The moon was still bright in the sky, and I was thankful for it as Andrew drove me along the mountain road. A long drive for such short notice, Andrew had neither complained nor said anything the hours we’d been on the road. I was happy for it, as it gave me more time to watch the passing sights and take them all in for a final time.

  Eventually the flat horizon turned to mountains, and I was still surprised we’d roamed so far all those years ago as I saw Andrew’s phone saying we were only twenty minutes out.

  Twenty minutes until we were face to face, and who knew how long after that.

  For probably the first time in my life I wished for twenty minutes to become twenty hours, and instead it felt closer to two minutes. We pulled onto the first few feet of the paved driveway through the woods, and I told Andrew to stop as I unbuckled and climbed out of his truck.

  I was ready to walk away just like that when the man shot his arm out, grabbing my wrist as he asked, “are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? I don’t mind, I mean I want you to be-”

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” I said, forcing a smile as I checked my phone, seeing we made it with thirty minutes to spare. We had no signal here, and I was glad for it as I saw that Tara had tried calling probably right before anything had stopped going through. It’d be better this way, no interruptions. “I promise, Andy, there’s not going to be any fighting.”

  Andrew nodded, and I could tell he was forcing his smile as he let go of my arm and told me, “I’ll wait for you, cannibal.”

  The nickname for some reason made me smile, and I nodded as I dropped my phone on the passenger seat and left. It was better I didn’t have it on me in case there was a signal at the cabin. If there was, Tara might have called, and I might have had to convince myself all over again to go through with this.

  The cabin was as we had left it, and I had a feeling the family that owned it had never brought themselves to return after we left. There were a few broken windows, some graffiti, and on the air a smell of blood I knew only I could pick up. A massacre had happened here, and I paused for a moment to collect myself as I tried getting the will to enter.

  When eventually I did, I was greeted by a sight that had remained relatively unchanged from how we left it. A sectional couch by the fireplace, an ornate carpet, a musket taken off a mount and sat against a wall, even a table with ceramic ducks lined up on it. The door to the kitchen still remained, currently closed, and the closet door was still broken on the hinges where we’d torn through.

  There was still a spiral staircase leading to the second floor, with a bridge-like structure along one wall, that I looked at with a mix of emotions. The railing was broken in one spot, jagged and shattered from where I’d thrown Alpha through when he’d pushed too far. The sight haunted me, even as I walked up the staircase and through to the bedrooms, to the room Hunter and I had shared.

  The sheets had been stripped off the bed, probably as evidence, and the mattress was bare except for a few claw marks in its surface. I wondered how they had explained that one, and I remembered how nice those weeks had seemed at the time. We’d never been closer, we’d gotten the tattoos that marked our backs, Hunter and I had gotten marginally more privacy than normal. He’d given me my locket, we talked about visiting Martin together, we had had everything.

  I wasn’t even sure I’d been happy or not, and I never would.

  I was lost in thought when I heard a squeaking cry from the closet, and my heart dropped as I walked towards it. Memories flooded back to me: opening the door, killing the girl we’d found, and as I remembered it I knew exactly what I would find. My hands, shaking and unsure, reached out, slowly prying open the door as it revealed a crying woman there. White as Calliope she was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, covered in a hundred bright red claws and bites that marked her death, chunks of her limbs, torso, and cheek missing.

  She took a moment to realize I was there, and when she did she looked at me in horror, her voice shaking as she asked, “can you see me?”

  “Yeah,” I said, furrowing my brow as I slowly sat on the ground across from her, “yeah, I can see ghosts, you can make the joke if you want.”

  She nodded, not responding for a moment as she looked down at her hands, seeming to process what I said. I couldn’t blame her, ghosts were all different in terms of power and how they acted. Some like Calliope knew everything, remembered dying, and could interact with others fine and be seen as they wanted. Some didn’t know anything and just reenacted their death eternally not knowing why, and did nothing else, and others were somewhere between

  “How did I die?” the woman asked, gulping nervously as she looked up at me.

  This was a delicate situation, and I didn’t particularly care as I answered, “I killed you.”

  She nodded, and surprised me more than a little as she merely asked, “why did you do that?”

  Well, a bit out of it, but a lot more lucid than some ghosts.

  “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head, “I did a lot then that I don’t know why I did past the fact I enjoyed it, and I shouldn’t have.”

  The woman nodded, and she seemed to either not care about the answer or be happy with it as she continued on, “my necklace wasn’t with my body. It was my grandma’s necklace.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I’m sorry, one of us probably grabbed it,” I said, slowly rising to my feet, “I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help. I’ll probably be joining you here soon enough.”

  “My name is Rose Palmer,” she said, looking up almost desperately as she tried grabbing my leg, only succeeding in sending a chill up my spine, “can you give it to my sister? The oldest daughter is supposed to have it. It’s shaped like a heart and has a purple stone set in it.”

  I was about to brush off her concerns, tell her to fuck off, tell her it was impossible. Instead I nodded, and comforted her, “if I get the chance.”

  She thanked me, she fucking thanked me, and I tried ignoring the fact as I turned on my heels and left. I walked back onto the bridge, and looked down to see a familiar man standing in the main part of the room.

  Huntsman, sat on a couch, dressed much as he’d been when I’d seen him but a week ago now. His face surprisingly neutral, he carried himself with a dull air even as he slowly looked up to see me.

  “I made tea,” my soon to be killer offered, gesturing to a large glass pitcher of iced tea, with two filled cups beside it, climbing down the steps as I tried to keep my eyes on him at all times. He gave a smile I would have almost thought of as sad, and observed, “you got my message, Bloodhound.”

  “Yeah, I did,” I agreed, gulping as I readied myself, closing my eyes to try and hold in the tears, hiding the fear, “I choose the weapons of claw and fang.”

  Huntsman nodded, sipping one of the cups as he answered, “I guess we won’t be having a drink beforehand,” and rose to his feet. Taking slow steps back, moving to where he stood about ten feet away from me, he started to stretch and ready himself. I took my own position, we stared each other down, and he said, “to my death or satisfaction.”

  “Arm ourselves,” I agreed, falling to my knees as I bowed my head and waited.

  For a moment it sounded like Huntsman began readying himself to transform, before there was a silence. A long moment of hanging nothing before he seemed to realize I didn’t mean to transform and he asked, “is something the issue.”

  “Your son deserved to die,” I said, wanting him to know that was the fucking truth, “but it doesn’t mean I deserve to live. I killed a pack mate, I killed someone I thought of as a friend, I can’t even act human and keep hurting people I care about. For all I know if you get killed one of your pack mates will kill Martin anyway and…it’s easier for everyone if I’m out of the picture.”

  There was a new long silence, a twisting feeling from it until finally the father asked, “may I ask a question before I finish this duel then.”

  He couldn’t let my death be quick, and I felt disgusted even as I told him, “just ask whatever speeds this up.”

  “I heard your conversation with Wounder. I…I asked around, and while your mentor Chaser didn’t know the story she…indicated I might have been missing some details,” he started, almost seeming ashamed of himself as he told the story, like it was his own fucking trauma, “I want to…I need to know what happened…as a father, I need to know if I truly failed as bad as it seems.

  I nodded, my head swirling as I looked up to him, trying to think of what to say as my heart raced and claws begged to grow. The wolf wanted to come out and was too scared to as I told him, “you’re not going to believe me.”

  “I don’t know if that matters,” Huntsman said, turning to me with a twisted look I couldn’t describe, “you have a son. I think even one such as you, distant as you’re forced to be, knows how you want a child to be better than you. I assume you would not wish the Purists on Martin, as I did not wish betrayal on my son, but... I need to know if I did go so wrong with him.”

  I nodded, and taking a moment to gather the words I answered, “your son was a monster, and I was too used to monsters to notice. He wanted everything, and he wanted everything to go his way. He was jealous, never was assigned a mate. He…he tried claiming the Right of the Pack a few times, at first he seemed like he was joking and then things got worse. He kept trying to grab at me and order me around those last few months. He…he tried to force things once, and we got rid of him before it got any worse.”

  The man nodded, and the room fell into a low silence, nothing said as time seemed to stand still. Neither of us moved, neither of us spoke, and I wasn’t even sure what either of us could be said to be thinking. My thoughts were a muddled mess, trying to remain calm and trying to not break down crying or give into the urge to attack him.

  “It’s not important anymore,” I finally said, shifting in my spot as I tried to not panic, “I’m ready to die.”

  “I know,” the man said, nodding as he turned to face me, “but I can’t accept that.”

  I leapt to my feet, tears streaming down my face by the time I was near him. I begged, “you can’t hurt Martin, I’m ready to die if it’ll mean this duel is over”

  “My family has hurt you enough,” Huntsman whispered, keeping his eyes away from me with a look that might have been shame, “This duel has been to my satisfaction, and I’ve lost it all the same, but you are free to go as the victor.”

  I nodded, and I glanced over to the door for a long moment, ready to break out running away from him. Instead, I gathered myself, needing to know the important point here, “you won’t hurt Martin?”

  “My men will be told to stand down,” the man said, nodding thoughtfully, “I can’t make up for what my family’s done, but I can ease the pain I myself have caused. Please, leave and walk with the gods at your back and peace in your heart.”

  I nodded, not sure what else to do, and I walked off out the door with my feet stumbling along the path. Faster than I wanted I found myself alone, halfway into the woods, and I collapsed to the ground as I muffled a scream into my arms. Tears streamed down my face and I sobbed, clawing at the mud as I tried to relax for even a moment, only finding the built up fear that begged to be released all at once.

  The tears fell for a while, and I wasn’t even sure why they existed as I felt my hands shake and my vision blurred. All I knew was they streamed until they didn’t, and when they stopped I stayed there limp for a long while.

  When eventually I could move again I forced myself to my feet, and started numbly down the path. Andrew’s truck was still there, and the man stood outside playing a game on his phone. He didn’t look up until I was opening the passenger door, and when he did he let out a brief greeting as he got behind the wheel.

  “Settle everything?” he asked, smiling as he struggled to start up the old truck.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said, the words not seeming real as I leaned against the door, “how far are we from home?”

  “Three and a half hours?” the man said, shrugging at the thought, “I don’t mind the drive. I slept in late today anyway, and we can stop and get some coffee. You hungry? I didn’t see you eat dinner.”

  I nodded, his words sounding like they came through a veil as I told him, “that sounds nice. I haven't had much to eat since… Saturday night?”

  Andrew nodded, and we started back down the road, driving in an understanding silence about what had happened. He didn’t ask me about what this had been for, or the mud on my body. I didn’t ask him why his shirt was backwards, like he’d put it on in a hurry, or why there were brambles in his hair.

  We had an understanding, and neither of us needed to say that aloud to let it be known.