Durant was prone to irritableness. Rowan could feel it in the way the creature moved, significantly in the way the creature moved around him. Durant tolerated so few, it disturbed him the extent he hardly tolerated Rowan. He had started off neutral towards Rowan, barely acknowledging him as he had spent months locked in a room.

But then Rowan had come out of his room.

It seemed the peluda's eyes hadn’t left him since.

That was inaccurate. Durant didn’t really give Rowan the time of day unless Don was in the room. Only then did his black eyes lock onto Rowan.

They never left Rowan.

Rowan didn’t really pay attention when Don discussed business with Durant, but if he had he probably would have seen how much more pleased Durant was when Don’s eyes were on him and not on Rowan. He would have picked up on the source of Durant’s aggression sooner.

Jealousy.

Rowan grew older. He grew tougher. He grew smarter. At some point, Don began including him in those conversations. Only then did Rowan grow truly uncomfortable with Durant. He was wary before, but now the stare was enough to pierce him.

He hadn’t felt so afraid to be in his own home since he before arrived.

He did his best to go about his life naturally. He was growing even more. One morning he’d woken up to find that his chest had grown. It was strange, and somewhat painful. It nearly induced a panic.

Up until now everyone had simply assumed he was male. He was fine with that. The feeling that neither role (feminine or masculine) fit him had never truly gone away. He had simply adopted the masculine pronouns and assumption that he had the body to match because people heard the name Rowan and automatically thought that he was a boy. His hair was always cut short, upon his request more than anything. In his correspondence with Daniel, the Conservationist, the man thought that Rowan’s face would be framed nicely by long hair. When Rowan expressed his discomfort with how long hair got in the way, the man actually shared the sentiment. Rowan thought he would as Daniel always tied his own hair back.

Besides, Don still smoothed out his hair and brushed it forward the same way a hand long ago used to do every night. He wondered now if those were real moments, the ones he imagined with the hand and the nighttime. They seemed more dreamlike now that he was older, less . . . real.

Upon seeing his chest forming though, Rowan had such a panic that he was unaware he was loudly binding his chest until Don opened the door to check on him. What had Don heard per se? Whining. Rowan had been whining and grunting like a dog. He never did that anymore, a habit he’d been sure he had outgrown. Apparently the combination of stress and fear had brought it out in him again. It scared him to think of how Don would react for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on. It seemed whatever reason it was, it was a good one. “I’m sorry,” he quickly responded to the twisted look on Don’s face.

He thought he saw disappointment. He thought he felt a tremor of apprehension. He felt a number of conflicting emotions from the other that made his own fears force him to shrink on his bed. The bandages still tight around his chest, he wasn’t sure what he should be more ashamed of: his chest or the vocalizations.

It wasn’t until Don walked over and tilted Rowan’s head up by the chin that he felt the layer of grief running through the Moderator in electric currents. “We will get you proper binding material in time,” the elder assured quietly. That made Rowan go still.

The sad expression Don wore as he raked his hand through his thin hair and walked out made him look down in shame.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan was certain Don had seen the ghost of Leah in him.

Learning to move through his binding wasn’t all too difficult. Learning to fight was another story entirely. His movements were so stiff at first, and he kept feeling the binds slipping. When Don finally provided him with binding that held the binds in place properly, he almost sighed in relief.

Almost.

Sighing was harder in binding.

He was grateful that Don was so willing to go along with the lie his mother had put in place. He wish he hadn’t found out by hearing Rowan vocalize in his room, but honestly he couldn’t think of another way to have broached the subject with the man. At least he was no longer the only one in on the pretense.

Durant used to escort him when Don couldn’t. Now Rowan was familiar enough with locations within Jacksonville and other parts of the world where the Masters met up he didn’t need the escort. So when Rowan saw Durant following him through the hall towards where his next lesson with Aiden would be held, he turned to greet the peluda. “Hey,” he called. “Everything alright?” He grew quieter as he spoke, realizing that all of the peludas spines were standing. His long tail was raised rather than dragging. A noise, a terrifying noise, poured out of the giant of a poisonous porcupine’s mouth.

And Rowan knew it was time to start running.

The only way he knew the creature was after him was the increased speed with which he was pursued. The building seemed to shake as Durant galloped after him gracelessly. He felt the weight of the peluda on the floor as it drew nearer, and he tried to pick up speed. Rowan was not out of shape. His stamina was greater than his strength.

But he hadn’t yet run from something while in a binder.

Now was a horrible time to learn.

Gasping for air, he felt his heart hammering and his blood pumping as he rounded a corner swiftly. He was neither surprised nor deterred by the crash of Durant into the wall as Rowan struggled to regain speed. He could fight a human, he couldn’t yet fight a beast that large. If he could just get to Aiden then maybe the older would help—

A spike pierced his side, breaking through clothing and hooking into his skin. Rowan didn’t scream. He barely let out a cry past the binding and the pain of the quill. Falling flat on the ground, the area where the quill had hooked into him began numbing almost instantly. Rowan’s panic overrode his knowledge that a racing heart would only encourage the poison to spread, but before he could call for help he was being dragged by the arm.

Durant’s teeth tore through his sleeve and into his skin in one angry chomp.

He was going to die like this: screaming and frantically searching for what he could have possibly done wrong to deserve this.

--

One moment he was waiting for the kid so their match could begin. The next he was seeing red.

There was something about the scream he heard that rendered his spine a rod, something that forced him into stillness before action.

Something that shocked him.

As a violent negotiator under the Moderator, he had heard many pained screams. Most were the result of his fists and sword. A good chunk came from the vocals of shifters who had gone feral. Hearing of Don’s old partner never made him feel any remorse. She had been a rogue skinwalker. She had had what was coming, and that was that. Upon meeting the child of said rogue, he had been prepared to maintain a distance. Kid could grow to be the things he hunted. Teaching him to fight was just a bonus for being a hell of a fighter. He was the only one Idlewood trusted near his prized protege.

But Rowan’s howl shocked him.

It didn’t sound like a skinwalker dying at Aiden’s hands, it sounded like the child he had taught to fist fight.

What little distance remained between the two shattered in one fell swoop. One blinding red, bone breaking swoop.

Aiden had slammed against the door as he rammed it open. It cracked against the wall as he bounded down the hall. Giant black wings up and out, he didn’t have his sword but he definitely didn’t need it. He rounded the corner and there he saw Idlewood’s partner dragging the kid by the arm effortlessly. The beast growled low as he shook the boy’s arm violently, pulling more screams. Blood smeared the tiles, light green streaks where another substance tainted the red.

Fury burned through Aiden as his wings lifted him just enough to cover the ground between him and Durant. Gaining on him, his first task was prying the peluda’s jaw from Rowan’s arm.

Then he would break the jaw.

Aiden’s clawed digits dug into the spineless jaw of the peluda, feet on the ground and knees bent as he braced against the weight and strength of the beast. Gritting his teeth, he let out a snarl of his own as he placed himself between the boy and the monster. Durant let go, turning on Aiden immediately. His bloody front teeth clacked closed threateningly beside Aiden’s head as he reached forward and clawed at the winged human’s chest. Aiden hissed and regained his grip, prying Durant’s jaw open with his bare hands. There was a prick in his elbow that denoted the peluda was trying to quill him.

Durant succeeded . . . and he didn’t.

The quills were in his skin, but Aiden’s eyes were glowing and a crazed grin suddenly forced his lips to split and spread into a grin. The blood in his veins, a gift from his own partner, coagulated and rejected the poison and quill in one go. The spine unhooked and floated to the ground and a black substance leaked from the hole from which it had been removed.

He continued to pry open the jaw of the beast until it dislocated entirely and the creature bellowed.

With Durant distracted by the pain of a dislocated jaw, he reached under the beast pulled his feet out from under him. A porcupine on its back was vulnerable, even if oversized. And Aiden had a debt to repay for the fresh marks on his chest.

Taking one of Durant’s massive paws in hand, Aiden placed one hand on the joint closest to the body and the other on the paw and twisted. A sickening crack rang out and the peluda was crippled. A fervor started in him and suddenly his vision wasn’t just glazed but coated in red. The peluda attempted to strike him with more quills, scratch him with his other paws, but the howling and yowling of the beast was drowned out by Aiden’s own claws further debilitating the beast by tearing open his chest.

Blood was spilled.

Poison seeped from the barbs that lay useless on the ground.

Durant stopped scrambling enough for Aiden to deem his work as done as necessary at the moment.

And Rowan was lying on the floor much too still for his liking.

Aiden felt feathers on his upper arms and shoulders, standing in a show of aggression with his wings as he turned to scoop the unconscious boy up. Rowan groaned and whimpered, showing signs of life. He was cold though. Too cold.

Even blinded by rage Aiden knew the way to the infirmary by heart and he was running there with Rowan in seconds.