Curse of Ferreus

26 - A Show of Good Faith

I'm still reeling from the Haze, but Morgan's revelation grabs hold of every shred of my attention. Duskland is here.

"Fuck," Rowan says, tipping his head back and taking a deep, steadying breath. "I thought we agreed on—"

"I know," Morgan tells him with a wince. "But they're on their way. I just had a call from the werewolves on patrol at the border and they say they've asked for a meeting with you to deal with the hunter situation quickly— and they mean real fucking quickly."

No sooner has she finished that their gazes, as one, snap towards the window and the billowing woods beyond. I follow their attention. Trees glisten with a golden glow as the sun drifts lazily towards the mountains. It would be a picturesque view, if not for the group of people and wolves alike stalking from the forest trail, radiating strength. At the forefront, leading them on, is a man, a woman, and a younger girl. Duskland.

Horror rushes ice cold over my head; a cresting wave eager to drown me. Without conscious thought, my gaze darts to the knife on my bed, my fingers twitching to snatch it up, and it takes an effort to drag my focus away.

"Fuck, they're all here," Beau manages, his features slack with shock as he cards his fingers through his hair. "How did they get across town without—"

"My family must've let them pass," I mutter, hatred thickening my voice as my attention snags on the wolves prowling. "The more werewolves there are, the more threatened I'll be."

"The more likely you are to go bat-shit," he muses solemnly. "You're like a ticking time bomb. No offence."

"Beau," Morgan snaps, sending him a disapproving glare. She doesn't know how right he is.

I shrink a little against his onslaught, abruptly wary of myself, and he winces in apology.

I'm not sure what's worse— being backed into a trap or being aware of the cage door closing after me. I cannot leave because Rowan's pack are my allies and my family are out there, waiting for me. I cannot stay because I'll threaten the truce with Duskland by mere presence alone.

All I want is peace— and yet, every passing moment, I'm sinking further and further into an abyss.

"Come on," Rowan says, adjusting his torn shirt as though he has any hope of fixing it and starting for the door. "Let's get this over with."

He's still covered in scratches and blood stains mar his clothes, but he walks with a purpose and grace that almost has me following blindly after him, desperate to cling to the peace flooding from him.

But Beau and Lachlan don't move, frowns tugging at their features, as they glance between their alpha and me. Perhaps they're wondering if all of their hard work winning Duskland over will be ruined.

I deflate a little and sink onto the edge of the bed. "I know," I mutter. "I smell like silver."

Some problems, I muse unhappily, cannot be fixed with a hunter and a silver knife. Some problems need to be left alone. The tentative alliance with Duskland isn't my responsibility.

Rowan falters before me, catching my straying attention. As I peer up at him, his expression is inscrutable — all pinched brows and an uncomfortable twist to his full lips that I can't quite place — but he does something unexpected, as he always does.

An alpha werewolf would've never associated with a hunter in the first place. Now he knows I'm not just dangerous but uncontrollable, his duty to his pack should be all the reason he needs to kick me out. He's not at war with Duskland, he's at war with my family. There's no need for him to keep me around.