Luna of Rogues

Part 44 - Into the Fire

"I wasn't awake. Wouldn't have hurt that bad..." I muttered. Suddenly, an apology seemed like less effort than an argument. "But I guess I'm glad I'm alive."

Leo seemed to relax a bit and squeezed my hand with relief. Rhys decided he was not about to drop dead and focused his attention back on me. His eyes were full of reproach and the vulnerable side he normally disguised with sarcasm. "Just ... never do that to me again, okay?"

I snorted before I could stop myself. "You think I had a choice?"

And Rhys scowled. "I don't have a mate, Skye. How am I supposed to know if you get a choice or not?"

Now I got the sense we were talking about something else entirely. I had to pause for another coughing fit. "Yeah, well, maybe the fire wasn't such a good idea."

"It worked, didn't it?" he demanded. "Twenty ferals dead without a single casualty."

"All of them?" I asked hopefully.

"Well — most. Luke escaped when I came after you." He looked at me accusingly. "I'd have gone back for Leo if you'd just told me, y'know."

I cocked an eyebrow. "And why should you get all the glory?"

He didn't get an opportunity to answer, because an outraged shout of "HEY!" had us all turning around. Rhys was met with a punch to the neck.

At first, I didn't understand what was happening. I watched the Alpha of Ember Pack tackle my brother with a sense of bemusement and not much concern. It turned into a fight — punches being thrown left, right and centre. I continued to watch, still not feeling any need to involve myself, as Lewis, who must have expected an easy victory, found himself flipped onto his back and pinned embarrassingly quickly.

Rhys spat out some blood, his right arm crushing the boy's windpipe.

It was only when Lewis used the last of his air to tell me to run that I understood. We'd screwed up, just a little, by forgetting to tell him that Rhys was working with us. Poor kid hadn't stood a chance, but at least he had guts.

Leo shoved Rhys lazily. "You can lay off — he's a friend."

Rhys snorted. "Friends don't go around punching people."

"Yeah, well, he's not going to do it again. Are you, Lewis?" I asked.

"Yes, I am! You need to get away from him," the Alpha insisted desperately. "He's a feral!"

"Oh, bloody hell," I managed to mutter before falling into a fit of snickering. Rhys rolled his eyes. This was becoming a common mistake: first New Dawn and now Ember. If we weren't careful, half the country would think he was feral.

"It's true, I swear — he was with the guards. Why are you laughing?" This demand came with less certainty.

I gave Rhys a proper push, and this time he released the boy to stand beside me. Lewis scrambled to his feet, almost looking like he wanted to initiate round two, so I sighed, "This is my brother."

"Your...? I didn't... Oh."

"Yeah, oh is about right," Rhys muttered.

"Are you the one who set my pack house on fire?" Lewis demanded, an edge to the curiosity.

I eyed Ember's mansion, which was still roasting beautifully, the roof caving even as I watched. The north wing, where the fire had started, was little more than rubble. Rhys had lured the ferals there, all the way into a petrol-soaked room, before dropping a match.

He nodded along. His attitude seemed to be defrosting. "Yes, but there's no need to thank me — you're very welcome. I've always wanted to burn down a pack house."