Curse of Ferreus

18 - Tempting Fate

If Esme could see me now, she'd probably clip me round the ear and call me an idiot tempting fate, but she'd be smiling, and I'd give anything to see that smile one more time. The one that makes everything alright.

I walk down the middle of the street in the heart of Crescent Valley, covered in splatters of drying, sticky blood, twirling my knife, my gaze locked in front of me. I've given up on the notion of calling this town my home. With Rowan's lies about the fated bond between us, I'd be better off as far away from this place as possible. And yet, I do not run from a fight. It's not in my nature.

And so I vow to myself, one last job. Help Rowan and his pack take out Duskland. Make good on the alliance. Hope something fixes itself inside of me and I can raise my knife to him without hesitating again. Kill him and let his pack fall. Get the fuck out of Crescent Valley and find a new home away from damn werewolves. Easy enough.

In the meantime, I stalk down the street heading for the west side of Crescent Valley— the heart of Duskland's stolen land.

I'm finding Gale, if he doesn't find me first. After that, I'm not entirely certain what I'll do. I could kill him and fight my own way to the alpha pair. Right now, he's a threat. If I don't kill him, he'll hunt me down and exact his revenge for Seb. Better to tie up the loose end now. Then again, I could throw this alliance aside, steal a car and leave without getting any more blood on my hands.

But I cannot. Killing werewolves is my duty. Fighting them alone is foolish and reckless and I was taught better than that.

I was also taught better than to stoop so low as to work with werewolves, and yet here I am.

Esme's probably cackling, by now. Clutching her stomach and rolling on the ground and wiping tears from her eyes.

All around, people cross over to avoid my path, keeping their gazes averted and pretending they don't see me. I'm making absolutely no attempt to hide myself or my weapons. Children point at me and their parents clutch them close and tug them away down side streets. With any luck, word will reach the heart of Duskland soon enough. There's a crazed hunter covered in blood, come quickly. Preferably bring Gale.

I find myself faltering outside of Laura's bookstore, my thoughts drifting as I gaze absently through the front window. She was the first one to give me a chance here, letting me work for her and giving me some money to help me get by. Granted, she turned out to be a werewolf and her brother was a bit of a prick before I shoved my silver knife into him, but still.

Somehow I doubt her manners will extend so far for me a second time.

My own reflection gazes back at me, distorted with piles of books but there all the same. Silver eyes gleaming after the little moment I had with that Duskland werewolf, dark hair tousled and windswept, sharp features smeared with blood. I look a haggard mess, which speaks volumes about my mental state.

Movement inside the store catches my attention, and my gaze shifts to peer beyond the books.

Laura's in there, hugging herself and pacing with mascara streaks staining her cheeks like twin strikes of dark lightning. She's not alone, either. There's a man with her, bracing his hands on the counter. He looks as shitty as I feel; eyes bleak, features slack, posture deflated. He looks to be around my age — nowhere near old enough to be Laura's father, I muse, and she never mentioned having another brother — and he pushes himself off the counter to embrace her. He holds her close and I see his mouth moving, offering condolences or promises. His eyes shimmer with golden flecks and tears.

A few others emerge from amidst the maze of shelves, dressed in dark cargo clothes with frowns pinching their stony features. They cross their arms bulging with muscle and survey the aisles around them for invisible threats.