21 - Destiny & Legacy

Orion's fist tightens at my throat, leaving me gasping and clawing at his arm for some semblance of leverage. His strength is immense and unyielding. He's going to kill me.

"Is this what you did to my boy?" he hisses, shoving me down, pressing me hard against the ground sodden with blood. "I'm going to tear you apart, do you hear me? There is nowhere on this earth you can hide, no hole you can crawl into, where I will not find you."

I stare up at him, a strangled gasp rushing past my lips as an agonising pressure thuds through my skull. His face melts like wax until Esme gazes at me with empty, cold eyes. There's a bullet hole in her forehead. Blood seeps like tears down her cheeks. It's all my fault.

She does not say anything. She sobs and sobs until the noise morphs into laughter— a raucous, hideous cackle.

"River!" I hear Rowan's voice, tight and high with terror. He's in trouble. They've got him pinned. I can't see him in the darkness, but I know he needs me. I struggle and struggle but Esme shoves me down, down, down, until the earth closes in around my head and I choke on dirt and blood.

"River!"

A sharp thud startles me to clarity. I'm already reaching blindly for the silver knife beneath my pillow when the fog of hysteria passes. I'm in the spare room, not in the woods. I'm entangled in bed sheets, not dirt, and the gasps wracking my form are nothing more than remnants of a bad dream.

Rowan's in the open doorway, the hallway light glowing serenely behind him and casting him in a halo. He's a tousled mess of joggers hanging off his hips and tattoos snaking up his arms and bare chest heaving with deep breaths. His eyes shimmer golden and I watch as the tension seeps from his form. I forgot to lock my door.

For a moment that stretches on and on, we stare at one another, breathing heavily. Until at last, Rowan startles back to himself.

"Sorry, I— I should've knocked. I heard you shout and I thought— I'm sorry," he rushes out, already turning to leave.

"Wait," I manage, tugging a shaking hand through my sweat-dampened hair and sliding the knife beneath my pillow once more. The dream is too close, still. Suddenly, desperately, I don't want to be on my own.

Rowan must catch some hysterical strain to my tone because he falters, still clutching the door handle like a lifeline. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I melt against the sheets, grab a pillow, and throw it over my face to block out the world. "No," I mumble.

"Me, neither," Rowan admits. "I've just swapped shifts with Lachlan and I heard you and—"

"You heard me?"

Rowan clears his throat and I hear the door click shut. "Just about. Well, the rooms are mainly soundproofed but my room's opposite, so..."

"Your room's..." I trail off, not quite able to finish. I picked this room of my own free will, and I chose the cosiest, safest one. Go figure he'd be close by. I can't even summon the energy to be mad about it.

"Do you want me to leave?"

I stay quiet for a moment or two, trying to force the word out of unwilling lips. It's easier with the pillow blocking out reality, and I eventually manage to mumble, "No."

"Alright," he says, his voice holding the slightest trace of relief.

I hear his footsteps cross the room and my attention locks onto the sound. The hairs on my arms rise and a shudder slides down my spine. I can picture him barely a hair's breadth away, I can almost feel the heat of his presence, of his unwavering focus. And yet, the urge to grab my knife stays distant.

It's such a confusing sensation.

But when Rowan speaks again, his voice is nowhere near me— it's at the other end of the room, by the window, and the strange sensation fades.

"I'm going to ask you a question, River, and you can tell me where to stick it if you want. It's just... I'm not asking out of curiosity— I need to know the facts to be able to help you as much as I can."

I make a noise of assent. I know what's coming.

"Will you tell me what happened? There must be a reason you're not keen on your family catching up to you."

The dream is still too close for comfort. I can still feel the echo of Orion's hands at my throat, can still hear the echo of Esme's sobbing. Their ceaseless pursuit haunts me, and it leaves me feeling thoroughly exposed, my defences up in flames.

Maybe that's why I find myself sitting up and discarding the pillow. Maybe that's why I find myself studying Rowan closely and trying to think of the right words.

He's stood before the window, arms crossed, and though everything about him seeps with the watchful, stony focus of a sentry never off-duty, his gaze is fixed on me. The dark sharpens his features and makes his eyes shimmer serenely. Stood before the bookshelf and armchair, he looks the picture of soft grace.

I take a deep, steadying breath and I say, "I had a sister. Her name was Esme, and she was my twin. We were leading a fight on a pack, and... and it went wrong." The words shudder past my lips and I have to stop and gather my scattered thoughts. When I speak again, my voice is empty. Hard. Unfeeling. Cracking like ice. "She was bitten, and my family killed her for it. They shot her in the head and told me to burn her with the rest of the wolves we'd killed. I... I couldn't. My cousin tried to take her from me and I snapped. I killed him and I ran. I didn't stop, I just... I stole cars and I drove for hours because I knew if my family found me, they'd make me suffer."

Rowan holds my empty gaze, his brows pinched, but he does not say a word.

I tell him everything; the words spewing from my lips like the dam holding them back has cracked and broken apart. I tell him about the woman that helped me — Ada — and my fear that they somehow found her and hurt her. I tell him about finding Crescent Valley and feeling a strong urge to settle and call it home. I tell him I found a body with scratch marks and I knew there were werewolves living here. I tell him it's my duty to kill werewolves, to use silver and let the legacy of my family burn marks into my skin like a trophy— and I tell him there's nothing I want more than to escape that fate.

The words keep on coming. I tell him everything. It's one hell of an olive branch. Vaguely, I wonder when the alliance between us shifted from a hesitant ploy to exploit his power to a genuine need for his resources and his assurances. Maybe, I muse, it happened when he kept to his word with the confrontation with Gale, and when my own family turned their weapons on me. That's one way to shift my priorities.

At last, I fall quiet. Every word is a weight off my shoulders, but every silent second that stretches between me and Rowan hauls me right back to despair. He's going to throw me to my family and rid himself of the problem and—

He blows out a deep breath and sits heavily on the armchair. "Fuck. I... I'm so sorry. That... fuck, that's awful."

We're both quiet for a while, lost to unpleasant thoughts. The silence presses down against us with the morbid finality of a coffin.

"It's times like these where I miss my parents the most," he admits softly, breaking the silence. His brows pinch and he reaches to part the curtain a little. He studies the shadowed woodland with fierce intensity, checking for threats. "They'd know exactly what to do. I feel like I'm just guessing. They were so good at the whole leading thing and I... I'm trying to fill their shoes but it feels as though they'll never fit quite right."

"I think you're doing fine," I admit, thinking of the ease with which he organised patrols and calmed everyone, earlier. A natural. "Not many werewolves would let a hunter help out for the good of the pack," I muse, following his gaze out at the billowing trees. Checking for shadows that do not belong.

"Not many hunters would tolerate an alliance with their enemies, and yet here you are."

His mention of the alliance has me thinking of all the revelations today. My family lurking and Rowan's fated mates bombshell I still can't quite believe and the way I acted towards Duskland. The werewolf in the alley, Laura, Gale— all of them dead at my hands.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. As much as it confuses me to admit it, Rowan isn't my enemy, anymore. "I'm sorry you had to see that mess with the Duskland werewolf. It doesn't really prove I'm safe to be around, does it?"

He hums, turning his focus to me. "You did what you needed to. I admire that."

I frown at him. "You don't think I'm... I don't know, a bit scary to work with?"

"Oh, I find you terrifying," he says with a hand on his heart and an easy grin lighting up his face.

I can't help it. My lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. "Good."

"But, I also believe you're a pragmatist. You do what you must to survive and stay afloat. I know what that's like. Between you and me, this whole alpha thing is drowning me. I'm a fish that can't swim."

Rowan and I are more similar than I'd ever care to admit, I muse as I study him. An alpha who feels he cannot live up to his destiny and a hunter who cannot follow his legacy. Beneath my close attention, a blush burns his cheeks and his gaze retreats towards the window once more.

"Would you mind if I stay a while? I can see more of the woods from here," he says with a touch of strain to his voice.

I think, quite confidently, that Rowan can see plenty of the woods from every other window in the pack house, but I indulge him. "If you want."

We're both quiet for a while, staring out at the woods and letting time slip by without us.

When I stifle a yawn, something about his expression softens. I wouldn't have noticed if I my gaze hadn't drifted to study him. "You know," he muses, tapping the armrest, "If you want to sleep, I don't mind keeping watch on my own."

"Okay, that's too far," I mutter, though my voice lacks its usual bite when Rowan's approach gets too stifling. "Besides, didn't you just finish your patrol? Why are you still keeping watch?"

He hums, picking at a bit of thread on the fabric of the armchair. "Honestly, I don't want to be on my own right now, either."

I scowl at him. "When did I say I didn't want to be on my own?" I ask, wondering if I'm so easy to read.

A smile tugs at his lips. He looks out the window to hide it, but he's far too slow. "The fact there's not currently a knife in my neck says it for you."

"Touché," I grumble, falling back into the sheets with a relenting sigh. "Come near me and I won't be held accountable for my actions."

"Understood."

Maybe I'm tired, and that's why I feel safe enough to settle beneath the sheets and close my eyes. Maybe I'm hopeful enough to believe my threats and the ease with which I disposed of three werewolves today will be enough to keep Rowan from trying anything. Maybe I'll have to start accepting the fact he's had loads of chances to leave me for dead and he chooses to help me every single time.

Maybe I'll have to accept the fact he doesn't want to hurt me, and he's going to a hell of a lot of effort to keep others from doing the same.

In any case, I'm able to fall asleep in the same room as a werewolf, and my life has been tilted on its head.

The night is restful, and I wake feeling somewhat refreshed and ready to tackle the impossibility of my family being right here in Crescent Valley.

When I blearily peek over at the armchair, I find Rowan fast asleep. The hazy sunrise casts a serene glow over features softened with sleep. He's fetched a blanket, some time in the night, and it's gathered untidily around his hips. Even as the seconds drain away, he does not stir. He's simply lost to slumber, more vulnerable than ever before, and yet not a hint of unease touches his brow. I could take my knife and plunge it into his unsuspecting gut, and yet my nerves have never been so steady. My hands have never been so unwilling to feel the hilt of my knife.

Yep, I muse as I catch myself staring and hastily jerk my focus away, he's officially the strangest alpha werewolf I've ever met.