19 - Time to Go

My reaction is as swift as a bird startled to flight.

I've never moved so fucking fast in my entire life.

My body moves of its own accord, every action like lightning, as instinct guides me.

I slash the knife across Gale's throat, determined to finish what I started and not let the impossibility of my family ruin my progress, and shout, "Get down!"

Within the instant, I throw myself at Rowan, shoving him to the ground. We land in a heap, the breath crushed from our lungs. I cover him as best I can, pinning him down, and his form goes tense beneath mine.

"Trust me," I manage, shoving my knife into its home against my ankle as the lichtenberg figures inch a little further.

And above us, all hell breaks loose.

Gas canisters and spark grenades hiss through the shrubs and explode, sending waves of light and fog smothering everything. Screams and cries and whines cut the air in two. Bullets and arrows hiss and meet their marks with wet thuds and yells of agony. A throwing knife grazes my back, right across my shoulder blades. A strip of fire makes me hiss in pain, but I know it's not fatal. Just a graze. The next one could be worse.

Without giving myself time to think, or the hunters time to close in and trap me, I grab Rowan's wrist and haul him to his feet. My family is here, and our choices are running or death. Everything else must wait.

The feud is a distant memory and wolves from both sides throw themselves at blurred forms in the fog, distracting them for long enough for the others to escape in the shrubs. Damning themselves for friends and foes alike.

I dart for the town, branches scratching at my face and roots tripping up my feet, and I do not let go of Rowan's wrist. I tug him along coughing and gasping orders to his pack to retreat. Everyone scatters. We leave behind a cacophony of mayhem.

Every shrub is a familiar shadow, every branch a hand I know, every scream we leave in our wake is a thunderclap of agony in my chest. My head is a maelstrom of chaos, throwing around potential ambush positions and forcing my legs to take hasty misdirections in an attempt to lose them.

They're here. It's impossible. I can't breathe.

We explode onto the car park, into civilisation, but I do not stop. I drag Rowan through alleys and down side streets until my lungs burn and tears sting my eyes. We disappear into an alcove away from prying eyes between a closed bar and an old thrift store, where Rowan slips from my grasp and collapses in a coughing fit on the cobbled ground.

Fervently, I check him over for injury. There's no blood, but he's shaking violently and tears stream down his face. I catch a hint of sizzling on the air. Aconite or powdered silver in the smoke. Of course.

I'm moving too quickly for sense to catch up, for anything to catch up, and I'm at once wrenching the fire escape of the bar open and stalking into the shadows. The place is empty, mercifully, with chairs stacked up on tables and the air thick with silence. I find myself in the store room soon enough, filling my arms with water bottles and rushing back outside.

I drop them in an unceremonious heap next to Rowan. He's gasping and shuddering and his skin's all red and irritated from the smoke, so I crouch before him and open a bottle and thrust it into his slackened hand.

"Drink," I order, doing all the work as I hold it up to his lips.

He does so without complaint and, as he gathers enough strength to hold the damn bottle himself, I rip another open and dump it over his head and over his arms and any exposed bit of skin I can find. He melts against the wall with a heaving sigh and, as the irritation starts to fade from his olive skin, I release a shuddering breath and let the breakdown descend.

The Ferreus hunters are here. In Crescent Valley. Close. Way too fucking close. I need to run. I need a car and I need to get as far away as I can. How the fuck have they found me so soon?

I rise and start pacing, tugging my hands through my hair. Breaths rush past my lips, sharp and shallow. The whistle — that damning melody — is a Ferreus tell. It's them, I'm certain of it. We are the best of the best and we know how to sneak up on tense werewolves— any other group would give themselves away. Our survival is evidence of our success. It could be they don't know I'm here. They could be simply tracking either Crescent Moon or Duskland and it's all a big coincidence for them to happen upon me. It might not be Orion, Liliana and my mother after all. It could be distant relatives on their own hunt.

But I can't quite believe that.

My family plans their attacks to win them, and this was a reckless assault. I've only been here for a few days— and if they've tracked me here, they've been walking these streets for less. They're furious with me, and it's making them act out of turn.

And I thought they were dangerous before. Now, I'm facing the cold, empty gaze of death.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I hiss.

A shudder scuttles down my spine. Here I am, thinking my only worries are the Duskland pack seeking revenge for Seb, when my family have been lurking all this time. Waiting. Which one threw the first canister? Orion? My mother? Have they brought numbers? Did the werewolves manage to take a few of them out? Not knowing makes me feel exposed and vulnerable and I hate it. It's time to go.

But I cannot condemn Rowan and his pack to their fury. If I run, if I turn my back on him, my family could turn on them instead. I'm caught in a trap, and I'm fairly certain my only ally in the whole, entire world is right here with me.

Rowan's already struggling to his feet when I turn to face him. "I need to go back," he gasps. "I can't leave them—"

"You told them to run," I manage. "Any who didn't are already dead. It— it's my family. I'm certain of it. They... they're here and they've found me."

"Fuck," he breathes, sinking back to the ground and covering his face with shaking hands. "You're alright? They didn't hit you, did they?"

"No, I'm fine," I dismiss.

"Then why am I smelling your blood?"

It's as though his words send the adrenaline seeping through my fingers, and a stinging pain claws its way to the surface. My back is on fire, but already I can feel it healing. It's difficult to tell which bloodstains are mine and which are from the werewolf in the alley or Gale. It seems our race through the woods has scratched my arms and chin and cheeks. Nothing concerning. I could've ended up with a bolt in my leg or my head detached from my body. Anything else is a blessing.

"It's just a few scratches," I tell him, my voice tight with rising terror. "What do we do?"

Rowan lowers his hands to look at me. I wonder what he sees. A hunter capable of joining his family and turning on the alliance, or perhaps a hunter haunted by the past that has sought him out.

For the very first time in my life, I don't know what to do. I must be really desperate if I'm waiting on an alpha werewolf to give out the orders.

But Rowan isn't that type of alpha.

"It's alright," he soothes, using that silky voice of his, a cool wave against the blaze turning thoughts to ash. "We'll think of something. We call this silver protocol— in the event of a hunter attack, we scatter and rendezvous at a secondary location and wait until the coast is clear before we return home. I don't want to lead them to the heart of my land."

I blow out a shuddering breath and tug my hands through my hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault and they're going to ruin everything and I can't stop them on my own—"

"River." His voice slices through my panic, driving right through me.

I falter and glance at him, the wall holding back hysteria as brittle as shattered glass.

"Come here," he says gently. An imploring request, not an order.

I do as he asks and fall at his side, hugging my knees to my chest and keeping him between me and the outside world like a barrier nothing can cross.

He nudges my shoulder with his own and offers me a little smile, even as ghosts stir behind his eyes. "You're not on your own, remember? You're helping me with my demons and I'll help you with yours."

I sniff and break his gaze, absently tracing the figures marring my arm. The ties to a legacy I do not want. "I got Gale. I didn't want him getting away in the chaos."

"One down, three to go."

Strained voices and approaching footsteps tug at my focus. I snatch my throwing blades from their belt and dart to my feet, dropping into a fighting stance. I'm expecting Orion's hardened fury, Liliana's calculated storm of rage, my mother's prowling focus like a nocked bow. I'm expecting a fight and I'm expecting it to be my last.

Rowan pushes himself up with a wince, grasping at the wall to keep himself upright. "It's alright," he says.

Lachlan comes limping round the corner and into our brittle haven, half-dragging Beau along with him. There's a strip of clothing tied tightly round his thigh, stained with blood, and he's stumbling even despite the gamma's help.

Rowan rushes forwards to help his beta rest against the wall, checking him over.

I, meanwhile, glance at the way they've come, checking for bloodstains that could give away our location.

"Shit. What happened?" Rowan demands.

Beau waves him off with a weak laugh. "Took an arrow like a champ. Mor's checking our six."

Lachlan coughs and heads straight for the pile of water bottles stashed close by. He downs one and tosses another to Rowan, who helps Beau onto the ground and tilts the bottle for him to drink with far more care than I showed him. He pulls aside the bloody makeshift bandage and hisses through his teeth.

"Arrowhead?" he asks.

"Ripped it out," Lachlan says.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. Fuck, that's a lot of blood."

The beta scowls lightly at him. "Don't fuss, I'm already healing. Promise."

Regardless, Rowan tips the rest of the water onto the wound and Beau bites down on a cry, his eyes flickering golden.

"Sounds like it," Lachlan mutters, though he watches on attentively. As I study him, his gaze finds mine. The open sincerity behind his eyes startles me. "You okay, River?"

I can only manage a little jerk of my head — something caught between a nod and a shake and not at all helpful — so he runs his eyes over me instead, checking for obvious injuries.

Before he can make any judgement, Morgan comes storming into the alley, a blaze of rage. Vaguely, I realise she's found some clothes in all the chaos. Her eyes spark golden fury and only Lachlan's fast reflexes prevent her from raining down hellfire on me.

That's not for lack of trying, though.

She struggles in his hold. "You fucking traitor!" she cries, her gaze sharp and her words even sharper. "You led them here and we trusted you and you've been playing us for fools!"

"Love," Beau cuts in, resting heavily against the wall and clutching at his bloodied thigh. There's a sheen of sweat on his brow, a fog of agony behind his eyes. "He's never hidden his nature from us, has he?"

"Five of our people are dead, Beau," she shoots back. "You nearly died. There was only three of them and they fucking wiped out the rest of Gale's lackeys. How do we know he's not telling them everything we tell him?"

Only three of them. Shit.

"Five?" Lachlan echoes softly.

Morgan gives a certain nod. "At least. It's chaos back there. Everyone's lying low where they can." Her scathing glare stays locked on me. "Was that your plan? Pretend to help us and wait for your reinforcements to show up— is that it?"

I tighten my grip on my knives, not entirely certain if she'll charge but equally not keen on spilling any more blood. My breaths are way too shallow and, when I speak, my voice is tight with something dangerously close to fear. "Did they get away? The three you saw, did they— are they alive?"

She fights in Lachlan's steely grip, her eyes on fire with fury. "Your precious family are fine. I can't say the same for the pack members they slaughtered."

Just as I fall back half a step beneath her onslaught, Rowan stands in front of me— showing his pack his stance and showing me he's not afraid of having his back to me. A few hours ago, I'd be furious and tempted to stick my knife in his back just to prove I could, but my family is here and he kept to his word and my whole life has been turned on its head. All of my instincts are backwards. What a world, where hunters are my enemies and werewolves my allies.

"Question my judgement all you like, Mor, but River is one of us. Not one of them. He could've killed us all in the chaos and joined his family. Do you know what he did, instead? He brought me here. He kept me safe. He killed Gale for us, and I think that deserves some modicum of respect, don't you? He's not responsible for the actions of his family."

For the very first time since I've known him, Rowan uses every ounce of his alpha strength. The power ripples from his form, his set shoulders, his silky tenor and his unwavering focus. It's permeable in the air — that impossible strength — and the others cower a little beneath the weight of it.

Morgan drops her gaze to the floor in submission, her struggles falling still.

But I will not let Rowan fight my battles for me. I step forwards, so I'm next to him. "They are not my family. Not anymore. I'm sorry. If I'd known they were here already, I would've— I should've done something—"

"You did," Lachlan counters, frowning as he releases Morgan and crosses his arms. "You warned us."

I shrug helplessly. "I heard a whistle, and I knew it meant they were close and ready, so I... I didn't think, I just—" The words choke me on their way out. I'm going against every instinct that was ever drilled into me, and it leaves me feeling broken and like I won't ever be able to put myself back together again. "I thought I'd have more time before they caught up."

Morgan risks a glance up, peering at me from behind the curtain of her dark, tousled hair. "You're scared of them, aren't you?"

"No," I insist, bristling.

Her features pinch with something dangerously close to solemn understanding, and some of the harshness to her expression melts away. Without another word, she goes to Beau and checks him over.

"What's our plan?" Lachlan asks, his focus flickering between them and me and Rowan. "I mean, Gale's dead and that's a win, but if we've got hunters on our backs..."

He doesn't need to finish. A heavy fog of desolation settles over the alley and we all know we're in deep shit.

Rowan stays quiet, pensive and musing and lost in his thoughts, so I stash my knives and I say, "I can lead them away from here. I've pissed them off and they're after me, not you. With any luck, they'll follow me out of town and then you've only got Duskland to worry about— minus Gale."

"Come on, stray," Beau says, smiling at me even as his features twist with a grimace. "That's not even an option. I'm afraid once we've taken you in, we're never letting you go again. Your mess is our mess. What's that thing you said, the other day? The spell thing? Amy— cuticus?— no, I've lost it. Never had it to begin with, to be honest."

"Amicus meus, inimicus inimici mei," Rowan says.

Beau clicks and points victoriously at his alpha. "That's the bitch. Whatever that means. Does it mean something? Am I hallucinating from blood loss?"

"You're fine," Lachlan tells him, rolling his eyes. "You're already healing, you dramatic ass—"

"—Leave my ass alone, Lach, you know how jealous Morgan gets when you admire my ass—"

"—It means 'my friend, the enemy of my enemy'," Morgan translates loudly, if only to drown out their bickering.

"We wait out silver protocol here," Rowan decides at last, gesturing over his shoulder to the bar I've unceremoniously broken into. "Think up strategies. We take the long road back and check for any shadows. River knows how they operate, he can help us get home safely. Once we're there, we go into lock-down. No one in or out, tighten our borders, patrol our land, keep the hunters away from us and don't give them a reason to attack."

I'm reeling and too numb to be much help, at the moment, and I follow after them in a sort of daze as they haul Beau up and help him into the shadows of the bar. I pick up the bottles of water and check the alley for any hint of blood that my family could pick up on and follow to our hideout.

Only when I'm certain the coast is clear, I shut the fire escape after us and hope it's a solid enough barrier against my family's fury.

Somehow, I doubt it will hold for long.