Okay firstly, about the title, that was a completely unintended pun (and no, Skye doesn't actually fall off anything in this chapter), I was just thinking of song lyrics.
Secondly, can I just take a minute to thank all of you for commenting and voting? It really makes my day to get home, click on Wattpad and see that you've been sharing the love.
I was woken by the sound of screaming. It's actually an effective way to get lazy teenagers out of bed. Feel free to try it on your sleepy brothers, sisters and offspring. But be warned it only works once, depending on the mental capabilities of whoever you're trying to wake.
Within seconds I was on my feet, brandishing the knife I kept under my pillow. Screaming, shouting and snarling echoed around the camp. Rhys looked half-asleep still, but he was on his feet and back-to-back with me, while Fion sat up and looked around with bleary, reddened eyes.
"What the...?" Rhys started to ask as several rogues from our pack ran past, heading for the forest.
I rolled my eyes. "Well, we're obviously under attack. The only question is who's behind it. I don't think New Dawn have the brains or the ability to track us back here, so I guess that leaves ... I don't know. Do we have any enemies?"
Fion shook her head and started to shift, projecting her thoughts mentally, "Let's go find out."
I picked out a lone child amongst the shrieking runners. It was Sammy, a five-year-old who hero-worshipped Rhys. His father had been killed in front of me, on a raid years ago. He changed direction towards us, recognising friends. My brother caught hold of his hand.
"What's going on?" I asked him.
"The bad men are here. Mummy told me to run, but now I don't know where to go." He spoke quietly, trying to choke back tears. Angry, but also young and terrified. He reminded me of a half-starved child who had tried so hard to be brave. And that child would one day be the most powerful shifter in the north.
Rhys ruffled up his hair, then crouched to be at eye-level. "You go with the others to the river island. I'll come find you when it's safe."
Sammy nodded solemnly and ran off with the other children, and I was glad to see him sticking with one of the young mothers who often looked after him. We all took it in turns to play babysitter to the pack of rogue children, and consequently, we all knew them well.
I shifted on the spot and sprinted towards the screams. When I arrived in the main courtyard, I was surrounded by a scene which wouldn't have been out of place in a horror movie. Piled everywhere were bloodied corpses. A few were still alive, but not for long. In lakes of blood, our rogues battled with the attacking wolves.
It was obvious as soon as you entered who was winning. Our fighters were disorganised and caught off guard.
"Where's dad?" Rhys demanded instantly through the link. "He should be taking charge."
Rhodric quite often disappeared for weeks at a time, chasing after some old foe. We rarely got any warning of those escapades, so it wasn't unusual to find him missing. I had heard rumours he was hunting hunters, but I didn't quite believe them. Although werewolf hunters were a common legend, I had never once encountered one. Ignorance really is bliss.
"We can worry about that later." I dove into the fray without any further ado. My wolf relished the combat, sinking her teeth into flesh and bone with an unnerving enthusiasm. It was an effort not to get too carried away.
But our combat was cut short, because even as I snapped the neck of my first opponent, the few remaining defenders realised they were going to lose, and routed, leaving the injured behind to die.
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."
That didn't really leave me much of an option. I had to hand the children to Brandon and trust he wasn't demented enough to kill them on the spot. It was that, or risk him murdering everyone I cared about just to prove a point.
I turned tail and trotted down the step, looking for a private spot to shift. Brandon's men threw us some clothes. At least they still had some sense of decency, or perhaps he just didn't want the entire courtyard to see his mate naked, and Rhys and I were just collateral. Then I opened the hatch and entered the cellar where fifty terrified and vulnerable kids cowered.
Or they would be terrified and vulnerable. If they weren't rogues.
So when I descended the staircase to the cellars, I was greeted by the teenagers, who attempted to hit me with baseball bats (I only managed to duck because I was partly expecting it). The younger children had been put at the back of the room, and now launched a volley of chestnuts from homemade catapults. Bless their souls — I was so proud.
An assortment of deadly weapons were aimed at me — everything from penknives to shovels, before a raven-haired girl thought to check my scent. It was dark, and hard to see each other, but we made do.
"Sorry, Skye," she said sheepishly. "We heard screams and thought it might be a good idea to take precautions."
"No, don't apologise. This is great," I reassured them, then smiled wickedly. "Just take the time to identify your target next time. Wouldn't want to knock out your reinforcements."
"So you're here to help us? Is it safe to come out now?" she asked hopefully.
You wouldn't believe how bad I felt in that moment. I had failed her — failed all the children and every other rogue who marched under Rhodric's name. You wouldn't believe how much I wanted to tell them they were safe, rather than lead them to captivity.
The three of us shared a glance, but it was Fion who spoke up. "No, not quite."
"You guys remember Brandon? He's in charge now. So I'm going to need you all to be brave and come out quietly. You'll be fine, as long as you do what you're told," I told them and watched as their expressions changed from hopeful to worried.
"But my dad is going to come and save us, okay? You've just got to be ready to run when the fight starts," Rhys said, with such confidence that I felt myself starting to believe that everything would be alright as soon as Rhodric caught wind of what was happening.
Brandon was beginning to get impatient, so I hurried to herd the kids up the ladder, even going as far as lifting the littlest ones. They all gathered on the steps, waiting for me. I took the lead for the walk into the courtyard, Rhys and Fion flanking me as always.
It went against everything I stood for to surrender to someone like Brandon, because I had always believed I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. But if it meant the safety of my....
Of my what, exactly?
For the first time in my life I realised that we weren't rogues, not completely. The very definition of rogue was a lone wolf. There were hundreds of us. So the word rogue wasn't quite right. But neither was pack. So both, maybe.
After a brief moment wondering if I should combine them to form a single word (pouges and rock didn't quite sound right), I settled with simply rogue pack.
That's what they were. My pack of rogues, who I would do anything to protect.
With that revelation, I slowly lifted my hands above my head and walked out into the light of the courtyard. Several of Brandon's lackeys were waiting, and they stepped forwards to twist my arms behind my back and cuff them.
I saw Rhys similarly restrained to my left, while Fion was just led up to Brandon's side, where he wrapped an arm around her possessively, eliminating any hope of her sneaking off. Personally, I thought she had the worst end of the deal. Better to be tied like a dog than within arm's reach of that prick.
Rhys and I were dragged to the platform where Brandon stood, then forced onto our knees at his feet. He sneered at us, and I saw even the eternally-composed Rhys leash violent instincts. Any lagging or resistance was met with kicks and blows. I stood by original observation — these men went beyond normal cruelty. They seemed to revel in harming others.
Over the next twenty minutes, Brandon's rogues rounded up any escapees and arranged them in rows facing the platform. My lowest moment had to be when they dragged in little Sammy, who had a black eye and a streak of blood down his face. What kind of people hit a five-year-old?
When the majority of our rogues were arrayed before him, Brandon started his well-rehearsed speech of victory.
"As you can see, I'm in charge now. Your last leader, Rhodric, ran away at the first sign of danger. We ran him off Blackwater Falls, and you should be glad of it. He abandoned you all to die like a coward, so he died like a coward."
At that point, Brandon lost control of the crowd. They all started jeering and booing at him. Then, as the guards stepped forwards nervously, they rioted, pushing and shoving to get at the traitor. I felt a misguided sense of pride when I heard even our younger children swearing like sailors at Brandon.
And I lost control of my wolf. She resisted and fought and struggled against our captors until one of them kicked me hard enough to break a few ribs. Rhys just knelt there quietly, in shock at first. But he soon began to stir.
No one believed for a second that Rhodric had abandoned us, but I didn't see any reason why he wouldn't still be here if he was alive. I brushed my mind-link with Rhodric, and felt absolutely no response. Was that what happened if the person on the other end was dead?
But, no. I refused to believe it. As if Rhodric would run from Brandon, let alone be stupid enough to corner himself by a waterfall. He was just away, my common sense insisted. And he would come back when he realised what was happening.
But of all the furious insults, one voice rose above the rest. The crowd went silent so that Brandon could hear his brother.
"You knew you couldn't beat dad, so you hide behind humans. Who's the real coward? Dad only ever tried to do what was best for us, you son of a—"
At that point, I cut him off with a hurried whisper before he could insult himself. "Um ... Rhys, that was your mother, too. Consider your next words very carefully."
Rhys paused for just a moment before carrying on at full stream. "Oh ... right. Well, you're still a back-stabbing scumbag who feels the need to hurt other people because you can't control your temper."
Okay, now just replace the words back-stabbing and scumbag with two much ruder words and you have what Rhys really said.
Brandon considered Rhys for a second, before walking right up to him and motioning to the guards. They dragged Rhys to his feet and wrenched his arms even further behind him, if that was even possible. Brandon slammed a fist into his face, then followed up with a punch to the gut which left him doubled over. To his credit, Rhys didn't make a sound. And when he caught his breath, he rose back to his full height (which was actually an inch taller than his older brother) to stare Brandon down.
"See, you don't even have the guts to fight me without your men protecting you," Rhys jeered, earning himself another blow.
"You're not worth the time it would take to defeat you," Brandon announced loudly. His eyes were swirling black, like he was fighting to control his wolf. But he added two more sentences that only the people on the platform could hear. "If you were anyone else, Rhys, I'd have you killed for that little speech. You're still my little brother, even if you seem to have forgotten that in my absence."
At this point, Brandon shot a glare at me. Is that why he hated me so much? He was jealous?
Before I had time to consider it properly, he turned back to the crowd to continue his victory speech. "And don't get any bright ideas about rebellion. Anyone who doesn't submit to my leadership will be executed without trial, which also goes for anyone who tries to leave. Organised attempts to defy me will result in decimation. And, for the uneducated idiots amongst you, that means I kill every tenth man."
With the conquest over, I was pulled to my feet and chained to a pillar under the eaves until they could find somewhere secure to keep me. Rhys joined me, once Brandon had thrown a few more angry punches at him. I was personally surprised none were coming my way. He had always harboured a healthy hatred of my guts.
Sat with my back to the cold stone, I had plenty of time to think everything through. Only yesterday we were happy and safe, so sure that no one could touch us. But in the space of twenty-four hours, we had found ourselves prisoners of Rhys's psychotic brother and completely at his mercy. Rhodric was missing, maybe even dead, while Fion was trapped with her abusive mate. It wasn't ideal.