Oath of the Hunter

15 - Torn Clarity

Focus fizzles to a pinprick as I glare at Darius. He cannot meet my eyes. Instead, he stares down at the mangled wolf, brows pinched, features drawn tight with unease.

In a blur of cinnamon and musk and security, Rowan is at my side. Attentive and alarmed, his golden gaze darts from me to the dark woods and back, as though equally keen to check me over and make sure that creature doesn't return.

Lachlan and Kay are with him, surveying the looming trees with steely focus.

I stash my knife in its belt, the furious hiss breaking through the tense silence that has descended over us.

Matteo falters between us and his former pack. His frame is wound tight with tension and when he speaks, his voice is strained. Brittle. Horrified. "Answer him, Darius. What the fuck was that?"

"That," the alpha manages, "was a lycanthrope."

"A... a what?"

"I told you it wasn't safe. I told you to leave because there's no saving us," Milo speaks up, his eyes wild with desperation. "Now you know why."

"You knew?" Rowan demands, his tone wavering with thinly-concealed horror. "That thing has been out here this whole time and you didn't think to warn us?"

Surrounded by the alert circle of my family, and with tentative crickets breaking the quiet, the smothering blanket of my Haze starts to fall away.

No, no. Don't fucking go anywhere. That creature's still out there. Come back.

Agony surges forwards; a tidal wave breaking all around me and stealing the strength from my limbs. I'm hurt. Badly.

I stifle a gasp of pain as my legs give way beneath me. My side and shoulder are on fire. I think of the hunters, of the bullets tearing through me, and then I think, oh fuck.

Within the instant, Rowan is right there with me, sliding a supportive arm around my back to hold me up. "I have you," he vows.

Lachlan manifests at my free side, his eyes alight with golden fear as he checks me over. "Shit, Riv, that's a lot of blood."

"I know," I gasp.

"No exit wounds," he adds when his exploration of my form leads him to my back. He turns to level the heat of his attention elsewhere— at Darius, I presume, but my world is rapidly closing in around me. "We need a doctor now. And then you're going to explain what the fuck is going on here."

"Milo, go and wake Jace. Tell him to come to the pack house and bring his supplies."

Things get a little blurry, after that. Rowan asks if I can walk. I nod, pain stealing my breath and strength, but I must falter because he lifts me carefully into his arms regardless.

Just as well. Focus is detaching, leaving me floating in a fog of dizziness.

Someone is barking orders— something about patrols and borders and cleaning up messes.

I'm vaguely aware that Rowan is moving fast, but I can't quite lift my head from his shoulder to check where we are. Assuring voices surround me. Stay awake. You're alright. We've got you.

Without my Haze to soften the agony, it lances liquid fire through my veins. I can heal quickly — much faster than a human whether I'm Hazing or not — but not if the bullets are lodged inside me. Not if they're stopping the process.

Someone's pressing down hard against my shoulder and side, a fierce pressure that wrenches a strangled cry from my throat. Through my rapidly darkening vision, I see a balled-up jumper stained crimson and unyielding hands holding it in place.