Curse of Ferreus

31 - Para Bellum

The woods are alive with sorrowful howls and barks— a mournful melody that raises the hairs on my arms and sends unease skittering along my nerves. And yet, my pace remains set and my hand steady as I hold a silver throwing blade against my fated's neck. His skin sizzles angrily beneath its harsh bite. I'm dressed in the dark uniform of my family once more, having retrieved it from the car I stole, and my weapons lie ready and willing in the belts strapped across my waist and torso, whispering my name, beckoning me to use them. It hasn't been that long since I wore the whole hunter ensemble, and yet the uniform doesn't seem to fit quite right anymore.

"River," Rowan manages, his voice trembling and tugging at my wavering willpower. "Please, you don't have to do this. There's another way. There has to be another—"

I hiss for him to be quiet, pressing the knife more firmly against his throat. Obediently, he falls quiet. I direct him forwards. Despite being at my mercy, and despite his hands wrenched behind his back with a rope that digs into his skin, his head is held high and his shoulders are set. An alpha werewolf to the very end, facing any threat with a strong front. I'm leading him towards certain death, and yet he does not cower.

"There is no other way," I tell him coldly before whistling for my family's attention. They're close, I know it. I can feel it on the air, the promise of death and destruction.

They've had their sights set on Rowan's territory from the beginning, and I suspect they've been inching closer. Waiting to see if I will deliver or if they have to storm in and take out the threat I couldn't.

I wonder when the chaos back at the pack house will resemble some form of order, and when the wolves will descend with fury in their golden eyes. Soon, I expect. Very soon. I've taken their alpha from right under their noses.

And besides, it will not take long for Beau, Morgan and Lachlan to round everyone up and tell them the plan.

Beneath the sorrowful howls, I catch a whistle in the breeze. A short, lilting melody I recognise at once. It rises and falls, bouncing off the trees and allowing me to find its origin— like my own, it is a Ferreus call. One meant for when we get separated. One that means, 'over here'.

I send one back— a short note equating to, 'I hear you'. It's ingrained so deep in my instincts that I do it without thinking and alter my course to head in the direction of their call. My family are here and I will not keep them waiting.

More than anything, I want to lessen my hold on Rowan and promise him that this will work out— but I know, for his own sake, I cannot.

The whistle came from just up ahead, but there's three of them, if they haven't already called on reinforcements. More could be lurking around any trunk, behind any fern, watching me approach. If I let them see hesitation, if I so much as relax my fist a fraction, or loosen the rope around his wrists, or whisper assurances, they will know something is wrong. They will know I'm planning something.

If I pretend I'm one of them for long enough, they'll let their guard down. I can work with that.

I told Rowan to trust me, and he gave me his wrists and allowed me to make him vulnerable— I won't let him down.

The rain has passed and we emerge onto a clearing with tree canopies stretching and grasping for one another beneath a cerulean sky dotted with clouds. There's figures concealed amongst the trees and bushes, studying us as we approach with curiosity.

I study them with equal intensity, sizing them up. Reinforcements, by the look of it. Hunters with crossbows and guns and twitching fingers and well-masked terror sparking behind their gazes. They shrink back a little as we advance, and I note with some twinge of satisfaction that they seem perhaps a little too on the nervous side. Good.