Oath of the Hunter

2 - Devotion

Rowan

All my life, I've heard stories of fated mates. Growing up in a pack of werewolves lends some truth to fairy tales, so my parents — the former alpha and luna — would have to get creative at bedtime when I was a kid. Some of my earliest, fondest memories were the times my dad bundled me up in an old, worn blanket I'd had since I was a baby and set me down in his lap to tell me the story of how he met my mum. It was a story I'd heard thousands of times, but I never grew tired of it. It never lost its magic no matter how many times it was spoken.

They kept the magic of their bond alive in every lingering look of devotion and in every word unspoken.

My mum would sit with us, ruffle my hair, and listen with a soft smile on her lips as the story weaved before us on a golden ribbon. She'd stare at my dad as though he was the sunrise after an endless night; he'd stare at her as though she was a stunning sunset he never wanted to take his eyes off.

I'd fall asleep like that, despite my best intentions to stay awake; wrapped up in their arms, warm and safe and with their devotion seeping like silk through the air.

You'll find your fated one day, Rowan, and then you'll see there's nothing as powerful and sacred in this world as the moment you find them.

I found him, in the end, but it had not been devotion at first sight. It had been a chaotic blur of slashes and grunts and gasps and my fated in the middle of it all, covered in blood, twirling a knife, his eyes electric with fury.

I hadn't known then, of course. The scent of silver and blood overpowered everything else. I'd looked into those eyes of his and saw a brittle, cracking mask. He was alone and injured and, though he tried hard to hide it, afraid. I couldn't leave him, hunter or not.

It was later, when I brought him home, once he'd showered and the distracting fog was gone, that I caught his scent and I knew.

It seemed impossible — an alpha werewolf having a hunter as his fated — but I looked in his eyes and something deep within me fell into place. Aligned. Then I felt that devotion, as immovable and ever-present as the mountains watching over my home.

He was wary, mistrusting, and downright terrifying when he wanted to be, but I'd known in that moment I couldn't lose him. I couldn't let him slip through my fingers.

Hence the truce, which formed an alliance, which formed something deeper, more trusting, and utterly perfect.

Amidst the rivalry with Duskland and his hunter relatives hellbent on revenge, we found something powerful and sacred indeed. A force to be reckoned with.

We have fought hard for this peace, tackling rivals and hunters and Hazes, which is why I cannot stand seeing him as he is now.

I know the thought of the remaining Ferreus hunters out there is worrying him. I know he's not one to bury his head in the sand and ignore a problem until it is upon him. I cannot stand the thought of him rushing off to tackle the demons of his past on his own.

Whatever he chooses, I will be by his side.

He's fighting, again. I'd woken to an empty bed and found him out here, in the training circle, twirling and slashing and tearing apart invisible foes. Even as dawn gives way to a hazy morning, he does not slow. Unlike yesterday, when Beau fancied a challenge, he fights on his own. Indecisive and eager to do something he can control.

I'm braced against the porch fence, watching from a short distance, but I don't disturb him. Nor do I announce myself. He knows I'm here because it is in his nature to be alert and aware of his surroundings. I lose myself a little to admiration. Watching him fight is like watching unruly ocean waves bear down on a coastline, furious and unyielding and remarkably beautiful.