Liliana falls back with a strangled gasp, dropping her crossbow and grasping desperately at her throat. Her efforts are futile.
Before Orion and my mother have time to react, or even draw in the air to start shouting, the bushes explode as a hoard of savage wolves come charging, tearing into their enemies with fury. The last echoes of the howling wolves safe back at the den fades to silence. As Liliana drops to her knees, blood drenching her hands, wolves crowd around her, a force of snarls and claws, and I can barely hear her scream in the cacophony.
My mother fires a shot at me— I barely manage to duck out of its path.
I reach for the knife at my ankle and slice through the rope keeping Rowan's hands bound. He lurches up, spins, and grabs me by the shoulders. "River, you— are you alright—?" His eyes are wide with terror and he holds me to him with steadfast attention.
I know why. My empty silver eyes gaze back at him in an almost detached way, and my focus strays behind him towards the fight. Arrows and bullets hiss through the air. I'm lost in a Haze and the threats aren't gone just yet.
Orion and my mother are remarkably quick to wrestle back some semblance of an advantage, and the novices, to their credit, aren't far behind. Gunshots ring through the trees as my mother fires shot after shot. Yelps and whines and growls follow as each bullet hits true to her razor-sharp aim. My uncle slashes at any wolf who gets too close, his knives glimmering crimson and his furious gaze locked on me. The officers are quickly swarmed by wolves and, one after another, the ones who don't surrender fall to their fury. And yet, my mother and Orion fight hard and dirty. My uncle's unwavering focus is a sharp thing; even with the werewolves as a distraction, he's got his sights on me.
The air splits in two as one of his knives rushes right for Rowan's back.
I move without thinking, spinning us around just in time for a jarring impact and an explosion of agony to send me staggering into his arms with a hiss of pain.
"River!" he exclaims, steadying me and glancing over my shoulder. "Fuck. Why would you—?"
"Silver," I gasp.
It hasn't hit anything vital, having buried itself in the muscle of my shoulder blade, and as Rowan descends into a flurry of panicked exclamations, trying to pull me from the heat of the fighting so he can find some help, I push him away.
Reaching over my shoulder and grabbing the hilt, I tear the knife out with a grimace, but the soothing fire of the Haze scorching my veins leaves little room for agony. Every shred of my attention is on Orion. A threat. Holding his own against my pack. Even as they gain on him, forcing him into a retreat, he does not stop fighting. Slashing and grappling and pivoting to keep them at arm's length.
"Stray, what the fuck— are you okay?" I hear Beau's voice in the chaos and find him, wild-eyed and ruffled as he races to our side. He assesses Rowan for injury and finds nothing but the quickly-diminishing mark from my knife at his neck. "We got here as quick as we could and— wait, are you... well, you?" he asks me, gesturing wildly at my form. "You're all Hazy."
And don't I know it.
I don't answer him. I assess the brutal fight raging around us, my fingers itching to send my blades flying and my nerves on fire with rage. Already, most of the officers are dead, the last echo of their screams cutting through the chaos of snarls and yelps as silver weapons meet their marks. The rest — Lance included — have surrendered and discarded their weapons and are guarded by a few snarling, furious wolves.
My mother, surrounded by a hoard of wolves, tosses a gas canister to the forest floor. I just about catch her victorious grin before an explosion of smoke floods the clearing.
Absolutely not.
Amidst the whines and yelps and howls of agony, and as Rowan and Beau rush to help the pack escape the worst of it, I stalk into the fog, snatch up the offending canister, and throw it far into the shrubs. A bullet rips past my arm, leaving a stinging fire in its wake. The air is quick to clear, and the wolves recover enough to charge back with a furious assault. They leap at my mother and send her sprawling, where they descend in a blur of fangs and fur. I can't hear her screams in the bedlam, but the sight of my pack tearing into her sends a shiver of relief down my spine.
When they fall back to advance on Orion — the last one standing — my eyes gleam and the fire burning its way through me rises to an inferno.
"Enough," I order, my voice thunderous as my focus stays locked on my uncle like the laser point of a rifle. "He's mine."
I don't so much see as feel the command tremor through the entirety of the pack. All at once, they rush to obey. They all retreat and crowd around me, Rowan and Beau, snarling and pawing at the ground and ready for any flicker of an order to attack.
The clearing is silent and bodies lie contorted— hunters and wolves alike. The air is thick with the stench of blood.
My mother lies in a heap, lifeless and bloodied, her form torn up and her gun lying useless in her slackened hand. Two down, one to go.
Orion falls back a pace, brandishing his knives before him as he catches his breath. "You little shit," he sneers at me. "How are you doing that?"
I glare, twirling my knives lazily. "You killed my first family. I won't let you kill this one, too."
Rowan murmurs an order to the pack and they obediently form a loose circle around us with fur bristled and growls in their throats, keeping any notion of retreat far from Orion's mind. His gaze sweeps over them, flickering with a hatred so heated it's a wonder he doesn't set the woods alight.
When I advance with Rowan and Beau a pace behind on either side, I see two wolves break the circle to walk alongside us— Lachlan and Morgan. Their hackles are raised and their fangs bared as hair-raising snarls rumble from them.
"You think this is your home? Your family?" Orion almost spits out, rage twisting his features as a cruel smile tugs at his lips. "Pathetic. Esme made a mistake, pulling that wolf off you. She should've let it tear you apart like the rest of us would have."
His attempt at cutting me with words doesn't work. In fact, a cold, empty laugh rushes past my lips. "Keep talking," I tell him. "You're giving me reasons to make your death long and painful. Go on."
Even with the Haze burning my nerves to jagged edges, my mind stays clear. The only threat in this clearing is the way he'd holding his bloodied knives in preparation to throw. My priorities have shifted — aligned — and I see the pacing wolves for exactly what they are. Allies and family that I will defend with my life.
"You could have come home with us. Do you think she'd be proud of you now?" he asks. His eyes are alight with a morbid, predatory glint, as though I am nothing more than a prowling wolf that he cannot wait to put an end to.
"I wouldn't know, seeing as you're the one that shot her," I fire back, stalking for him.
"River," Rowan warns. "Be careful."
"Always am."
This ends here, as sunlight shimmers through the emerald canopy and as blood glistens on the shivering shrubs. Amidst friends and enemies, wolves and bodies. If Orion wants a spectacle before his end, I'll give him one.
He meets my challenge in a blur, rushing at me and throwing everything he has— his last stand, his final act. He fights like a caged animal clawing for freedom, as though if he kills me then Rowan and the wolves will simply let him go.
No. No, that's not it. He's fighting with a ceaseless ferocity— to prove to them that he'll have no problem killing as many werewolves as he can before he goes down. From the way his gaze keeps darting over my shoulder, he's got his sights set on his first target.
I'm a force of silver and rage, slashing and pivoting free of his retaliations and ducking punches and swiping whenever he's in range— doing all I can to keep his focus locked on me.
Orion is a force to be reckoned with. Every line of crimson on his skin is hard-won, and paid back in half a dozen deeper, angrier cuts. Agony lances like liquid fire along my veins, but the fire of the Haze keeps it in check.
Rowan's tension is palpable and, every time I catch a glimpse of him, his form is wound tight and his gaze is piercing as he tries to figure who has the upper hand.
We're not in the pitiful training circle, anymore. I cannot simply tap out.
I can only dodge and weave and plant my feet like Esme would always remind me and hope I can tire him out to the point where his defence cracks and he makes a mistake.
Our audience growls and snarls and paces. Orion's knife slashes my cheek, his fist slams against my stomach with startling precision. My knife hisses through the air and rips into his thigh.
He falls back with a grunt, breathing hard as he grabs at the hilt. I advance on him, closing in like death made manifest.
I don't want him dead. Not yet, at least. I want him at my mercy. I need one last thing from him before he meets his end.
But Orion is out for blood. He knows these are the last few minutes of his life, and he's determined to take me down with him.
I realise my mistake a heartbeat too late.
One instant, he's wincing as he tears my knife from his leg. The next, he grabs me by the neck and plunges my own blade deep into my side. My uniform's hard material softens the blow, but he drives such force behind the hit that it burrows deep enough to elicit a gasp from me as agony spears through my side.
The breath is knocked out of me as he rises to his full height, bearing down on me and forcing me to my knees. His fist clenches around my throat so hard I feel his nails pierce my skin, and disjointed flickers of Myles on the ground shoot through my head.
Rowan manifests over his shoulder, his eyes snapping golden fury as he throws his arm around Orion's neck and wrenches him off me. I catch myself in the dirt, breathing hard, and by the time I glance up, I find my fated has forced Orion beneath his will.
He shoves my uncle down to his knees and wrestles him into an arm-lock, ripping back every shred of control. He leaves the rest up to me.
Orion struggles wildly and Beau rushes over to help secure him whilst I rip the knife from my side. Crimson splatters to the ground, but the Haze dulls the pain and works to heal the damage in a stream of pleasant fire.
"I'll kill you!" Orion exclaims, his veins scorched with streaks of lightning as his eyes blaze fury.
"Threaten my fated one more time and I'll make you suffer," he vows darkly. His voice is so thick with reverence and strength that it has the wolves around us cowering beneath his will.
Orion stills. His eyes go wide and the silver flickers only for his rage to come rushing back. "What the fuck does he mean?"
I approach and kneel before him, twirling my knife. The blade is slick with blood. "Which part confuses you? He is my fated, and I am his."
"It cannot be—" he gasps.
Rowan hums, a smile quirking his lips as he runs his gaze over me appreciatively. Now I haven't got a knife in my side, or Orion's fist at my throat, he regains some of his composure. "It's true. I was struggling to keep a straight face, I have to admit, because the whole black outfit and knife get-up is really working for me, right now."
Beau nudges him. "Keep it in your pants."
"You can take them off later," I taunt my fated, revelling in the spark that ignites behind his eyes.
"Stray!" Beau chides, delicately aggrieved. "Keep it in your pants."
"You are an abomination," Orion sneers at me. "A disgrace to our name—"
"Hey," the beta snaps, a low rumble in his throat as his eyes flash golden. "Keep talking about him that way and I'll rip your throat in two, am I clear? Only I get to taunt him."
In symphony, Lachlan and Morgan's wolves growl, fur bristling as they approach to stand either side of me.
Orion, to his credit, doesn't so much as flinch against the threat. Before, I used to think he was stoic and brazen, a warrior and a devout hunter who has seen everything and lived to tell about it, but now I realise he's simply blinded by the empty promise of this legacy he clings to.
Ferreus hunters were put on this earth to fight monsters, and somewhere along the way our silver eyes became clouded and our duty unravelled into petty feuds; an endless pursuit to destroy werewolves, whether they deserved it or not. I'm determined to right that wrong and end this now. Fate gave me Rowan and flipped my morals around. Even in the depths of my Haze, I can recognise the true enemy.
"What did you tell the others?" I ask, studying the blade glinting crimson in the sunlight.
"The truth," Orion says gruffly. "That you went insane and killed my boy and ran off to hide with werewolves. I told them it was my responsibility to put you down."
"And how's that working out for you?" Beau comments, making him bristle.
I hum. That is a complication, but I can make it work.
"You're going to do something for me and, if you utter one syllable out of line, I'll tell them to bite you. Do I make myself clear?" I tell him, fury sharpening my voice to knife edges.
Orion glares at me, but I've got him trapped beneath my will and he hates the bitten above all else. He gives a sharp nod.
I root around in the pockets of his uniform until I find his phone, tucked safely away ready for a call for reinforcements or to announce victory. Rowan and Beau do not ease their hold and Orion has no choice but to stay still even as my focus is divided, though his eyes are alight with potential plans.
As I find the number, I tell him exactly what I want him to say to the person on the end of the line. Lachlan's wolf steps close and snarls at him, mere inches away, and he cringes back against my fated as though Rowan will be any more forgiving.
He is not.
Defeat, like a cool wave dousing those stirring embers, sweeps behind Orion's gaze and, when I hold the phone to his mouth, he does exactly as I say.
A click. "Well?"
The voice belongs to Ivar— Orion's own father, no less, and my stoic grandfather. It's thanks to him that the Ferreus Clan has become a force to be reckoned with, but with age slowing down his once lightning-fast reflexes, he now spends his days sequestered at the den, organising training sessions and scouting for potential threats. I'd recognise his scratchy, slow tenor anywhere.
Pain flickers across Orion's features, but he gathers himself and says gruffly, "It is done. River's dead. The pack that hid him, too."
"Good, good. Shall we expect you back soon, then?"
Orion sniffs and clears his throat. "No, I... I don't think so. These ones fought hard. Charlotte and Liliana, they... they weren't quick enough and I..." Here, he hesitates. Lachlan's wolf folds his ears back and bares his fangs. In a rush of breath, Orion closes his eyes and says, "I've been bitten."
Nothing but silence greets his words.
He forges on, "I'm going to make it right. I'm going to take care of it."
When Ivar speaks, there's not a trace of recognition or warmth in his voice. "See to it you do," he says simply, and the line goes dead. The ties have been cut, just like that.
Orion sneers up at me, his eyes glistening. "Are you happy now, traitor?"
"Very." I smile, tucking the phone away and pressing my knife to his neck point-first. "This is for Esme. Si vis pacem, para bellum, you prick."
Ever so slowly, I shove my knife through his neck until he chokes on bloody screams and, with a final jerk, he falls limp and useless against Rowan's hold. Dead. Blood streams down his neck in a morbid waterfall, coating my hand and staining his skin crimson. His silver eyes are glassy and vague.
Rowan shoves his lifeless form to the ground. "Alright, love?" he asks, looking tentative as he studies me.
I nod and rise, lifting my gaze to his as a strange sense of peace washes through my veins. Orion is dead and, with him, the darkness that has lurked on my peripheral since the night I lost Esme — and admittedly even before then — fades into obscurity.
"I'm alright," I tell him, and for the first time in a long time, I mean it.
A relieved smile tugs at his lips and he closes the distance between us, sliding his arms around me and holding me close. "I thought I lost you for a moment, there."
I melt against his embrace with a sigh. "I told you to trust me, didn't I?" In truth, when Orion had coaxed out a Haze in me, I'd been terrified, but I knew my own heart and my own mind, and I'd hoped with all my soul that it would be enough to keep me afloat.
Whatever ties Rowan and me together is a force stronger than all the chains of silver in the world.
He laughs, a breathless, relieved sound, as his hold on me tightens securely. "So you did." He must turn his focus outwards, to the carnage, because he says, "Lance, I think you and I need to talk."
"I'm so sorry," the officer rushes out at once, guilt thickening his voice. "We just— we wanted to make this place safe again and— fuck, I'm sorry. We got it wrong."
"Yes, you did."
I pull back a little and peer over my shoulder at them. The novice hunters — though, I muse, it seems their career has come to an abrupt end — are at the far end of the clearing with wolves keeping watch. Their weapons lie useless on the ground and they look wary as they hold our gazes. Perhaps waiting for our fury.
Rowan forges on, "Duskland is dead and so are the hunters. Crescent Valley is safe and, together, we can keep it that way. That is, of course, providing you keep the silver and the crossbows out of reach from now on. You've seen what happens to the people who get on our bad side. Don't join them."
They shuffle and drop their gazes in submission.
Lance gives a nod. "Understood. How can we help? How can I help?"
"I think you've done enough. If we need you, you'll hear from us."
They can't get away quick enough, once the wolves let them pass, and the forest swallows them whole as they rush for the safety of the town.
"I told you they were a liability," I quip.
Rowan laughs against me. "I know you did."
"Fuck, what a mess," Beau says, studying the contorted bodies and giving Orion's arm a testing tap with his foot. Yep. Definitely dead.
The wolves shake out their fur and pace the clearing, checking on one another.
As the Haze starts to dissipate, leaving shocks dancing up and down my nerves as the fire cools, agony shoves its way into focus and I lean more heavily against Rowan, hissing through my teeth beneath its spearing weight.
He pulls back to study me and swears softly beneath his breath as he takes in the dark patches of crimson staining my uniform. "That's a lot of blood."
The injuries are already healing, but the effects of blood loss bear down on me regardless. I look down at myself and say breathlessly, "Yeah, it is."
"Come on," he says, determination strengthening his voice as he takes my weight. "Beau— I'm afraid you're on cleaning duty again."
The beta tips his head back and releases a long-suffering sigh. The wolves take this as a cue to toss their heads back and break out into a howling melody.
And as their victorious song weaves through the woods and echoes across Crescent Valley, we make our way back home.