bad up here?"

"Yes," I grit out. "It's different than in St. Croix—we deal with hunters and landowners, all of whom see us as Enemy No. 1 to their freedom."

"All the more reason to make allies, I'd think," Jackson says, a little too softly.

Cameron only breathes a laugh and shakes his head, walking with me toward the shed where the ATV is housed. "We're our only allies around here. Don't expect to make friends with the locals if you travel off-territory."

We walk a few paces ahead of Jackson, and as I slide the heavy metal door of the shed aside, Cameron leans in close. "You think those hunters set the traps?"

"No. They were surprised when I mentioned it."

His hand gently stops my arm and he looks at me with an expression that makes me a little sick. "You think this is a trap for you?"

"No." Cameron knows what Jackson doesn't—it's never just poaching for wolf women. The territories near cities don't have to worry about outsiders like we do—they don't have to worry about their women and kids being abducted and sold. Cameron's friend Adira disappeared only two months ago, and no body or blood was ever found, just a bit of tattered clothing. She's probably drugged in some basement in upstate New York, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder—and there's nothing we can do about it, as much as we've frantically looked for her. But as much as I'm aware of how human men look at me, as a wild thing to be tamed, I don't think that's what brought the hunters here today. And as much of assholes as they were, I don't think they mean a great deal of harm. "Go meet up with Tom. I'll be okay, I promise."

"Okay." He slips my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants and kisses my temple. "Call me if you need anything. And be careful."

I load the ATV with rope and latch a rifle into its case on the back before slipping into the seat and patting the area behind me. I don't think this is a trap, but I'm not about to meet hunters unarmed. "Hop on." Jackson slides easily behind me and quickly grips my hips as I lurch forward. I grit my jaw at the flush that works its way onto my face—as much as the man irritates me, and as much as I am unflinchingly in love with Cameron, it's hard to ignore the energy that rolls off of him, especially as he's sitting so near. He's alpha material, all power and confidence. I know the hunters sensed it too when he spoke to them, and it's also probably why Cameron wasn't more pissed when they interacted. There's a certain diplomacy in place when two powerful people speak to each other, especially powerful men from Rust Cove and St. Croix.

It isn't difficult to follow the scent of fresh blood in the air once we've crossed the deer's trail along the border. There are dark red stains splattered across the undergrowth where the deer stumbled to its death, only a few hundred feet past the border. It's only just out of sight from where the hunters would have stopped, and I find myself feeling strangely appreciative that they actually bothered to ask permission before tracking it. They could have been on and off the territory without us ever knowing. If anything, my anger has probably just encouraged them to not ask permission in the future. It's a bitter feeling, to acknowledge any sort of truth to what Jackson said. But as we drag the deer behind the ATV the short distance to the border, I find myself quietly watching a sort of alien interaction play out before me. The hunters are both wearing stupid smiles and shaking Jackson's hand, and in return Jackson is complimenting their catch, a massive eight-point buck that the hunter with the monogrammed arrows had been tracking for several days. They shake Jackson's hand again and each give me a reserved nod before piling into their truck and driving noisily through the pine woods with their illegal catch sending the scent of death into the crisp air.

"They're not so bad," Jackson said finally, and I roll my eyes.

"Get over yourself."

"Did they shake your hand?"

"You helped them poach. They're going to be appreciative."

"You never told me your name, you know." There's a smile playing on his lips, and I realize with a twist of annoyance that he's enjoying our banter.

"You didn't ask."

"And you are?"

"Layla."

"Layla?"

"Rivers. Layla Rivers."

"You're Jessie Rivers' daughter. The one who's taking over Rust Cove when he retires?"

I sigh and point to the ATV. "That would be my sister, Tasha. Can we go?"

I don't let him answer, because I'm throwing myself in front of him before I can think to do anything else, shoving him back hard before his foot lands in the glinting circle of metal teeth hidden beneath a spray of pine needles. Jackson doesn't question why I pushed him, because he's looking where I am, and his face is dark and serious.

"What's that doing there?"

"Waiting for some kid to step on," I say softly. I tap the pressure plate with a stick and shiver as the metal teeth splinter the wood to bits. It would even ruin the foot of an adult in human form. This trap is a little bigger even than the last one, and I'm pretty sure it's a different brand entirely. Does that mean multiple people are laying traps? Or maybe whoever is setting them bought enough to resort to multiple types. "Don't question why we're cautious, Courtland."

He doesn't say anything as I slip my phone from my pocket and glance at the screen. There's a text from Cam saying that Tom has arrived, and the last of last night's runners have all returned safely with their wards. It must be some kind of fucking miracle that no one stepped on one of these traps. "Hey," I greet as Cameron picks up the phone, Tom's voice droning quietly in the background. "Bring Tom to meet us. And make sure you're both wearing steel-toed boots."