Curse of Ferreus

17 - Look Out

I blink, startled with his offer. Rowan is handing me the reins of the approach, and it's equally gratifying and daunting as hell.

A werewolf is asking for my advice, and the world feels as though it has tilted on its side.

I'm quick to haul up that familiar mask of cold fury. "We follow the blood trail and see where it leads. After that, we wait for reinforcements and split up in their territory. Get them flustered and panicking. Prove we can give as good as we take."

Rowan hums, absently rubbing at his jaw as he considers my plan. "And what of Gale?"

"Leave Gale to me. I'll get him on your land. They don't know we're working together— let them think they've got a war on two fronts and use it to make them vulnerable."

"You're going to find him on your own?" Lachlan asks, frowning.

"No, I'm going to make sure he finds me."

I shrug indifferently, but it's difficult to ignore the flighty panic that crosses over Rowan's features; a strike of lightning behind his gaze.

He doesn't like this, I realise. He's out of his comfort zone, handing the power of decision over to me. Perhaps it's because he's an alpha wolf and the prospect of taking orders is a foreign experience, or maybe he has just realised how brazen I am when it comes to planning.

Good. Working with werewolves isn't exactly easy for me, either. It's about time he started feeling uncomfortable, too.

Despite his clear unease, he doesn't raise any complaints and at his side, Lachlan nods without raising any more questions.

So I take my silver knife from its home at my ankle and stalk down the alley, following the blood trail. I hear the others follow after me, and the weighty assurance of the hilt in my firm grip helps to clear my head.

The streets are quiet as dawn gives way to a murky day. I can't see anyone wandering but I check every lane fervently, just in case. The blood trail is sporadic and lurching from wall to wall, sticking to back-alleys and cutting across streets to shadowed places. Avoiding witnesses, then. Or perhaps further confrontation.

Behind me, Rowan and Lachlan are silent, either making their own conclusions or eager not to distract me from mine. I shut them out regardless.

We disappear into another maze of alleys— this one home to a few stores tucked away from the high street with shutters down and locks still sturdy. Bunting stretches between the buildings crowding close. Blood is splattered on the cobbles.

"River," Rowan says, his voice rising on a soft warning.

I'm not sure what he's picking up on, but as I turn the next blind corner, I find myself upon it soon enough.

There's a blur and a figure crashes into me with a strained war cry. We go tumbling to the ground and I grapple for the upper hand, slashing and stabbing. A knife rushes at me— the next moment, I snap my assailant's wrist and send the weapon skittering across the cobbles.

Rowan is suddenly right there, his eyes flaming pools of gold, ripping the man away from me and shoving him against the wall. He crumples, clutching his side, and I see my knife has made a home in his abdomen.

The struggle is over as fast as it started, and the threat lies in a bloodied heap, gasping his way through a painful end.

Lachlan towers over him as Rowan pulls me up and checks me over. I scowl and shrug out of his hold, turning my focus to the werewolf.

He's in bad shape, and not entirely because of my knife. There's slashes tearing their way along his arms and neck and face and his clothes are all torn. His shoulder is dislocated, protruding and ghastly, his arm hanging limp and useless in his lap. His clothes are soaked in blood and there's a jagged hole in his thigh seeping with crimson. The source of the blood trail, I assume. Whatever hit him, he's made the mistake of ripping it out and condemning himself— unless the woman tore it out first. The silver in my knife blocks his unnatural healing capabilities— so as long as my knife stays where it is, he cannot heal. If something tore the artery in his thigh, he'll be dead in minutes. Even without my knife, an injury like that would take time to heal. Time he does not have.