Curse of Ferreus

22 - Common Enemy

Rowan's office, that morning, is a maelstrom of chaos. There's werewolves coming and going, asking Rowan all sorts of questions about supply runs and secondary hideouts and distractions for the younger wolves. To his credit, even after his admission of feeling out of place last night, he settles like a king donning his crown and falling onto his throne, directing with ease and care. It's all for the benefit of those he speaks to, I realise, when everyone seems to come into the room radiating apprehension and leave looking a whole lot calmer.

I stand with my back to one of the grand windows, arms crossed, brows tugged into an idle frown as I try and breathe through the discomfort of having so many werewolves so close to me. I cannot help my nature, and as more and more people appear to offer advice and comments and plans, unease chips away at my fragile patience. They are my allies, now, but I cannot simply switch off the instincts that were drilled into me. A few days ago, they were my enemies. I cannot forget that so easily.

Lachlan's on the phone, pacing back and forth and weaving through helpful crowds. As far as I can gather, he's checking in with Matteo for news of Duskland and hunters, but with little success. Beau stands at Rowan's side at the head of the table, surrounded by werewolves all pointing at the map and exclaiming routes to Duskland and potential plans for taking out hunters (and fervently avoiding my scowl). They're both listening politely, but from the pinch to their features and the way their gazes never shift from the map despite many fingers pointing out distractions, I can tell they're busy making up their own conclusions. Morgan is with a group of werewolves near the door, organising patrol schedules. Voices talk over one another, desperate for focus. There's another knock on the open door, another curious face peeking into the room, another suggestion.

In short, I cannot hear myself think, let alone dare get close enough to the table to make some plans of my own. The scowl cuts into my features with such ferocity I wonder if it could become permanent. I spend my time staring at the latch on the window, fighting against the overpowering urge to unlock it and climb out and find somewhere quiet.

Right as I'm running out of slack on my patience, Rowan sharply calls for order.

"I appreciate your suggestions, and we will look into all avenues, but for now I think it best if we switch out the patrols."

In other words, I muse, get lost.

As people trickle from the room, he meets my gaze and offers a little wince of apology. I roll my eyes and look out the window once more. Alert and watchful.

Morgan closes the door after the last werewolf with a satisfying click, and the room descends into some much-needed peace and quiet.

Beau sighs, collapsing onto an armchair and rubbing at his temples. He looks as ruffled as I feel. "What did Matteo say? I couldn't hear myself think, just then."

"He says Duskland has gone quiet," Lachlan says. He braces his hands on the back of another armchair, his gaze sweeping from one window to another. His methods mean he's scrutinising me as much as the view. "Not exactly surprising. They've always hated dealing with hunters."

The others make noises of assent and understanding, and they all offer me grimaces of apology.

My brows tug together. "Don't you all?"

"Well, none of us are fond of being slaughtered," Morgan tells me, perching on the armrest of Beau's chair and crossing her arms. I shrug concedingly. "But Duskland had a... let's just say a bad experience with hunters a few years back. Been traumatised ever since."

"Hunters cornered Elsie and almost beheaded her with a silver scimitar," Rowan tells me, his features twisting with something close to remorse. I raise my brows with mild admiration— after all, I may be indebted to werewolves, but I have to appreciate the brazen approach of a fellow hunter. "The scar never fully healed. I suspect Duskland will wait out the hunter threat with their heads in the sand until your family either move on or kill us for them."