Page 8 of Red Hood, Bad Wolf

"We're exploring all possibilities," Rowan said carefully, noting how Mae's gaze lingered on her red cloak.

"Mm." Mae stirred her tea with precise movements. "Have you considered it might be related to the territory dispute with the River Valley pack? They've been pushing boundaries lately." Her smile showed too many teeth. "Of course, I helped deal with the last trespassers they sent. Simple folk, really. Didn't understand the old ways of marking territory."

Alder stiffened. Through the bond, Rowan felt his unease. "Grandmother?"

"Oh, nothing violent, dear. Just made it clear they weren't welcome." She patted his hand, and Rowan felt him suppress a shudder. "I know all the old ways of protecting our land. The ones your mother forgot, near the end."

Rowan's magic prickled in warning. Mae's words were sweet, but something darker lurked beneath them, like poison in honey. "What do you mean?"

"Such a shame, what happened to her. The madness came on so suddenly." Mae's sharp eyes fixed on Rowan with unsettling intensity. "Tell me, dear, how do Red Hoods usually handle feral wolves? Such fascinating magic you must have. I've always wondered about the specifics, whether they suffer much, at the end."

Something in her tone made Rowan's skin crawl

Before she could respond, Alder changed the subject. "Serenity mentioned border patrols found new markers yesterday?"

"Yes, yes." Mae waved dismissively, but her gaze remained fixed on Rowan. "But I'm much more interested in hearing about Rowan's work. It must be so exciting, hunting dangerous creatures. Though I imagine it's risky." She tilted her head. "What happens if a Red Hood's magic fails at a crucial moment? Are you all trained to fight without it?"

“Yes. Now if you’ll excuse us, Alder and I have a few things to discuss privately.”

“I bet you do.”

After Mae left, they retreated to his office to review notes. The pressure of awareness between them was stronger in the private space. Rowan could feel Alder's thoughts churning, his certainties beginning to crack.

"Your grandmother seems very interested in Red Hood methods," she said carefully.

Alder ran a hand through his hair, his agitation bleeding through their connection. "She's always been interested in power. After what happened with my mother..." He paused. "I never questioned if my mother had been loup before. Never wanted to see..."

"Tell me?" The words were soft, an invitation rather than a demand. She felt her offered support and understanding mirror back at her through their connection.

He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "It wasn't like they said. The official report claimed she showed classic signs of moon-madness, but..." He paced to the window, moonlight silvering his profile. "She was acting strange before that. Confused. Aggressive. Not like herself at all."

Rowan felt his pain echo through her. Without thinking, she touched his arm. Contact sent awareness sparking between them, the bond between them strengthening further. Soon, they wouldn’t be able to pretend to ignore what was painfully obvious. "How so?"

"She'd forget things," Alder continued, leaning into Rowan's touch. "Get lost in familiar places. Snap at pack members for no reason. My father thought someone was poisoning her. He was investigating something, but he never told me what. Then he disappeared, and three days later..." His voice roughened. "Three days later, they found those hikers."

"And the Red Hoods came," Rowan finished softly.

"They said she'd killed them. That she was too far gone to save." The bond flooded with old grief. "I was sixteen. Too young to challenge them, too old to forget. Mae helped hold me back when they... when they did it. Said I couldn't save her, that I had to survive to lead the pack."

Rowan's heart ached. Through their connection, she felt the wounds that had never fully healed. "The Red Hoods who came for your mother weren't like me. We're different now."

"No?" His eyes held hers, desperate to believe. "What makes you different?"

She told him then about her training. About the years spent learning both combat and healing magic, about the ancient grimoires passed down through generations of Red Hoods. "We start with basic witchcraft—protection spells, tracking magic, healing. But then we specialize."

"In killing werewolves?" There was no accusation in his voice now, only curiosity.

"In saving them." Rowan let her magic dance between her fingers, crimson threads weaving patterns in the air. "Every Red Hood has their own specialties. Mine is detection and containment. I can sense the difference between regular moon-fever and true moon-madness, can track a loup garou across continents if I have to."

"That's why they sent you here."

"Yes. But not just to hunt." She met his gaze steadily. "We're were-hunters, yes, but we're also healers. Every Red Hood chooses this path knowing we'll face darkness, but our goal is to help. Sometimes that means ending suffering. But we always try to save them first."

"Like you tried with the wolf in the forest." Understanding dawned in his eyes. "You really do care."

"We're not executioners. What happened to your mother, that's not how we operate now. Someone should have tested her, tried to help her." The words cost her, admitting her order's past failures, but she felt his appreciation for her honesty through their bond.

"Tested her how?"

---