Curse of Ferreus

12 - A Silver Edge

My car won't start.

The fuel tank is running on empty and every time I turn the key, it makes an awful screeching noise as though there's a creature in the engine screaming for mercy.

I huff out an irritated sigh and melt against the seat, glaring through the windshield. This car got me to Crescent Valley and it's dying on me. Why the fuck does everything and everyone die around me? Am I cursed? Am I being dramatic? Probably.

"Leave it here and I'll have someone check it out," Rowan suggests from the passenger seat. I can feel the heat of his close attention on my face but I don't give him the satisfaction of looking at him. He's already too close for any semblance of comfort. "I'd have a look myself but I'm no good with cars."

"I can't leave it here," I argue, studying the bustling streets around us. Rowan had me park in the centre of town and I loathe him for it. I can't sleep in my car if there's people walking past all the time.

"I'm afraid you've got no choice, unless it's magically going to start working for you," he counters, infuriatingly calm. He's already opening his door and stepping back out into the crisp morning. "Come on. It's not far to walk."

Muttering darkly, I take the money from the glove compartment, shove open my door, and get out.

My home situation has gone from bad to worse. My day cannot get any more awful— and I'm about to spend it in the heart of Rowan's territory once again.

Learn their routines and their plans. Exploit their resources. Do your job.

As we walk through busy streets towards the woods and the trail leading to his home, a refined grace ripples from Rowan as he chats away on his phone, trying to organise someone to come and fix my car. The people we pass stare at him with hopeful, elated expressions — their attention passes right over me, thankfully — and he offers them all easy smiles and little nods of acknowledgement.

It's like walking with a celebrity and it does little to sway my sour mood.

"There we go," he says at last, ending the call and offering me a smile. "Matteo's going to look at it for you. He says he'll drop it off at the pack house if he can fix it. Problem solved."

If he can fix it.

Great.

I'm suddenly eager to wrestle back some form of control. I won't be indebted to a werewolf, and so I fall back on the familiar instinct of a hunter scoping out a new enemy.

"I need a map of the town and the forest, and I need you to tell me where exactly your borders are. And the Duskland borders," I tell him, wandering ahead and shoving my hands in my pockets.

He keeps pace with me. "Very well. We've got one in my office."

I catch sight of another group of townsfolk offering Rowan bright smiles and little waves, which he returns. In an undertone, once they're out of earshot, I ask, "Why the hell does everyone like you, here?"

He laughs to himself. "I've grown up helping my parents take care of this place. They're like family friends."

"And they know about this mess with Duskland?"

"They know enough to stay safe. Speaking of Duskland, what's your plan?"

"I need to know who I'm dealing with," I allow grudgingly. Rowan, for better or worse, is giving me information. Trust is one of those inconvenient things that works both ways. I need to give him something in exchange for his alliance— but I don't have to like it. "Where all the attacks are, if there's a pattern to them."