Luna of Rogues

Part 46 - Blowing the Fuse

The camp was spread across two hillsides. Tents covered the slopes like a forest of incredibly colourful trees. There were places where they had been pitched in neat, orderly rows — that would be the packlings — with larger pavilions for eating and cooking at every corner. And there were places were the tents clustered in groups of half a dozen with cookfires in the centre — Team Rogue. Each cluster was a raiding team, and there were seven of them.

The lifeblood of the colourful forest was people (men, mostly) who flooded along every path, filled every space, and soaked the afternoon air with noise. Hundreds and hundreds of unwashed bodies packed into a campsite which had clearly outgrown its purpose. I could actually feel my nose recoiling.

To our left, in a marked clearing which was probably meant for training, about a hundred of those unwashed bodies were playing a highly unorthodox game of rugby. Firstly, there were about three times more players than there should have been. Secondly, one of the teams was half the size of the other. And, lastly, nobody seemed to be enforcing any rules, so there was a lot of punching going on.

I glanced at my brother and saw his eyes lit up. He liked rugby. Of course he liked rugby. He was young and violent, he was good at knocking people over, and he was Welsh. There were regular games in the summer raiding camps. Sometimes I would even join in — always as scrum half, because I was too tiny to play anything else.

"Skye..." he began, the start of a request if I ever heard one.

"No," I sighed. "We'll find Jace first."

His reply was harrumph. "I mean, I think we'd better investigate. Don't it look odd to you? Flockies against rogues?"

What, now? They wouldn't be so stupid ... would they? I squinted at the individual players, looking for a familiar face. It wasn't long before I found some. Ryker and Emmett and another score of my raiders were playing for the smaller team, and Zach-freaking-Lloyd, the Shadowless Alpha, appeared to be captaining the other.

My mood soured. "What a creative way to get someone killed."

"Dammit," Rhys muttered. "Lethal or not, it looks like a decent bloody game."

I shook my head in fond disgust, and then I dragged him further into the camp. There weren't any signposts, and every tent looked identical, so I wasn't entirely sure how I was supposed to find Jace. I didn't want to link him, given his talent for leaching minds. After ten minutes of aimless wandering, I had to confront the only option left to me: human interaction.

I hadn't wanted to draw attention to myself, hadn't wanted anyone to mark my face before I had a good long chat with Jace, but there no helping it. I caught the shoulder of a passing teenager with the New Dawn scent and twisted him to face me.

"Where's Jace?" I demanded.

A spotty, pale face stared back at me. "Where's who?"

I felt a sigh rising in my chest and swallowed it. "Jace Lloyd. He's your Alpha. I don't suppose you've heard of him?"

"Oh," he exclaimed. "Thought you said Chase."

I let out an impatient growl.

Inevitably, the kid's confusion morphed into rough entitlement. Rogue pups knew that insolence would be rewarded with a clout, but packlings were far too civilised to teach that manner of respect. "Who's asking?"

A shadow fell over the boy, and I knew Rhys was edging closer. Well, good. I didn't appreciate little kids trying to play tough guy. But to top that, I was in a sour mood — a combination of being separated from my mate and the throbbing headache which had been plaguing me since I'd got my spine cracked.