Luna of Rogues

Part 11 - The Sky Comes Falling Down

That's rogues for you. They have a 'save your own skin' mind-set. Amazing fighters, but only while they stand a chance of winning. Otherwise, we generally tuck our tails between our legs and run for the hills.

The several dozen enemy wolves had rounded up the rogues who had surrendered nicely: mostly the elderly, the injured, and the few humans who found themselves mated to werewolves. Now, they formed a rough semi-circle around my siblings and me — the only fighters who hadn't fled. We were the only things standing between them and the room where the young children slept.

I caught Rhys and Fion's attention and blinked slowly, knowing they would understand. I fully intended to fight to the death before I let these wolves at our kids. They seemed to have no mercy or inhibitions, judging by the state of the corpses.

"Is there any sense in getting ourselves killed when they're going to get past anyway?" Fion asked doubtfully. "We can protect the children better alive."

But I wasn't in the mood for being sensible. "Who says we're going to get killed? We have teeth, claws and a give-'em-hell attitude. Maybe we can kill enough of them to prove we're not worth the trouble."

"I knew you'd be the death of me," Fion grumbled, but she crouched in readiness for the fight I was promising.

Just as the enemy wolves were about to rush us, a voice echoed around the ruins.

"I want those three alive, you hear me? Alive."

It was a voice I recognised all too well, and by the expression on Rhys's face, it was obvious he did too.

"I don't want to hurt you, Rhys. Get out of the way — it's not too late to join me," Brandon offered. He was standing in Rhodric's place, at the head of the courtyard. There were blood-splattered men all around him, and one was Leo. He looked utterly uninterested in the whole situation.

There's a time when everyone makes a decision that will shape the rest of their life. Usually, it's not too difficult, like which university to choose, or whether to drink that odd-smelling milk. But for Rhys, it was so much harder.

He had to choose between his blood brother and his adopted sisters. For most people, that would be an impossible decision, requiring a lot of consideration and careful thought. Rhys, though, took approximately half a second to answer Brandon's offer, and he answered it with a growl.

"I'll have the head of any rogue who harms the two grey wolves. Feel free to be rough with the dark one, though," Brandon commanded. He looked annoyed but unsurprised at his brother's decision. After a glance at the wolves behind him, Brandon seemed to remember something, and whatever it was must have been important, because he scowled and said, "Scratch that. Not a mark on any of them."

He didn't like me. He didn't care what happened to me. So why on earth would he change his mind? I decided he probably needed me for something, though I had no idea what.

It quickly became apparent that no one wanted to follow the command. We would fight to kill, while they couldn't even bite. After a minute of half-hearted attacks on their part and full blown retaliations from us, Brandon seemed to give in and waved a hand at someone out of my line of sight.

Several humans stepped into view, all holding loaded rifles, which they proceeded to point at the prisoners. Now when I say humans, I don't just mean werewolves in human form, I mean actual human beings. What they were doing there I had no idea, but whatever the reason, I didn't like it. Perhaps they were on Brandon's payroll.

Brandon spoke to us again, this time with a steely edge to his voice. "Surrender yourselves and the brats you're protecting, or we start shooting your precious friends."