16 - Cold Indifference

Rowan does not give me a moment to process his outburst before he's forging on, his eyes alight and his voice rushed and wavering.

"You're my fated and you're scared and you're alone and I— I need to help you through this. I can't let you face Duskland on your own and I won't leave you to your family. I will not."

Oh fuck.

"I— You... what? What do you—? I don't—" Words stumble and trip over one another. My mind is fractured. Thoughts flit and surge like faulty wiring.

Fated? No, no— that can't be right. He's lying. He has to be. It's another trap.

He gazes at me, his features a map I cannot quite decipher. I search for any hint that he's lying— that he's simply messing with me.

He must read the blinding hesitance in my expression, because his own crumbles. He falls back another step, but this time it isn't so gratifying. "I couldn't be sure, but I am now. I thought, in the alley... but there was so much blood and I wasn't certain. Usually we can smell our fated, but you only smelt of silver and blood until you showered and I knew. I'm only catching hints, but it... it's indescribable—"

"Stop," I manage, my voice shuddering past my lips as I shrink away from him. "Just— stop. Pick someone else. Anyone else."

A startled laugh rushes from him as he tugs a hand through his hair. "I'm afraid it doesn't work like that. It's not that bad, River—"

"It's so much worse."

My family killed Esme for merely being bitten, but to be... And he's an alpha...

Fucking hell. I'm screwed.

Rowan starts for me once again, his hand reaching out for me.

I flinch back and he recoils as though I've struck him.

"I'm sorry," he rushes out, backing up and raising his hands in submission. "I know this is a lot."

I blow out a breath— a sigh, a huff of indignation, I'm not sure. But, at last, instinct gets a foothold. I advance on him a step, my eyes burning with rage. "Touch me again, and I'll cut you."

And with that, I rip open the door and stalk out into the clearing.

Rowan does not give up so easily. I should've known. As an alpha werewolf, he's a stubborn prick.

"I meant what I said about Duskland," he tells me, making absolutely no attempt to conceal our argument for the few werewolves wandering around making the most of the early morning. "You're not fighting them alone. It's too reckless now they know your scent."

They falter to watch, intrigued, and the heat of their attention is a flame to my gasoline temperament.

"And you're going to stop me, are you?" I shoot back over my shoulder, glaring at any werewolves who dare catch my gaze. They're quick to look away, feigning interest in their hands or the woods or the sky.

"I'm going with you."

"You'll only get in my way," I dismiss at once, letting the woods swallow me. Trees hiss and sigh as rustling leaves stir in the air. A picturesque dawn, with hazy shards of sky peeking through the tree canopy. I can't appreciate it. Not when it feels like Rowan has doomed me to an impossibility.

"River, please—"

Twigs snap. My nerves go razor-edged. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I can feel Rowan's presence at my back like pressure has flipped on itself. He's closing in— reaching for me— I'm certain.

Instinct does the work for me. My hands find the throwing knives at my belt.

I whip round and shove Rowan against a tree trunk with a gratifying thud. With one knife pressed so hard against his throat I hear sizzling as the silver burns his skin, I aim the other at Beau and Lachlan— who have both followed their alpha. Now they freeze beneath my aim, with my arc at its highest, their eyes flickering golden and their hands raised placatingly.

Rowan melts beneath my advances and doesn't break my steely gaze. He merely raises a hand towards his followers— meaning for them to keep still.

All is quiet. Rowan stares death in the face and I glare back.

I think of slicing the knife across his neck until I see red. Until his warm blood splatters across my face and until his form goes weak and watery and falls uselessly to the ground. I think of ridding myself of his persistent presence with a simple flick of my wrist. I tense, meaning to follow through.

But I can't. I'm shaking beneath the strain, wanting nothing more than to slash my knife and take out the threat, but nothing happens.

You're weak and stupid and they've gotten right under your skin. You're a disgrace. Why don't you bare your throat and have him bite you? Then you can cower to him like the good little bitch you are.

I'm not entirely certain if the voice hissing in my head is my own or my mother's or Orion's or Myles'. I'm falling apart. Going crazy. Rowan is my fated and my family will kill me for it. Better to tear this shambolic tie between us now.

And yet, I do nothing.

What the fuck has he done to me?

I rip myself back and they all flinch, expecting a fatal blow. But I stuff my knives away and retreat. A disgrace of a hunter. I had him right where I wanted him, at my mercy, and I couldn't fucking kill him.

I'm leaving. I'm going to steal a car and drive the fuck out of Crescent Valley and away from Rowan and his mess.

A mournful, lone howl rises in the cool breeze. A long, low, distant note that brings with it a smothering wave of dread. Instinct fizzles along my veins; an electric current.

They're rallying. There's hardly anyone about because they're all shifted and they're going to bite me and kill me and—

I'm pulled under. My pace falters as I wait and wait for an answering call. For the thud of approaching paws.

There is nothing but silence.

"For fuck's sake," Rowan hisses. "Not now."

I find myself turning to face him. Beau and Lachlan are by his side, stoic sentries, studying the treeline. Their eyes are molten pools of gold.

"What was that?" I ask. My voice sounds uncertain, so I force my features into a stoic mask to make up for it. "What does it mean?"

Rowan's posture deflates. He closes his glowing eyes, tilts his head back, and takes a deep, steeling breath. There's a red line on his neck. Something cavernous and brittle fractures in my chest.

"That was Duskland," Beau tells me, his voice soft and desolate. "And it means they've got another one."

Oh. Fuck.

"I'll shift," Rowan says, already shrugging off his shirt. I haul my focus away before he catches me looking. "I need to think. Beau, get us some reinforcements just in case. Lach— with me."

Despite myself, my gaze finds him all too quickly.

I'm not entirely certain what he must be seeing, right now. A stoic mask cracking at the seams or a man just handed a death sentence, or someone caught between the two.

His own features betray his concern. Furrowed brows, an uncomfortable twist to his lips and a cold, empty flame behind his eyes. It takes an effort to keep my gaze locked on his expression instead of trailing down, following the curve of his neck and the crimson line of my fury there and his collarbone and the muscles of his torso already rippling with a shift and the way he reaches to pull off his joggers and—

No. No. Right back up to his face I go.

"What will you do?" he asks softly.

Stay or leave. Stay or leave. The fury melting all reason to ash longs to bury a silver knife in a werewolf, and if I cannot raise my weapon to Rowan, I'll raise it to his enemies. A fight will clear my mind. Fix my instincts. Make everything alright again.

"I'll go with you," I decide, my tone clinical and cold. "The sooner Duskland is gone, the sooner we can part ways."

Something flighty and desperate flits across his features; there and gone. I'm expecting him to argue, but he schools his expression and merely says, "I see."

At his side, Beau turns to assess the way we came. He isn't quick enough, and I catch the unhappy frown tugging at his brows and lips before he can hide them.

Lachlan smothers his reaction into masked indifference, but the flame in his eyes sparks and hisses.

Rowan shifts where he stands. It's an alarming process— and one that has me hastily retreating. There is simply a blur and a wolf shakes where he stood a mere moment ago. Rowan's clothes fall into a heap around the wolf, which Lachlan picks up.

The wolf looks at me and whines, folding its — his? — ears back. His fur is grey and shot through with black, and his form is sleek yet ripples with barely checked power even despite his attempt at wariness. He's beautiful, in the way a glinting dagger is beautiful as it follows its inevitable, destructive path.

I take another step back, unwilling to be anywhere near him in this form, and he retreats behind Lachlan, peering at me with tentative golden eyes.

The gamma studies me closely, his gaze pointedly dipping to my hands, which I realise have already begun to reach for my closest weapons. It takes an effort to relax, to appear nonchalant. And yet, I keep my attention locked on Rowan's wolf. Just in case.

I think of my sister so easily overpowered and doomed to a swift death the moment a wolf's fangs pierced her skin. I think of how easily Rowan's wolf could lunge and attack and sink his teeth into me and condemn me.

"Let's go," Lachlan says, disrupting those horrific thoughts and leading the way down the forest trail and towards what I can only assume is another nightmare.

Rowan's wolf slinks guiltily at his side, keeping the gamma between us.

With a sharp sigh, I trudge after them.

– ➶ –

The walk through the woods is a tense, electric one.

Rowan's wolf walks like the world has stopped turning for him. Power surges from his form— his posture rippling with strength, the unwavering glint of focus in his eyes, his pace sure and steady.

He trots ahead, leading the way, but every now and then he looks back at me with a whine or a tentative yip.

I'm quick to haul my focus away, scowling.

Lachlan wanders close by with his hands in his pockets and an uncomfortable twist to his features. I cannot tell if it is because of my reaction to Rowan's bombshell or the move Duskland has made on us or both.

I shouldn't have delayed planning our offence on the eager pack. Naively, I wanted to savour whatever semblance of peace I'd found here. I should've known it was all too good to be true.

Lachlan takes a deep breath and lets it out as a heavy sigh. "You don't know what it means to us, do you?"

I blink, startled by his attention.

Before I can answer, he forges on, pinning me with a scrutinising stare. "To find our fated is a sacred event. It is... We cannot simply choose. It is chosen for us by the Goddess herself."

"Why me?" I demand, my attention snagging on Rowan's wolf as he looks at me once more. He whines beneath my attention, folding his ears back. "I'm a hunter, not a werewolf. This isn't my fate. It can't be."

"Are you saying you haven't felt anything?"

"I've just met him."

"I'm not talking about love, River. I'm talking about the fact you had a silver knife in your hand in that alley and you chose to come back here with him. Even just now, you could've killed him, and you didn't."

"Because you would've killed me if I did," I insist, shaking my head, doubting every decision, every thought. Killing him in the heart of his pack would've been foolish and reckless. "Just— stop trying to explain it. I don't want to know."

"You're scared, aren't you?"

I bristle, glaring at him.

There must be something fiery and dangerous in my eyes, because he holds his hands up in surrender and falls quiet.

The rest of our walk down towards Crescent Valley is silent and thick with tension. Even the woods are quiet. Birds chirp hesitant tunes that echo and fade into an eerie silence. The wind is tentative and every rustling leaf is a whisper.

Perhaps, I muse, the stoic mood has something to do with the fact we're heading for what is sure to be another gruesome murder scene like the one I stumbled upon. They've lost a pack member, and every step we take seems to drive that harrowing reality deeper for them.

Meanwhile, my fingers itch for my throwing blades— even as something weighty and assuring in my hands to distract me from Rowan's confession and the lone howl and his wolf too close for comfort.

But I shove all thoughts of fated mates and impossibilities and warring natures to the back of my mind. I lock them in a box and shove it in a dark, cold, empty corner of my head and stamp on it until it's broken and battered and shrivelled.

I need to focus. Everything else can wait.

It isn't long before the woods give way to street lights and roads weaving asphalt rivers between trees towards the quiet suburbs of Crescent Valley.

The town is quiet, too, with the lazy rising of dawn casting a rosy haze over everything. I can't see anyone around, but Rowan's wolf falters at the treeline and Lachlan holds out a hand for me to stop.

I grudgingly do.

They both tilt their heads a little, listening out, and I scowl and cross my arms as I await their verdict.

"Alright," Lachlan says softly, stepping out into the street. "Can you smell that, Ro?"

The wolf huffs and trots forwards, nose to the ground as he leads us further into town.

I can't help it. I match Lachlan's pace and ask under my breath, "Smell what?"

His features twist with discomfort. "Blood."

Oh. Of course.

I study the quiet streets, checking for witnesses. A few people meander their way out of quaint little cottages, yawning and bleary-eyed as they reluctantly accept an early start. Others venture out to jog, or walk dogs (who seem fixated on Rowan).

They glance our way once and never look again— out of fear or respect or something in between.

Rowan's wolf leads us to an alley nestled between a bakery and a restaurant— both of them closed with their shutters down. There's a police car parked up close by with its officer leaning against the hood with crossed arms and a scowl tugging at his features.

He watches us approach, sizing us up, and I find myself appraising him. Checking for weak points, just in case.

"You said you had this under control," he mutters once we're close enough to hear him. He gestures vaguely over his shoulder to the alley. "I wouldn't call that under control."

I peek into the alley and catch an unpleasant glimpse of splattered blood and a crumpled form. Pulled by instinct, I survey the streets for any lurking rivals, but they're empty.

"Last time I checked, it's your job to keep things quiet, not to judge our methods," Lachlan counters, crossing his arms. With the set posture and flicker of fire in his eyes, it's no surprise the officer is quick to back down.

"I heard the howl and found her like this on my patrol," he says, looking away. "No witnesses, this time."

"That's convenient." The words come spilling before I can stop them.

The officer's gaze finds mine. "Who's this? A new recruit?"

I bristle, but Lachlan does not miss a beat.

"An ally. Keep things quiet, Lance. We'll send someone over with your payment, and we've got another request."

The officer — Lance — is at once complacent. His brows raise and a smile tugs at his lips. "Another request, you say?"

"In the nature of hiding our ally from prying eyes. You'll be compensated."

Lachlan thanks him for his assistance and they shake hands before the officer gets in his car and disappears to keep things quiet.

I barely pay him any notice— I'm already turning to Lachlan with a question.

"You're bribing the police to hide me?" I ask, vaguely impressed. That was, after all, my own plan when I first arrived in Crescent Valley. I'm surprised they're taking the threat of my family seriously.

I don't need their help or their charity. I will not be indebted to them.

The thought hisses through my head, unpleasant and biting. It burns that hope to embers. All too swiftly, I'm hauled back to the familiarity of distrust.

Lachlan shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. "We're bribing them for a lot of things. Might as well add you to that list. Rowan's idea."

Of fucking course.

"They're a liability," I say, stalking into the alley to get this over with. The sooner Duskland is dealt with, the sooner I can part ways with Rowan and his pack and his lies.

It's a gruesome sight.

A woman, this time. Splayed on the ground— jaw broken, eyes blank and empty, claw marks carved into her skin. A pool of blood seeps along the cobbles beneath her. Fresh. Her clothes are torn and — just like the last one — there's a crude Othala scratched into her chest.

Unlike the last one, it's also carved along her arms and legs and even on her cheek. Again and again, little marks of frustration and rage blemish her skin. Whoever did this was pissed as hell.

Rowan's wolf trots after me. He whines, his ears folding back as he tentatively sniffs at the woman.

"Fuck," Lachlan mutters behind me.

"They kill your sentries and just dump them?" I ask, my tone clinical and empty of any feeling at all. There's no room for pity when we're so close to Duskland, when they could be lurking around any corner waiting to ambush us.

"She was on patrol. On our land," Lachlan tells me, crouching before the woman, shrugging off his jacket, and draping it over her mangled chest. He closes his eyes and tips his head back a little.

For a moment that stretches on and on, there is nothing but silence as he pays solemn respects to the woman. Rowan's wolf ducks his head and whines sorrowfully. It's remarkably... human.

At last, Lachlan blinks his eyes open and continues in a soft, sombre voice, "They breach our territory and kill our people to prove they can get in and out without consequence. Looks like they're getting impatient. If they think there are hunters in town, they'll want to look like the stronger pack, of us both. A bigger challenge to make you hesitate."

"They're distracted. Go into their territory instead," I say, wandering further down the alley. It splits off into two, and I glance down either way checking for any potential escape routes the werewolf or wolves in question could've used to get away. Both are unobstructed. "Get them on the defensive instead of acting in retrospect."

"We are not a violent pack, River."

And it will be their downfall.

"Duskland is making this feud violent. You can submit or you can fight," I counter. There's a blood trail splattered across the cobbles leading to the left with matching bloody footsteps, unsteady and bouncing from wall to wall. The woman must've fought hard and got in a few good injuries, to leave her assailant stumbling away.

Rowan's wolf gives a little yip that has me glancing over my shoulder towards them. He's watching Lachlan closely and, strangely enough, Lachlan seems to understand exactly what he's after. He offers the wolf the pile of clothes he's carried all the way from their den.

Promptly, the wolf shifts and contorts until Rowan is knelt on the ground, his muscles rippling with aftershocks and his eyes glowing golden. He shrugs on his clothes and rises to give me his full attention.

"What's your verdict?" he asks.

I startle back to myself, having slipped from reason to watch the intricate, strange ritual of a shift, and the scowl that settles over my features is familiar and comforting.

"Don't trust the police. That's twice now they've been at the scene before you. If they're accepting bribes from your pack, you can expect they'll be accepting bribes from Duskland, too. Cut them out. The only people who should know your plan is your pack."

"And what about you?"

He watches me closely, a strange intensity behind his gaze that has me feeling exposed and vulnerable. I hate it.

"If you want this alliance to end, that's more than fine with me—"

He shakes his head and backs up half a step. "No, no, I don't want that—"

Before he can forge on, before more half-truths and empty promises can spew from his parted lips, I cut him off. "There's a blood trail over here— someone's hurt, and badly. Shall we follow it?"

"I think we should wait for Beau's reinforcements. We have no idea how many were here this morning, or if they're waiting for us to catch up. We act cautiously."

"We do nothing?" I ask, frowning. "That won't teach them anything."

"We're not here to teach them anything— my priority is getting rid of them before they hurt anyone else, and charging unprepared into an ambush isn't going to achieve that. We wait."

I bristle at his order. I will not submit to a werewolf— no fucking way.

Lachlan clears his throat, and the mounting tension between us — a choking fog — dissipates as surely as if a gale had swept through the alley and cleared the air.

"I understand where you're coming from, but he's got a point, Ro." His features twist with discomfort, as though every word that goes against his alpha is causing him pain. "We can't keep letting them play us for fools. If we don't act soon, they'll think we're weak and easily overpowered. They'll advance further, test more boundaries. We can't keep clearing up their mess like we're their bitch, we need to fight. Who knows how long Beau will be, but if they're still close, I think we need to see where the trail leads. We can always turn back at the first sign of a problem."

Rowan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. As he takes a deep, steadying breath, I track the way his shoulders rise— as though his form is filled to the brim with power and tearing along at the seams. When he lets the breath out, the illusion does not crack, and he levels me with a scrutinising gaze sparking with golden flames that speak to his alpha nature.

I brace myself, expecting more orders. I'm expecting him to wrestle back control and force his plans onto us both.

But he does not. He simply holds my gaze and says, "What will you have us do?"