The Life of a Rogue

3. Little Red Bad-Ass

 I stayed awake in case Fern would decide to run off into the night. As I listened to her quiet snores I started doubting my plan.

What could stop them from attacking me after I gave back Fern? I knew from her Father's voice that he wasn't someone to toy with.

But I had been toying with the Blood Wanderers pack for the last three years. I can still the time I killed one of their pack members. She was to patrol the area to see if there was anybody left alive. I can remember that cold-hearted look of hers, the hard grey eyes and strong jaw. Two long scratches along her face, destroying what was once pretty.

Young werewolves don't have such strong scent and are quite hard to track (Fate tends to be more forgiving to the young and innocent, well sometimes). Since I was able to see the destruction before she found me. I stood there numb, refusing to believe what was staring me in the face.

I heard a snarl to the side of me. Stumbling back, I saw a dark brown wolf baring its long canines at me. I stared in sick wonder at her ripped snout, showing me a long line of sharp yellow teeth. Her breath smelt of stale blood and decay. I backed up and she prowled towards me.

I could see the excited gleam in her eye. I had heard my friend, Mike tell me stories about the Blood Wanderers. How they killed without mercy and ate their victims. How they had no morals and feasted upon the weak.

Right then, as I looked at her grey gleaming eyes, I had no trouble believing Mike.

I backed up, my little feet scraping over the rubble of my little village. She growled, spit flying from the hole of her mouth. I soon hit the broken house of my pack members. The wood digging into my back and I knew then I would face the same fate as the rest of my pack.

I then remembered whose house I was pressed against. Simons'. Simon was one of our pack members, a quite violent one as it is. He was known to keep weapons in his house, from guns to silver-plated swords. He was fanatic. He loved collecting weapons and displaying them in his house.

Once Father caught wind of this, he had to take them away. All but one. One beautiful sword that Simon pleaded to keep. A silver sword that was kept in its glass case against the wall.

The animal growled low in her throat and pounced.

I reached down the other side of the wall and frantically searched for it. My hand burned and I yelped. The wolf landed on me and fell limp.

I panted under her matted fur and pushed her off. The sword acted as a lever as it turned her over. I pulled it out of her heart and the Blood Wanderer turned to her human form, dead. I wiped the tears from my eyes and heard the sound of paws.

That was the last time I had set foot in my home.

I took a deep shaky breath, coming back to reality. Thinking of my old pack got me down. I drew my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling cold in the cabin. I pulled the scabby blanket around me, wishing I was in my bed but Fern was sleeping there.

I watched crappy late-night television of crappy channels and sighed.

My plan could so easily fall apart. I was so stupid, I hadn't even told him whether he could bring anybody. I would be outnumbered and they would jump me when I gave them Fern.

I turned my head and stared at the secret door in the wall. Well, I guess that's one way, I answered my Wolf's suggestion.

Well I guess that's one way, I answered my Wolf's suggestion

I padded around the room looking for something to wear. I picked out a camouflaged shirt with studded pockets and leather trousers. I pulled on a black cap over my ponytail. I decided to travel on foot rather than on paw. I looked over to see Fern still asleep and pushed on the panel.