30 - Si Vis Pacem

Our luck runs dry as we find the others arranged in a careful display of indifference in the kitchen.

Lachlan is sat at the dining table with documents strewn about him. He appears lost to his work, brows furrowed, and scratches down some notes. Morgan's with him, only she seems entirely focused on rearranging the vials of her healing kit.

They're most definitely avoiding our gazes on purpose, but at least they're not quite so coy as Beau.

The beta is lounged at the island, a cup of coffee in his hand and a nascent smile on his face. Mischief twinkles in his eyes.

"Fun night?" he asks innocently. The others bite their lips and keep their gazes down, fighting a losing battle with their facial features.

I cross my arms as Rowan heads for the kitchen. "I know all the places to cut to make you bleed out slowly and painfully," I remind Beau, my voice like a knife glinting in the dark.

His smile stretches to a grin. "Is this your version of talking dirty, stray?"

The glare I send him is scathing.

Rowan quickly intervenes before I can set his beta on fire through gaze alone. He turns to face them holding a box of cereal, which makes his command seem a little less commanding than I think he's going for. "Get it out of your systems, because we need to figure out what to do about the hunters. Go on. Fawn. You have five seconds."

At once, all three of them explode with exclamations and coos and adoring looks that make me want to recoil but, true to his word, Rowan cuts them off right on time.

"Enough!" he says, making up two bowls and pouring a generous serving of milk in each. "We're not taking questions and if you so much as smirk at us, I'm going to let River rain hellfire on you all and I'll cheer him on. We're focusing on the hunters, and then we can talk about the need to ask permission before entering a bedroom. Understood?"

They're obedient and quiet for a grand total of ten seconds— just long enough for Rowan and me to settle at the table with our breakfast.

"You should've locked the door," Beau quips. "Or put a sock on the handle, or something. A bit of a warning."

To my defence, I'd planned to pack up and leave, last night. There was no way I could've anticipated our conversation turning into... well, that.

"We'll remember for next time," I dismiss, trying fervently to hide a smile as Rowan's controlled exterior cracks and he almost chokes on his cereal.

He composes himself soon enough, but by then the others are already grinning.

I find my gaze drifting to the window and the clearing beyond, distorted behind thick raindrops. In the wash of morning light, it looks deceptively quaint and beautiful, with trees swaying in an idle breeze and birds flitting between branches, hiding from the rain. Streams of eager sunlight filter through the leaves, casting speckled, honeyed beams across the forest floor.

There's no sign of the bodies, and the rain is washing away all the blood.

My appetite is abruptly gone, but I force myself to eat— I'll need energy for whatever comes next.

"What happens now they're dead? How does this work?" I wonder aloud.

Rowan sent some werewolves to claim back their land, last night. I can't even appreciate the weight of Duskland being lifted off my shoulders, because my family are still lurking out there somewhere. They're only dead because I fell into a Haze.

Lachlan stretches back against his seat and tells me, "They brought their strongest, yesterday. No doubt Alessandro had something up his sleeve— and if he didn't wrestle an advantage over you, he would've found another way. I know it probably doesn't seem like it, but you saved our asses. Now they're gone, I doubt the wolves that are left will rally and come looking for revenge. There's still the hunters for them to worry about and, without their leaders, they have no system. No order. We've already had a few find their way here during the night, asking for sanctuary. The rest will flee and find new homes, new packs, new lives."

"You'll let them in, no questions asked?" I ask with a frown.

"We let you in, didn't we?" Beau reminds me, but his voice is kind.

Morgan shrugs. "Without their family, they have no home. If they're willing to put aside their pride and ask for help, then we'll put aside our feud and accept them. Such is our way."

The hunter in me wants to be distrusting and paranoid and claim they have an ulterior motive and don't deserve sanctuary— and yet, where would I be if Rowan hadn't extended his kindness to me? If he'd pinned me as a liability and left me in that alley, I would've had to face my family alone on top of two werewolf packs. I'd be dead.

I didn't want to admit it, back then, but he saved my life in more ways than one.

I find myself staring at him, caught in open admiration of his selflessness and his attentiveness and the way his eyes light up when he looks at me. He's an alpha werewolf that let me get close enough to see every shade of him, to kiss the noises rushing from him and to lie with him in the aftermath of our bliss. I'm so used to acting alone, to treading carefully and watching my own back because I knew my own family would turn on me in an instant. Accepting Rowan's help has been a long and rocky journey, and last night I almost turned my back on him— and yet, he reminded me exactly what it meant to trust in another.

I don't have to shoulder the burden of my family on my own. It's a foreign, strange concept, but he's taught me the value of the trust between us even despite the Haze lurking on our peripheral.

Perhaps he still thinks there's a cure for the shadowy silver in my veins. I'm so torn between keeping him close and keeping him safe that I'll let him hold onto that hope if only so I can believe there's a chance everything will be okay between us.

"By the Goddess, get a room and preferably lock it," Beau grumbles, startling me from my reverie.

Rowan has been equally lost in my gaze, and he startles as well and glares at his beta.

He's smiling despite his complaints, arms crossed and looking altogether too pleased with himself even under the shared heat of my and Rowan's frustrations. "I'm serious. Do you two need a moment in private, or...?"

Morgan shoves him none too gently. "Leave them alone. It's adorable."

Lachlan rolls his eyes with a smile tugging at his lips, but he takes pity on us and rises. "Let's get some plans underway. The sooner the hunters are gone, the sooner you two lovebirds can get back to gazing longingly at each other."

I cut him a glare but we all rise and follow obediently after him as he leads the way to Rowan's office. Perhaps the other members of the pack are out on patrol, claiming back their stolen land, or hiding in the nearby cottages from me in case I snap again, because the hallways are quiet and empty and there's no one to disturb us, mercifully.

I find my pace faltering to match Morgan's, as Beau races ahead to torment Rowan. She seems fine and healed, but still...

"I'm sorry I hurt you," I tell her, studying her features closely for some echo of the pain I caused.

She offers me a little smile. "Beau told me about it— how you have no choice. It's fine. I've had worse out in the training ring, believe me," she tells me. As I frown a little, she forges on, "You were holding yourself back. I could see it in your eyes."

"Not very well," I counter, thinking of the way I'd shoved them. The desire to break through their wall to get to Elsie no matter what.

"And yet, we're all still here. That has to mean something," she argues lightly.

I hum, considering. The Haze turns my eyes into something like a cold, empty pool of liquid silver, encompassing not just the iris, but the pupil and sclera, too. I've had that clinical, vacant stare directed on me before, when my family would let their Haze overtake them and they either commanded our fights or awaited instructions like foot soldiers from hell eager to wreak havoc. Morgan has seen some echo of resistance stirring behind that empty mirror, and it does a lot to reassure me. If I fall again, I have to fight it from within and hope the people I've come to care for can fight it with me.

When we get to Rowan's office, and Lachlan closes the door behind us, he asks me a simple question.

"River, what's our best strategy?"

A simple question, but without a simple answer. All my life, I've been on the offensive side of the war. I've been the one with the silver, planning ambushes on unsuspecting wolves. It feels strange to be thinking up plans that go against my very nature and everything I've ever known.

"I don't know," I admit, wandering over to the map strewn across the table and helping Rowan remove the red string detailing the boundaries of a fallen rival pack.

Beau approaches to collapse onto an armchair, reclining like the lord of a manor and appraising me. "Alright, then. New angle— what mistakes have other packs made when you fought them? What sealed their fate?"

I hold his gaze and consider. "They tried to run, but we always planned ahead. They'd run exactly where we wanted them to. They'd be so desperate to avenge their fallen that they'd get in each other's way trying to reach the one responsible. If they had a fighting technique, it would fall to primal instinct in all the chaos. There was no order to it, and we could anticipate their moves because we knew they would be reckless and desperate."

If any of them are disgusted as I recount the details of killing werewolves who were — looking back — most likely just as innocent as them, they do not show it. They fall onto chairs and their features pinch as they consider an approach to catch the always on-guard by surprise.

"We can ask our sentries to do some digging— pun intended," Beau suggests. "See where they're hiding and ambush them before they do the same to us. They know where we are, I'm guessing, and that makes us sitting ducks."

"I agree," Rowan muses, frowning absently as he rubs at the stubble on his jaw. "They know where we are because River says there's moles in the police— which means we're on our own with this one. I'd like to take the fight to neutral ground, if we can, or at the very least far from this place. This is our heart, and I want to keep everyone who cannot — or chooses not to — fight as safe as possible."

"They've essentially sent me into the heart of your pack with some touchy explosives," I remind them. "You can bet they're focusing their attentions here. If we try and move people into the city to keep them safe, they'll be waiting. And if we try and leave, they'll be on us faster than you can say 'aconite'. Remember the whole mess with Gale? None of you heard them coming. They're good at their jobs."

"Will they expect you to Haze and kill us all?" Lachlan asks. "Is that their plan, do you think?"

I shrug. "They told me to kill Rowan— and whoever else got in my way, I suppose. They said if I did that, I could join their ranks, but I... I don't want that, and I don't think they meant it. I guess they're hoping you'll all kill me in the chaos to save them the trouble. The more time we leave it, the more desperate they'll be to force me into a Haze I can't snap out of."

"That's my 'lie low and wait for them to get bored' plan out the window," Beau says with a heavy sigh.

It feels strange only guessing at the tactics of my family instead of being by their side as they discuss plans. They've sent me here with two options; either I'll snap and kill Rowan and damn myself to the mercy of werewolves, or I'll fight it and give them a reason to finish me and the pack off in one fell swoop.

So, I muse privately as the others toss around ideas, it stands to reason the only way to catch them off-guard is to make them believe their efforts have been successful.

The first scraps of a plan start to solidify in my mind, fitting together and galvanising into something useful— something sharp and deadly.

It's one hell of a risk and reckless as hell, but I'm certain it'll be our best chance. Our only chance, before they bear down on us in a storm of silver and rage, ready to finish the job I couldn't. I need to do something that they won't expect. Something to gain their trust.

I blurt out without thinking, "Beau had a good idea."

He beams as though I've just offered him access to all the world's riches. "I always do. I'm the genius in this family," he says, crossing his arms and leaning back as though his work is done. "See, our stray's the only one to recognise my talents—"

"Not your shitty 'lie low and wait' idea," I dismiss at once. "The other one."

"Ouch."

"What other one?" Morgan asks, leaning forwards with an intrigued spark in her eyes.

Is there a way for us to get some sort of advantage over them? Maybe pretend you're a hostage?

I catch Rowan's curious gaze. "I don't think you'll like it, but you'll just have to trust me."

He frowns and, when realisation dawns, he's at once shaking his head. "Absolutely not. You're not being our bait again."

I wince a little. "Actually..."