Oath of the Hunter

10 - Bloodstained Reputation

The rest of dinner passes in a solemn and wary blur that reminds me all too well of life with the Ferreus hunters. The knife pressed against my ankle has never felt so comforting. Even though it's not silver, it feels good to have something familiar. Something I know how to wield within easy reach should Darius wish to test my patience until I snap.

He came very close, earlier, to seeing a side of me I have tried hard to bury over the past month. My Haze recognises a dormant threat in the alpha, its promise whispering assurances through my blood. I devote most of my focus to breathing through the mounting tension, to urging that stirring chaos within me to still. Darius may be an asshole, but he has a pack at his beck and call. If I fall, I'll kill him, and the rest of his pack will have no problem turning on me. They have the advantage through numbers alone.

My family wouldn't make it out alive if I make this pack my enemy, so for their sake, I bury the urge to fall back and let the Haze take care of the problem. He isn't the true threat. The Ferreus hunters are, and I need all the help I can get to take them down. If that means swallowing my rage at Darius' brutish excuse of communication, then so be it.

Once we're finished, Rowan offers to clear the table and, eager perhaps to escape the vines of awkwardness choking the rest of us, Kay rushes to help him. As they both disappear into the kitchen, Lachlan and Matteo remain by my side like stoic sentries.

Darius clears his throat, drawing my focus. "You wanted to see a map of our land?" he asks, breaking the quiet that has settled over us. To his credit, he looks a little guilty; his eyes flicker with a silent apology and his brows are drawn tight. Even his posture seems a little smaller than before— though whether that's because he's genuinely remorseful or because Imogen is close enough to snap at him, I'm not too sure.

I nod, and Imogen rises from her seat. "I'll show you," she tells me, offering a warm if timid smile before sending her fated a pointed glance. "You ought to find Milo, dear."

"Of course," Darius says, rising and disappearing through the hallway in search of the elusive gamma. If he had a tail in this form, I'm certain it would be tucked between his legs.

Lachlan, Matteo and I follow after Imogen as she leads us through a maze of hallways and into an office. It's small, like the rest of the house, and gives the impression of a detective's lair. The far wall is lined with shelves stocked full of old books and the scent of them permeates the air in a haze of dust, old vanilla, and coffee left to go cold. Before the bookshelves stands an ornate mahogany desk full to the brim with files, with one armchair behind it and two arranged before it. A large window on the adjacent wall looks out over the woods and set before it is a table housing a worn map.

It's this which I approach first, pulled along by instinct, and Lachlan shadows me dutifully.

Imogen strides for the desk and gathers the piles of paper up before shoving them into one of the drawers. With a heavy sigh, she takes a seat on one of the armchairs and stares hard down at her hands.

"How are you holding up?" Matteo asks softly. He perches on the armchair next to her, poised and ready to offer assurances.

"It's been tough," she admits, her voice holding a touch of strain. "Thank you for coming back, Matteo. And for bringing your friends. Darius didn't mean any harm— he knows as well as I do that we need your help. It's just... he's never called another alpha an ally before. You know what he's like. If he can't do something himself, he never asks for help."

"I thought it was strange of him to ask for my help," Matteo muses, his dark brows pinching. "I knew it must've been serious if he did, so we came as quickly as we could."

"I appreciate it." Imogen lifts her eyes — red-rimmed and glassy with unshed tears, until she blinks them back — and meets my gaze. "You're not what I expected."