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It’s nearly nightfall when Jon pulls them out of the Lonely, Martin’s fingers intertwined with his. Already, his canines feel too sharp, and the promise of moonlight is tugging at his bones.
“Damn,” he mutters, and Martin gives him a sharp look.
“Jon?”
“It’s nothing,” Jon says. His dismissive gesture cuts off halfway through when he notes how long his nails have become. He gives Martin a hesitant smile, showing no teeth. “Just— let’s find Basira and Daisy. Then we can worry about— about what happens next.”
Martin gives a doubtful hum. It feels like he can see right through Jon; in hindsight, he’s always been able to cut to the core of things.
“Okay,” he agrees, after a moment’s heavy silence. He squeezes Jon’s hand, anchoring and solid and warm. “Basira and Daisy it is.”
They’ve come out a few minutes walk from the Institute, right by the Thames, but it takes less time than that to find Basira. She’s lingering outside the Pimlico tube station, and in the moments before she sees them, she looks nothing short of defeated. Daisy is nowhere to be seen.
“She’s gone,” Basira says, flat, as they approach her.
“I— Gone?”
“Yeah.” Basira’s words are clipped. “She gave into the Hunt to save me from Herbert and Montauk. I didn’t stick around, but— it wasn’t pretty.”
“Oh. I’m— I’m sorry.”
“Sorry, what happened?” Martin asks. Basira’s expression flattens even further as she looks him over, bitterly unimpressed. Jon feels an irrational urge to stand in front of Martin, to protect what’s his, and he can’t blame all of it on the goddamned full moon.
“A mess,” Basira replies. “The Institute is going to be closed for at least a week, maybe more. Right now, you two are officially missing, and I reckon you want to stay that way.”
“Right,” Jon breathes, tightening his grip on Martin’s hand. “So— what now?”
“I…” For a moment, he thinks Basira’s composure is about to collapse. “I have a promise to keep, and you two need to get somewhere you won’t be found.”
Unbidden, a snatch of stolen dialogue plays in Jon’s brain— “Basira, when this is over, you need to find me. And kill me. Promise me.” —and Jon inhales sharply.
“Basira, you can’t.”
Basira glares at him, jaw set.
“It’s what she asked me to do. She’s out there, and she’s going to hurt people unless I do what she asked me to.” Basira’s hand ghosts over her jacket pocket, and he can see the outline of a gun beneath the fabric.
“You’re going to kill Daisy?” Martin sounds distantly horrified, his eyes wide and his face gone pale. Basira’s glare only darkens as she turns her gaze to him.
“Yes. I made a promise.”
“But—” Martin bites his lip. If Jon tried, he could recall those taped conversations while he and Basira were away. Martin’s thoughts filter into Jon’s mind, clear as day: he wants to apologise.
“No,” Jon interrupts, stopping that burgeoning argument in its tracks. There’s a growling undertone to his voice, and he forces himself to focus on Martin’s hand in his. He doesn’t have long before the moon rises above London, but he needs to make this work.
“No?” Basira raises one eyebrow, her breathing heavy and furious.
“There’s another way,” Jon manages. “Or— hopefully. I might be able to get her back.”
“One of your weird Eye things?” She’s dubious, but there’s a strange gleam of hope to her eyes.
“It’s— Yes, close enough.”
“Jon?” Martin tilts his head, trying to untwine their fingers for the first time since they left the Lonely. Jon clings on — no part of him wants to let Martin go.
“Look, if it works, I’ll explain later. Just— both of you, go to Martin’s flat. I— I don’t expect I’ll be there before sunrise, whether this works or not, so— stay safe. Please.”
Martin frowns, still trying to pull away. His gaze has a steely undertone which would be attractive in any other situation, but right now, it just makes Jon’s nerves flare. A fight or flight response is beginning to pulse through his veins, animal in its intensity.
“You know where my flat is?”
“That’s not the point,” Jon snaps. It’s easier than no, but I can find it, and not how you think. “Just— trust me, please. Both of you.”
There’s a long silence. Martin nods, and then, reluctantly, Basira nods as well.
“Okay,” Martin murmurs, and this time, Jon lets him go. “You stay safe too, okay?”
“I will,” Jon promises.
Nothing could stop him from coming back to Martin’s side. The force of that thought surprises him, but it feels warm and perfect. Jon is going to find Daisy, and then they’ll all be together. These are some of the most important people in Jon’s life. He would do anything to keep them safe.
Martin smiles weakly as Basira tugs him down the stairs to the tube station. Jon watches them until they’re out of sight, and then he turns his gaze to the full moon rising over the rooftops.
It’s lucky that the streets are near-empty, because the sight of a grown man throwing his head to the sky and howling in pain would probably be quite disconcerting — the stuff of statements, certainly. His bones crack and reform, and he falls to four paws with nauseous relief. He’s probably wrecked his clothes, he thinks distantly, but the embarrassment fades as quickly as it began, higher reasoning buried beneath a tide of instinct and sensation that he doesn’t often allow himself to give into.
With a wolf’s ears and a wolf’s nose and a wolf’s mind, the streets are overwhelming. A hundred sounds and scents fight for his attention, and underneath it all— the blood calls to him.
Daisy, he reminds himself, except it’s hunter-dark forest-pack, a mingling of memories that is more personal than any name could be. He has to find her, and he has to bring her home.
Jon wakes up a few streets away from Martin’s flat. He knows better than to think it’s a coincidence; there’s a quiet animal contentment to the idea that Martin is so close.
There’s a groan from next to him as Daisy blinks awake in turn. Aside from the lingering sharpness of her teeth, she looks as human as can be. Her eyes are tinted with the pale colour of moonlight, but he really doesn’t have the brainpower to deal with that problem right now.
“Your fur matches your hair,” Daisy murmurs, woozy. “All dark and grey.”
Jon laughs, feeling just as dazed as she looks.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Jon’s memories are fragmented, though they’re clearer than his average full moon: Daisy, golden fur and blood on her teeth, tackling him to the ground. The two of them fighting, then play-fighting, then just… running together through London, wind in their fur, howling to each other in joyful call-and-response.
“A little. Just like a dream. Or a nightmare, I suppose.” She sighs, but that brief melancholy seems to do nothing to dent her relaxation. “Did you know that would work?”
“No,” Jon answers honestly. “But I thought it might be worth a shot.”
It hasn’t been without its repercussions, of course. Energy is dancing below his skin; he feels more alive than he has in years. His scars have faded, barely visible anymore, and his skin lacks the grey tinge it’s held for so long. The Hunt has a hold on him now, and it isn’t going to let go without blood and pain. Another problem to deal with later, and with more brains than just his and hers.
He sits up, offering a hand to Daisy.
“We, ah. We should get going. I told Martin and Basira I’d find them after sunrise, and—” Jon waves his free hand at the cloudless blue sky above, “—I imagine they’ll be getting antsy.”
There are no walls between them now that they've ran together; Daisy’s smile is uninhibited in its happiness.
“You got him back, then?”
“Yes,” Jon murmurs, pleased. “Yes, I did.”
Their clothes are a mess, but between them, they manage to cobble together enough decency for the short walk to Martin’s flat. They lean on each other the whole way there, and it isn’t just because they’re getting used to having human forms again. Jon can barely imagine being separated from her; the idea fills him with the same nervousness that being apart from Martin is. He wants to keep his people close — his pack, if he’s honest with himself, and right now he doesn't have the energy for lies.
The door opens as soon as he knocks, and there’s Martin. He stares at them both in blatant surprise, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
“Right,” he says. “I— I suppose you’d better come inside.”
Martin’s flat is large enough for a whole family, and Jon can spot the Lonely’s touch in every empty space. The walls are painted in impersonal shades of grey and beige. Jon hates it.
As soon as Daisy sees Basira, she’s rushing forward to throw her arms around her. Jon hears apologies and gratitude both as Daisy presses affectionate kisses to a wide-eyed Basira’s face.
“Hello,” Jon says to Martin, his voice low. He steps closer.
Martin doesn’t resist as Jon pulls him in for a brief closed-mouth kiss. His eyes go very wide, and his cheeks flush, and he spends a few moments speechless when Jon steps away.
“Are you… on drugs?” Martin finally asks with an air of bewildered concern.
“No.” Jon shakes his head, laughing quietly. “Just happy. I promise.”
Greetings and complicated emotions dealt with for now, Daisy walks over to them. She leans her head on Jon’s shoulder, and he tilts his head to rest on hers. Basira and Martin’s eyebrows raise in perfect startled synchrony, and the sight of it makes Jon smile.
“Right,” Martin says again, fidgeting with his hands. “So— so what now?”
“You haven’t slept, have you?” Daisy asks. It’s nominally directed at Basira, but now that Jon is looking, he can see the dark circles etched under Martin’s eyes.
Basira smiles tiredly. He’s startled to see that her eyes are wet.
“No,” she admits. “It was— I couldn’t without knowing for sure.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” Daisy replies, all affection. She reaches out and links her hand with Basira’s, pulling her closer. “I’m here, Basira. You can relax.”
“I—” For a moment, Basira seems to be gearing up to argue, to try and solve every problem they have, all on her own. Then she sighs, nodding. “Yeah. You’re here.”
“I’ve got a spare room,” Martin says, words stilted, as he glances between Jon and Daisy and Basira. Jon can see him trying to do the maths in his head, trying to divide them up in a way that will make everyone else happy. He’s overthinking things, and Jon’s wolf-brain, still so close to the forefront, isn’t going to have any of it. He isn't letting Martin out of his sight until every trace of the Lonely has vanished from the air around him; until he stops smelling like cold sea air and bland impersonal cologne. He isn’t letting Daisy out of his sight until the full moon begins to wane.
(Daisy won’t let Basira out of her sight, that goes without saying, and Jon has fewer objections to Basira’s presence than he’d have thought. She’s pack, just the same as the rest of them.)
“We’re staying together,” Daisy says decisively, and… well, that’s that, really.
Martin’s bed is ludicrously large, because of course it is. If Lukas wasn't already dead… Daisy takes charge, arranging everyone to her liking. Jon is happy as long as he knows everyone is there, so he ends up facing Daisy and Basira, Martin’s arms hesitantly wrapped around him like he can’t quite believe the gift he’s been given.
Once they’ve settled in under the soft sheets, Daisy leans close. Even now, she smells of wild and moonlit forests.
“I’ve got a safehouse,” Daisy murmurs. “Up in Scotland. Nice and remote.”
“Plenty of space to run,” Jon replies before he can catch himself.
He can already imagine it. Endless moors and valleys to roam, so empty and beautiful. Nothing meaningful to hunt, but plenty of freedom all the same. After years cooped up in the same tiny office, it sounds like a slice of heaven.
“Think about it,” she says, smiling.
Jon presses his forehead to hers. He squeezes Martin’s hand where it’s draped over his shoulders. Calm in the knowledge that his people are safe, Jon drifts into a dreamless sleep.