TW: Discussions of rape and abuse

Dray was trying to update his books on the wolfkin population in Wullferg forest when Caimdon burst into his office.

"Yes?" He didn't mind the interruption. As much as he usually enjoyed tracking family lines, this time he was only doing it to avoid Emily.

Caimdon held up a hand as he caught his breath. "There's a pack--on the Southern border."

Dray set down one of the logs. "Not one of ours?"

He shook his head. "No. Trivter is meeting them."

Dray started for the door, Caimdon trailing after him. "How many?"

"Fourteen maybe? Men, women, and pups. And"--he caught Dray's arm--"They're not in good shape."

Dread coiled in the pit of Dray's stomach. If it was sickness, if it was a plague... He hated himself for wishing they were refugees of a different kind. Rival packs, Karzac, Wraggoruls, even humans. At least he would be able to let them into the Keep.

☽

"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" Emily was standing over a giant cauldron she'd been scrubbing. The kitchen had been quiet since breakfast with only an occasional drifter. Then Caimdon had come in and disrupted everything. He and Rek were talking rapidly with several others listening in and having side conversations of their own. Of course, no one thought to speak in a language Emily could understand.

As soon as she spoke, all the conversation stopped dead.

"Oh." Rek frowned at her. "You might be an issue too."

"Excuse me?" She put down her scrub brush with more force than necessary.

"There's a pack of foriegn wolfkin about an hour away. Caimdon says they look pretty rough. There's a chance--well--" He pursed his lips, hunting for the right words.

Caimdon felt no need to word things delicately. "The last few times we had foriegn wolfkin show up was because they were running from humans and their close kin. They might hate you."

Emily's stomach twisted. Who knew humans were so universally hated. Much of Lower Halogaist viewed them the same way.

Rek pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thanks Caimdon." The dig went unnoticed. "Regardless of how they feel about humans, we need to pull together some rooms for them to stay in. If they're not carrying some deadly plague that will wipe out the entire forest."

"What do we do if they are?" Fisk asked, eyes wide with worry. He had been helping Emily clean up until Caimdon's arrival.

The room was silent for a moment, all eyes turning to Rek.

He shrugged, but didn't quite manage to make it look casual. "Depends on how bad of a sickness it is. But--" He raised his voice. "We don't have time to stand around and chat. You all know what to do. When we find out more, someone will let you know. Now get." He started shooing people towards the door.

Emily fought back her growing sense of unease. "Rek?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know what to do."

"Ah, right." He looked around at nothing, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Whoever this pack is, they're probably coming from quite a distance. So, food? Anything is fine."

Something is very wrong. She lowered her voice, not wanting to be overheard. "Why are you so worried? Is there something else going on?"

Rek paused before he spoke. "I don't remember a single time we had an unexpected visit from a pack that wasn't caused by something horrible. Packs hardly ever migrate. And when they do, they usually send scouting parties out first."

"And this pack didn't."

He shook his head. "All we can do at this point is prepare for the worst."

Emily smiled grimly. "Sounds like we need soup."

"Soup is always good."

☽

Dray, Rek, Halowick, and Kowser were all waiting in the courtyard when Trivter entered with the straggling pack behind him. Six men, two women, and three young children. A quick glance showed how thin and worn they all were. A few limped or held their arms funny, one of the men had a bandage over his right eye.

Dray met Trivter's gaze, searching for a sign. Can we let them in or not?

Trivter nodded ever so slightly.

A mountain of worry slid off Dray's shoulders. Rek and Halowick suddenly stood more at ease, the tension in their stances melting away. Kowser seemed unfazed, but he always was good at hiding his worry.

They all settled into the grand hall. Kowser took the end of one of the long tables to set up his paraphernalia and began to look over the Ruedvushka pack one by one, starting with the pups. The whole pack was edgy and timid, not meeting eyes and always drifting close together. As Tros spun their tale, all their behavior made sense.

Dray had heard that there was a rise in piracy in the southern countries of Falhergmore, but he hadn't realized how bad it had gotten.

"...This band of slavers, they made a deal with the nearby town--"

Dray interrupted Tros before Halowick could. "This town knew of the pack's existence?"

Tros rubbed the palm of his hand, looking at the floor. He nodded slowly. "Virn--the previous alpha--he was trying to form a business deal with some of the farmers there. He--" he stopped, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. "I don't wish to speak ill of the dead."

"He was a damn idiot." Halowick was leaning against a pillar, not looking at Tros, but at the little pup Kowser was trying to coax from under the table. She was no more than three and had fled under the table as soon as Kowser had tried to look at the burn on the side of her face.

Dray gave Halowick a disapproving look, which was received with unapologetic defiance. It wasn't that Dray disagreed with him, but now was not the time to critique the fallen.

Tros nodded slightly at Halowick's words, his gaze somewhere far away. "They came out of nowhere. The pack was pinned in on both sides. There was nowhere to run."

"Then how did you get away?" He tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, but he had to be suspicious, just in case--just in case.

Tros shrugged. "I suppose we were just in the right place at the right time." He met Dray's gaze, challenge in the depths of his eyes. "We didn't make it out unscathed. They set the forest on fire to smoke us out." He nodded towards the pup Kowser had finally extracted with the help of her mother. "Wilandra's not the only one who got burned."

Dray bowed his head--not apologetically. No, he wouldn't apologize for doing his job. He couldn't.

"Tell me about your journey here."

Dray listened for as long as he could bear it. With every word Tros spoke, Dray's heart grew heavier and his stomach knotted even tighter. A sickened sorrow ate away at his chest and left him hollow. And that voice, His voice rang loud in Dray's head.

These are the people you were supposed to protect.

How many times has this happened since you became alpha? Six? Seven?

And there's been more than just massacres from outsiders.

What about the feuds between packs? The infighting?

Your reign is marked by death.

"Dray?" Nyrell was standing in the doorway. "Is now a good time to bring out some food?"

Dray looked round at Tros and his pack, each one wearing a mask of weariness and sorrow. "Yes, go ahead. Tros, I will leave you to eat in peace. Halowick, Rek, and Kowser will see to anything you need and show you to your rooms." He stood and pushed his chair back into place.

Tros stood with him. He barely came up to Dray's shoulder. He clasped Dray's hand and forearm with both of his own.

"Thank you, Lord Raefling. For everything. You can never know how much it means to us."

Dray stared into Tros's dark brown eyes as a wave of cold washed over him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he fought back a growl.

A flash of red filled his vision, bringing a hunger for pain and death and punishment.

Dray pulled out of Tros's grasp, smiling slightly. "Of course. It's the least I could do after all you've been through." He turned and walked out of the room, trying to hide his shaking hands. A pressure was building behind his eyes, spots danced in his vision. The nausea he'd been fighting off for an hour was reaching a threatening level.

He went to the closest cabinet, one of the small sitting rooms scattered throughout the Keep, wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind him. Tremors shot through his body; his knees gave out. The pain in his head mounted, creeping into his jaws as the bones began to crack. Fingernails turned into claws, his back began to arch. A Shift, an uncontrolled, unwanted Shift flooded through him as his wolf fought to be free and obey the call to violence.

Dray had only felt like this once before, and that had been right before he'd killed his Fa.

As suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

The last traces of that foriegn magic faded from him. He was left on his hands and knees, panting and shaking.

The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of light to cut through the dark room. Dray didn't have to turn to tell who it was. Leng always smelled like pipe smoke and incense.

Dray pushed himself into a kneeling position, trying to steady his breathing. "Did you feel that too?"

Leng nodded and crouched by Dray's side. His red moon necklace, the symbol of The Wolf Himself dangled from the opening of his shirt. It was the only bit of his priestly array he still carried.

"Something's wrong with Tros?" It was supposed to be a statement, but came out more like a question.

Leng shrugged and held up his hands. What are we supposed to do about it?

Dray didn't have an answer.

☽

Emily was fuming in the kitchen. She'd been told to stay put. She'd been told someone would let her know what was going on. She'd been told someone would escort her to her room after the refugee pack was dealt with.

She'd been told all this hours ago.

She'd cooked quickly and had everything ready in truly record time. She'd cleaned up the whole kitchen on her own. And now she was waiting. Still. A few days ago and she would've just left. But now, fresh from isolation and bruises still healing... I can play nice for now.

Footsteps echoed from the hall. Emily looked up sharply, fragile excitement building within her. Too quickly it was followed by fear, a looming what if? What if it was--

Kowser slumped into the kitchen. His eyes were on the ground and he didn't see Emily as he came in.

Emily opened her mouth to speak but stopped to study him for a moment. A weight hung on his shoulders; his hands were balled into fists. Gold shone in his eyes as he made his way to a door in the back of the kitchen. He pulled it open and disappeared for a moment, returning with a bottle in hand. Only then he saw her.

"Oh. What are you--damn." He stopped. "How long have you been down here?"

"A while." She settled back in her seat and folded her hands on the table. "So... is it--"

"No. No, thank goodness; it's not a plague. Unless you consider violence a plague." He joined her at the table, sitting down heavily across from her. He broke the wax seal on the bottle and pulled the cork free. "You want some?"

She shook her head. "It's a little too early in the day for me." And I probably won't stop. At least she knew where it was stored now.

Kowser shrugged and took a swig.

"So what happened? Who are they?"

Kowser set the bottle down and started rolling the cork back and forth. It was a moment before he answered.

"It's a pack from Tierek. Southern coast. There's eleven of them, out of what used to be fifty. They were attacked by pirates."

"Oh." Emily drew her shoulders up. She'd grown up terrified of pirates and had only fed that terror by hunting down as many stories of them as she could.

"But that's not the worst part." Kowser was looking at something past Emily's shoulder, his eyes full, bright gold now. He took another drink.

"What?"

"There's funny bruising on the two women. One much worse than the other."

Ice filled Emily's stomach. "What kind of bruises?" She didn't need to ask, but she had to.

Kowser finally met her gaze. "The kind you don't get in an attack or while traveling. Some of them are fresh, too." He looked down at the table. "But there's not much we can do at this point. It's not our business how alpha's choose to discipline their wolves, to a certain extent."

"What?" The venom in her voice drew his gaze once more. "Isn't that Dray's entire job? Monitoring how other packs run things?"

"Yes, but he's not trying to be a dictator. Some Dire's are, and that brings its own set of problems."

"But--"

"Emily." Kowser took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "They've only been here for a few hours and we've barely spoken to them. We'll find out what's going on, I promise."

She wanted to argue, wanted to be loud and angry and actually do something. "Alright. But if you don't I'll skin you alive."

Kowser gave her a crooked smile, and the gold of his eyes faded away to be replaced by his usual merry green. "Is that so? I suppose you could do it; you're quite handy with a knife." His smile and gaze slid away: he still held her hand. "Emily--I've been meaning to apologize as well."

She frowned. "What for?"

He glanced up. "The hairpin. That was so stupid of me. I should've thought--"

"It's alright." It was Emily's turn to look away. "How could you have known?" She slid her hand out of his grasp and hugged her arms against her stomach. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to even think about it.

A heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of Kowser setting down the bottle once more.

"Emily?"

"Yes?" She tried not to sound annoyed, but she'd been glad for that moment of silence. Kowser's words always seemed to wrench some unwelcome emotion from her.

"I know your situation is--" he grimaced "--less than ideal, shall we say. But--" He paused, rolling the cork around once more. "But I want you to know, I am here to help. My help may not always be apparent, but trust me when I say I'm always doing something behind the scenes."

Ah, no. There it is. Hot tears pricked her eyes. But her chest didn't feel painfully tight this time. No, it was full to bursting, overflowing with a rush of gratefulness and affecting and relief.

Emily took a long, shaky breath before responding. "Kowser--" She choked on her words.

"It's alright." He came around the end of the table to sit next to her. He pulled her into a tight one-armed hug, tucking her head underneath his chin.

Emily closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing steady. I don't need to fall apart this early in the day.

"You're not the only one who knows what it's like to be trapped in Wullferg Keep." His voice was so low she barely heard it. "I'd be a sociopath if I didn't try to help you."

Emily tried to focus on something outside of herself, something to keep her from spiraling. He smells like a spice market. Sage was the overriding scent.

She pulled away and ran her hands over her face. She sighed, blinking hard. "Do you want to pick what we have for dinner? I didn't have anything particular in mind."

Kowser smiled. "How about apple pie? I can't help pick the apples for it but I can certainly gather recruits."

"Sounds perfect." Emily stood up. "Let's get them now."

"Alright." Kowser followed her out of the kitchen and didn't say anything else.

☽

Emily spent her afternoon picking apples with Caimdon, Fisk, and Rowan. It was odd to be outside again, after so long in the dark indoors. The sun was bright and clouds scudded across the sky, pushed ever onward by a cold wind that promised ever colder nights. The three wolfkin spent most of the time discussing the refugee pack, the Ruedvushka. Apparently they hadn't been given much of the story, other than that it was an attack.

"What if it was the Elinists?" Fisk was up at the top of a tree, carefully dropping apples down to Caimdon.

"What are the Elinists?" Caimdon barely glanced at the apple he caught.

"They're a cult that believes humans are the purest race and everyone else are just weird mutations. Apparently they go into towns and kill everyone who isn't--"

"It was pirates!" Emily had refrained from joining the conversation up until now, not wanting to imagine the details of the massacre. "Kowser said they were attacked by pirates, alright? Now can we please change the topic?"

Fisk peered down from the tree top. "Did he give the name of the ship?"

Caimdon was frowning at her. "When did you talk to Kow--ouch!"

"Sorry! I thought you were looking!"

Caimdon picked up the apple that had hit him on the head and added it to the basket. "When were you talking to Kowser?"

Emily took an apple from Rowan, who was up a different tree. "Just a bit ago. He's the one who suggested apple pie."

Caimdon gave a disgruntled growl.

"What?"

He shook his head and wouldn't look at her.

Rowan waved another apple at her. "He and Kowser don't really get along," he whispered.

"Why?" she mouthed.

Rowan glanced at Caimdon. "Not now." He handed her another apple. "You think we have enough? It's starting to look like rain."

Emily examined the baskets. "I think we should pick some more. I want to make sure there's more than enough pie for everyone."

"Fine. But if we get caught in the rain, I blame you."

☽

A/N: Sorry this is late! I need to start setting a reminder to publish chapters... anyhow this chapter is technically over 7k words long but I thought I should split it up for Wattpad. Sorry for the weird cut off!