Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

KNOX

K nox's muscles ached with the relentless pace, each step up the mountain steeped in vigilance. Beckett flanked their captive, his nostrils flaring for any scent of deceit. The rogue shifter before them—a wiry creature with eyes that darted like trapped prey—picked through the terrain, leading them ever deeper into the heart of the mountains.

"Talk," Knox grunted, his voice laced with both command and weariness. He needed answers, and the endless march had done nothing to loosen the rogue's tongue about their true purpose.

"Treasure," the rogue spat out, as if the word burned his lips. "Power beyond measure... to aid the bearer."

Knox's grip on the rogue tightened. Treasure was a fairy tale told to children, but desperation gleamed in the shifter's eyes—a sign that he believed the story to be more truth than myth. He glanced over at Beckett, who turned his head towards the sound of a distant rockslide, a silent reminder of the peril they faced.

"Who sent you?" Knox tried again, his patience waning as thin as the air high up in the mountains.

"Doesn't matter," the rogue muttered, his gaze fixed on the unseen horizon. "The treasure cares nothing for allegiance."

A cold wind swept through the pass, carrying with it the scent of pine and an unspoken threat. Knox knew they were close; the rogue's nervous energy was as palpable as the tension that coiled in his own gut. With every step, the danger grew, the suspense threading through the very atmosphere they breathed. Knox sensed the pivotal nature of this quest—not just for himself or Beckett, but for the entire clan, pack, and town they’d sworn to protect.

The treacherous terrain gave way to a clearing where the scent of wood smoke was faint but undeniable. Knox, with his hand firm on the captured rogue's shoulder, stopped just short of the camp's boundary. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, his senses on high alert for any sign of ambush.

"Tell me," Knox demanded in a low growl, "how many wait within?"

"Five," the rogue replied, a hint of reluctance threading his voice. "But one's not fit to fight—not after what you did the other day, and the one you hold is brother to our leader, Malakar."

Knox met Beckett's gaze, exchanging a wordless conversation that spoke of years fighting side by side. They understood the risks, the potential for bloodshed. Without a sound, they both nodded, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

"Four rogues then," Knox murmured, more to himself than to Beckett. "We've handled worse odds."

"Two to one," Beckett agreed, his lips curling into a half-smirk, half-snarl. "I’d say we've got this, Knox."

"Agreed," Knox replied, his voice like gravel, charged with the promise of the fight to come. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his blade, itching for action but restrained by strategy.

Together, they advanced, stepping into the fringe of the enemy's territory with the confidence of warriors who knew the dance of danger all too well.

Knox's grip tightened on the rogue's arm, the muscles in his forearm standing out like taut ropes as he marched into the heart of the camp. His boots slogged through the snow and ice, each step measured and defined against the hush of mountain wind through the trees. Beckett flanked him, a silent sentinel whose very presence was a threat to any who dared to challenge them.

The camp was rudimentary, a few tents huddled around a fire pit that smoldered with dying embers. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and unwashed bodies. As they entered, the stillness shattered. One of the men tasked with guarding Ruby spotted them and released a low, menacing growl, a sound that rumbled through the clearing like distant thunder.

That growl was the signal, the catalyst for action. Shadows detached from the surrounding forest, materializing into the forms of three other rogues, their postures bristling with hostility. They encircled Knox and Beckett, their eyes alight with the gleam of predators facing down intruders.

"Speak," Knox commanded, his voice calm but edged with authority. He kept the rogue close, a firm reminder of his upper hand. "You have a woman—one of the citizens of Silver Falls. You will return her to me unharmed. Why are you here? What is it you seek?"

The rogue shifters exchanged glances, a silent communication before one stepped forward, his stance wary but defiant.

"Treasure," he said simply. "Legends speak of it—power for those who claim it."

"Legends," Knox scoffed, a flash of disdain crossing his rugged features. "If it ever existed, it’s doubtful that it still does. And even if it does, no one in Silver Falls has known its location for generations. It's nothing but a ghost tale to scare the children—to keep them off the mountain or from wandering too far from town."

“The old woman knew. The beaver-shifter, but she refused to give up her secrets.”

"And the woman is her descendant…” another rogue challenged, his gaze flicking toward the tent where Ruby was presumably being held.

"Ruby knows even less," Knox replied flatly, his tone brooking no argument. "She's an outsider. To her, tales of treasure and shifters are just that—stories to be enjoyed in the novels she reads. She has no knowledge of the treasure’s existence, let alone its whereabouts."

Silence fell over the camp, heavy and expectant, as the rogues digested this information. Knox watched them carefully, reading the flicker of disappointment and calculation in their eyes. It was clear to them now; they had nothing to gain from the woman they had taken. And Knox made sure they understood just how precarious their position was under the watchful eye of a wolf-shifter sheriff and a clan protector with everything to lose.

The rogue leader's dismissive grunt was a clear signal of his waning interest. "Then the human is of no use," he mused aloud, eyeing the tent's entrance with an intent that set Knox's nerves on edge.

In one swift motion, Knox's hand shot out, the blade in his grasp pressing cold and unyielding against the captive's throat, drawing a thin line of crimson across it. "If you so much as think about harming Ruby," Knox growled low, the threat in his voice slicing through the tense air like the steel at the rogue's neck, "your men will fall first, you will join them soon thereafter, and your brother will not live to see the sunrise."

A heavy silence settled over the camp as the leader's eyes locked onto Knox's, a silent battle of wills raging between them. It was then that something shifted in the rogue's gaze—recognition that perhaps he might be able to use Ruby as leverage to allow them to escape with their lives, or maybe it occurred to him that Ruby was more than just any woman—perhaps she was the mate to one of the two men who now faced him. His brother was languishing back at Knox’s compound, and the man to whose throat Knox held a blade met the leader’s eyes

"Seems we're at an impasse," the leader conceded, his tone laced with newfound respect, or maybe it was fear. "You've got my brother, and I've got..." He let the words hang, a bargaining chip laid bare between them.

"Your trespass ends here," Knox reminded him, his stance unyielding as stone. "Consider the mercy shown to your kin repayment enough." He tightened his hold, a warning that they were not beyond a bloodier conclusion.

"Fair enough," the leader said after a moment that stretched into eternity. He gestured to one of his men, who disappeared into the tent and emerged, guiding Ruby towards Knox.

“You hold my brother.”

“And I will do so until I receive confirmation that you are no longer within the territory of the town. At that point I will have him sent to you. Until then we will provide him with the medical attention he needs.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because you have no choice. I don’t make idle threats. Return the woman to us, and then you and your men can leave and never return. Or we will bury you here.”

Beckett stepped forward to pull Ruby behind them. As the exchange took place, Knox's senses remained alert, his eyes scanning the perimeter. With Ruby safely behind him and Beckett, he released their captive, sending him staggering back towards his own kind. The balance had been restored, the fragile truce sealed with the return of precious lives on both sides.

Knox's grasp on Ruby tightened, his fingers wrapping protectively around her wrist as he pulled her close to his side. The rogue shifter, now released, scurried back to the safety of his kin, rubbing at the spot where the blade had pressed a stark reminder of mortality against his throat. Knox could feel Ruby's slight tremble, not from fear—no, she was stronger than that—but from the rush of danger passing.

"Go," Knox commanded, his voice low but carrying across the tense air of the camp. His eyes locked onto the leader's, ensuring there was no misunderstanding. "Leave Silver Falls, and don't come back."

The leader's eyes narrowed, yet behind the defiance, there was an acknowledgment of defeat. They had lost their advantage, their leverage withered away like leaves in autumn. He called out a command in a guttural tongue, and his men broke down the camp, packing it up and dispersing, vanishing into the mountain's embrace as if they were mere shadows beneath the waning light.

"Remember this mercy," Knox added, a growl underlining his words. “It will not be repeated.” He felt Beckett's presence, a silent sentinel at his back—a reassurance that should a battle erupt, they would stand undaunted.

With a final lingering glance, charged with the unspoken threat of a predator marking his territory, the leader turned, following his men into the dense thicket that swallowed them whole. Silence fell upon the camp like a cloak, leaving only the sound of three hearts beating fiercely and the crackle of the fire in the aftermath.

Beckett moved up, dousing the fire and ensuring it was out before covering it with snow.

"Come on," Knox murmured to Ruby, his tone softening as he drew her away from the site of confrontation, his protective hold unwavering. "Let's go home."