Chapter 9
Alaric Dawnsworn
I wake up to shouting. Not unusual.
What is unusual is that the shouting isn’t directed at me. For once.
I sit up in bed and listen. Father’s voice echoes from downstairs.
“…I’m telling you, something was out there.”
Mother sighs.
“Soren, it was probably a deer.”
“A deer doesn’t leave tracks like that.”
Well. Now I’m curious.
I quickly throw on a shirt and hurry downstairs.
Valka is already sitting at the kitchen table, shoving bread into her mouth while listening to the argument like it’s entertainment.
Which, to be fair, it kind of is.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning.”
I look toward my parents.
Father stands by the front door, still wearing his coat. Snow clings to his boots.
Mother is trying—and failing—to calm him down.
“What happened?” I ask.
Father immediately turns toward me.
“There were footprints outside.”
My stomach drops.
“What kind of footprints?”
“Human.”
Oh.
I almost relax. Almost. Then Father continues.
“Too large to belong to anyone in the village.”
Never mind. My stomach drops again.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
After breakfast, I head outside. Purely because I’m curious.
Definitely not because I’m terrified the footprints belong to a certain werewolf.
The moment I step into the snow, I see them.
Tracks.
A trail of footprints circles part of the house before disappearing toward the forest.
I crouch beside one.
They’re huge. Bigger than Father’s boots.
My heartbeat quickens. No. No way.
Ronan wouldn’t come this close. Would he?
Actually…
I remember the pinecone.
The window visits. The fact that Ronan has absolutely no sense of personal boundaries.
Never mind. He absolutely would.
“Interesting, aren’t they?”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Father stands behind me.
Shit.
I stand so quickly I almost lose my balance.
“Uh… yeah.”
His eyes narrow. Not enough for someone else to notice.
Enough for me.
Father has always been observant. One of the reasons he’s such a good hunter.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in the forest lately.”
My heart skips a beat. Keep calm. Act normal.
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Father raises an eyebrow.
Excellent argument, Alaric. Very convincing.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
For a few seconds, neither of us speaks. The cold wind whistles through the trees.
Then Father crouches beside the tracks. His expression hardens.
“I don’t like this.”
Something in his voice makes me uneasy.
“Maybe it was just a traveler.”
“No.”
The answer comes immediately.
Certain. Confident. Like he already knows.
Hunters spend their lives reading tracks.
If Father says something is wrong, there’s a good chance something is wrong.
He places his hand beside one of the footprints. Even with his larger frame, the print is still bigger.
A chill runs down my spine.
“Whoever made these was watching the house.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Watching.
The same word Ronan had used.
Observing.
I suddenly become very interested in a nearby tree.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
The rest of the day passes slowly. Painfully slowly.
Father remains in a terrible mood. Mother worries. Valka continues trying to put hats on foxes.
Life goes on. Mostly.
Yet I keep catching Father looking toward the forest.
Thinking. Watching. Waiting.
It’s unsettling.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
By evening, I decide I need answers. So naturally, I head into the woods. Again.
If Father ever discovers how much time I spend sneaking around, I’m dead.
The forest is already dark when I reach the pond. For once, Ronan isn’t sitting on his usual log. I find him standing near the water instead.
His back is turned.
The moment I approach, he looks over his shoulder. Something immediately feels wrong.
The teasing grin is gone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Ronan studies me for a second. Then he sighs.
“Your father found the footprints.”
My entire body freezes.
“You know about that?”
“Of course I know about that.”
The answer comes too quickly. Like he’d been expecting it.
A horrible realization dawns on me.
“No.”
Ronan rubs the back of his neck.
“No?”
“Those were your footprints.”
He doesn’t answer.
I stare.
He stares back.
“Oh my god.”
“They weren’t that close to the house.”
“Ronan!”
“What?”
“They circled the entire building!”
“Technically only half.”
I throw a stick at him.
“Why were you even there?” I demand.
Ronan avoids eye contact.
“Oh, now you’re looking away.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were spying on me.”
“Observing.”
“That’s the same thing!”
“It’s really not.”
“It absolutely is.”
A grin threatens to appear on his face.
The nerve.
“My father thinks someone was stalking our house.”
The grin immediately vanishes. Ronan straightens.
For the first time since arriving, he looks genuinely concerned.
“Your father is suspicious?”
“Very.”
“How suspicious?”
“He’s a hunter, Ronan.”
That says enough. The concern on Ronan’s face deepens. Neither of us speaks for a moment. The situation suddenly feels much less funny.
Because if Father keeps investigating…
If he follows tracks into the forest…
If he finds evidence of werewolves…
Everything could go horribly wrong.
Finally, Ronan exhales.
“I’ll be more careful.”
I blink.
“That’s your solution?”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Stop creeping around my house!”
Ronan looks genuinely confused. As if that possibility never occurred to him.
Honestly, that tracks.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
When I eventually head home, snow has started falling again.
The footprints outside our house are already beginning to disappear beneath fresh snow.
Tomorrow they might be gone completely.
But Father’s suspicion won’t disappear with them.
As I step inside, I find him standing at the window. Looking toward the forest. Watching.
The sight sends an uncomfortable chill through me.
Because for the first time, it feels like two worlds are moving toward each other.
My family. And Ronan.
And sooner or later, they’re going to collide.
