Please don't hate my guts after this chapter. Trust that this is all part of my plan. I would put the smiley face for an evil grin here, but I don't think there is one.
Although Brandon's men were dangerously close, they weren't attacking just yet. So I thought it would be safe to find Fion. To keep her away from the battle, I had asked her to look after the toddlers. Most of the mothers were eager to fight and welcomed the offer of a babysitter.
My sister was fully capable of fighting and definitely willing to. But I had expressively told her to do the opposite. Brandon's first priority, as a young male werewolf, would be to retrieve his mate. That was happening over my dead body, so it was best Fion stayed out of harm's way. With the children to care for, at least she could make herself useful.
The entrance to the cellar was concealed by crates and sacking. Brandon knew where it was, but I was in no hurry to remind him of its existence. Everyone who couldn't fight would be safely ensconced in these stone rooms, far from danger. I had to descend several rugged staircases to reach the most secure of them. My footsteps echoed horribly, alerting them of my approach.
I half expected Fion to be waiting in the open doorway, impatient and eager for company. She had been pestering me through the mind-link for a while already, consciously or not. But instead, I was greeted by a solid and firmly closed door.
"Password, please," a faint voice demanded from the other side.
"What password?" I asked in bewilderment. We had definitely not agreed on a password. To the best of my knowledge. Or so I thought.
A stony silence was my reply.
"Look, I don't know the password. But can't you recognise my voice?" I reasoned.
"Sorry. No password, no entry. Those are the rules," the reply came. This time I exploited my wolf hearing to turn up the volume. And consequently recognised my tormentor. Fion, the annoying little asshole.
"Um ... Brandon's a jerk?" I tried. She snorted, but the door remained firmly closed. "Open sesame?"
Fion tried unsuccessfully to hold in a laugh. "Try that on a bird. It might actually work. But still — incorrect. You have one attempt remaining."
Something that will never cease to amaze me: we could be under siege and in life-threatening danger, yet still find time to wind each other up.
I racked my brains for a memorable word which Brandon wouldn't understand the significance of. At first, it was utterly unsuccessful. Then I remembered those poor, victimised fish. "Walnuts?"
There was a faint click and a grating sound as the door swung open. Fion stood in the entrance, exhausted but relieved. More faded bruises dotted her exposed skin, especially around her wrists. She was painfully thin and shaky, but the smile on her face made up for all that.
"I got it right?!" I half-shouted, incredibly pleased with myself.
"Nope. I got bored of teasing you." She moved aside to let me in. I didn't fail to notice a skittish flinch when I got close and passed it off as a side-effect of Brandon. "It was last haven, because this is the final safe place if the castle falls."
"That's kinda deep. No wonder I didn't remember it — just doesn't have the same ring to it as walnuts," I protested.
"Anyway, did you need anything? Or did you just come to criticise the security protocols you came up with?"
"Ollie made up the passwords," I muttered. "I would have been far more creative."
"Skye. Focus," Fion reminded me, with a hint of a grin.
"Oh, right. I just came to check on you. You know, after the whole Brandon fiasco."
"About that..." she began slowly. "Brandon... He..."
Maggie shouted down the stairs. Something about attackers and hurry. Half of me was itching to get up there. The other half was determined to hear the end of this revelation.
Fion sighed quietly, plainly relieved. "No, it's alright. Go. It can wait."
That was it took to convince me. I heard a faint bye as the door swung shut behind me. Climbing back up the stairs was a lot more exhausting than walking down them, and I vaguely wondered why we didn't install an escalator.
Emerging into the courtyard temporarily blinded me. Sunlight everywhere, and crowds of people milled about, adding to the general confusion. But there was a damper on the usual brightness — a storm was brewing. Maggie gestured for me to join Ollie in the shade of a crumbling pillar.
He had shifted into his wolf form and used his muzzle to point at something beyond the wall. I looked for a good minute, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Then, one in particular or Brandon's wolves seemed familiar. He was circling with the rest of the attackers, yet subtly drawing our attention.
It was a timber wolf, tall and lanky. He was swishing his tail, from worry rather than joy. I squinted to make out a lighter patch on his muzzle, and finally recognised Leo. He was worked up about something. When Leo caught my gaze, he turned fractionally to the left, indicating a group massing by a lower section of wall. They were getting ready to attack.
Well, why didn't you just point at that in the first place, Ollie? We don't have time to admire Leo right now. As much as I'd like to.
I literally shifted on the spot. One second I stood on two feet, the next my paws scraped the courtyard paving stones. My wolf adored the freedom after so long cooped up in human form. She was used to shifting several times a day and training every evening. This new life of human plots and confinement didn't suit us.
Ollie, who had also shifted, held his head high. He stood proudly at my flank, waiting for the slightest order. I glanced at my second-in-command and knew I had chosen well. A swish of my tail had him and another pack of fighters following me, as I padded over to protect our vulnerable wall. We found secure perches on the battlements, crouched, and waited.
One wolf, larger than the others and too similar to Rhys to belong to anyone other than Brandon, leapt up the sheer face of the wall. His front paws scrambled at the sharp rocks, and then my drain cleaner took effect. Brandon yelped (one of the most satisfying sounds I have ever heard), and retreated to lick his paws, which wasn't a great idea.
Unfortunately, he seemed to realise what it was before it could do his tongue any permanent damage. Several others had a go but eventually conceded defeat to the acid-drenched stones.
I just stayed on the top of the wall, in the perfect position to break the neck of any wolf who made it too far. My body trembled with the restraint of waiting. One of the rogues beside me kicked at a stone, and it scraped loose, tumbling down the wall and into the courtyard below. The soft thud broke a silence which had descended over the entire castle. We hardly dared to breathe.
Brandon's men retreated a hundred metres to mind-link safely. Whatever decision they reached, it took them back to camp. A ragged cheer went up as we watched their retreating backs. Relief flooded through me, until I picked out Leo's familiar pelt, and the feeling of unease returned.
Could I trust him?
"They're going to get their guns and thick gloves," Ollie muttered through the mind-link. "How can we fight when they're shooting at us?"
"It'll be about as effective as water pistols. They've only got blanks," I replied, offering up a silent prayer to the Moon Goddess. The situation wasn't nearly so certain. I could only hope that Leo had managed to snag the ammunition already.
That seemed to reassure them.
Waiting to be attacked was no easy thing. There were nerves and that constant tide of fear. It had sounded so easy in theory but in reality? A siege was terrifying. We had trapped ourselves, like mice in a cage. Now we could only hope that the cat couldn't reach through the bars.
I circled around the perimeter to distract myself. Although it hadn't been my intention, it seemed to reassure the other rogues as well. They all knew the dark, scrawny wolf as Rhodric's daughter, and felt better for my presence. They really shouldn't have.
I found myself looking for that timbre wolf among the trees, even though I knew he was long gone. Please, Leo. Then, just as I was rounding the last corner of the wall, an eerie sound cut through the night. It was a howl, and one I knew only too well. My little brother was home.
My joy was only overshadowed by my wolf's feelings. She lifted her muzzle to return the greeting, howling back at her littermate. The rogues joined in the clamour, because reinforcements had arrived, and now we stood a ghost of a chance. Wolf howls can span miles, so they could be as far as the Silverstones, but they were coming.
Brandon knew we would soon have company, so he urged his men into a sprint for the return to the castle. At least half of them were in human form, armed and pissed off. Some were actually human — the 'hunter' minions. And so a small army rushed our walls.
I flicked the mind-link, a signal for the children in the towers to let loose with their catapults. Soon, acorns and conkers rained on the attackers. It certainly wasn't enough to do any damage, but it distracted them. And it was good for our morale.
But the men just kept marching forwards, ignoring the missiles. Then they stopped just within firing range, and the gunmen knelt, sighting down their rifles. All it would take was a word from Brandon, and they would pull the trigger.
Against all my better instincts, I decided to trust Leo completely. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? He would have found a way to warn me if the guns still worked, or so I hoped. Unless he was a double-agent, of course.
In some fit of madness or rage, I leapt from the battlements to above the gatehouse. Here, I was a plain target for the gunmen. It was impossible for them to miss.
If they were blanks, I would inspire the fighters with my reckless bravery. And if they were real, I would martyr myself and hopefully, drive the rogues into true rage. It was a win-win situation ... for everyone except me.
Bangs and flashes of light as the rifles fired made me flinch, but I remained fully intact and uninjured. Not for the first time that day, I thanked the Moon Goddess for Leo.
There weren't many to fight, but they were trained and monstrously ruthless. While a normal wolf might shirk from killing, these shifters seemed to relish it. That made them dangerous opponents, and my rogues were reluctant to single themselves out as a target.
But I, who suffered from a distinct lack of self-preservation, was more than willing to catch Brandon's personal attention. Let him come after me. I was the only person in the castle who might stand a chance in a fair fight. Rhys would be better, and Rhodric would win without breaking a sweat, but they weren't here. And, as the prodigy adopted daughter, I felt it was my duty to give it a go.
I growled a challenge directly at Brandon, the ultimate defiance. Although that was the best way to make myself a target, it might distract him from everyone else. He made sure to ignore it, but just moments later, the army charged. All of them had strips of cloth tied around their hands. The drain cleaner was now useless, and I was out of tricks. Now, the real fight would begin.
I saw a hand grasp the stones beside me, so I stamped on it, digging my claws into flesh and muscle. There was a satisfying scream of pain before the hand's owner fell heavily onto the grass. I hoped he had broken something. Other rogues were using the same strategy all around me, while a few enterprising individuals dropped rocks on the climbers.
The defence was holding. But we couldn't be everywhere at once. Everyone we knocked off the wall would just get up and climb again. It was hard to do any real damage. The torrential rain made it difficult to see all the possible entrances; it was only a matter of time before they breached the walls. Then we would be fighting a war on two fronts.
Unless ... we could distract them from the castle, I realised. An assault team could get behind them, join up with the reinforcements, and trap Brandon between our two forces. Then he would be the one with nowhere to run.
I leapt off the wall in one smooth bound, skidding on the paving stones, and ran into the shelter of the eaves to shift. I dug into a random clothes bag and pulled out a jumper and trousers that looked roughly the right size. And then I was no longer naked, which was always helpful.
"Ollie, get over here. Fighters, to me!" I yelled across the courtyard, leaking authority into the words. My wolf's forcefulness let them hear, even over all the commotion. It was the same thing Alphas did in the heat of battle, I realised, then immediately discarded the thought because anything related to packs is naturally repulsive to rogues.
People started to obey. Slowly at first — just in twos or threes. But eventually, I had nearly thirty men and women gathered before me. At another command, they followed my example, shifting and dressing. Once everyone was ready, I led the group to the emergency exit.
Years ago, Rhodric had told me in passing about a tunnel. It led from the cellar entrance to a secluded spot in the woods. Whoever had built it had done a good job, despite their very obvious paranoia. After twenty years, it was still standing strong. I had to hope Brandon didn't know it existed, or if he did, he had failed to take precautions.
I opened a trapdoor, kicking sacking and earth out of the way to reach it. It concealed a long, earthen passageway, too low even for wolves. As humans, we had to commando crawl through. It took many minutes of wriggling to reach the trapdoor at the other end. When I lifted the slab of wood and poked my head up cautiously, I found myself face-to-face with Rhys.
It took a while to process each other, but when we did, Rhys hauled me to my feet and wrapped me in a relieved hug. He had shifted back recently; I could see it in his ruffled up hair and rumpled clothes. Since the howling, I assumed, although I had no idea why.
"It's about damn time. We've been waiting for days," I huffed, just to wind him up. Because what else are siblings for?
"I'm here now, aren't I? What's happening? Are you fighting yet?" Rhys asked with a little too much hope that it might not be the case. So that explained it: he was in human form to negotiate with his brother.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that Davies, one of his oldest friends, was dead because of Brandon. Or that Fion had far too many bruises to be accidental. It was too painful to see that despite everything, they still loved each other in the way that only siblings could.
Brothers and sisters could bicker all day, and still die for each other when the sun set. It was a bond which went beyond anything I'd ever encountered. Boyfriends and girlfriends came and went, parents could age and die, children eventually left home, but siblings were for life. Try as you might, you couldn't quite shake them.
Wolves began to emerge from the trees behind Rhys — our allies. There were more than I could have ever hoped for. Northerners, western wolves, even the occasional southerner. We were only missing the Anglesey shifters, Llewellyn kin from the infamous island. But still, he had done a good job. A little bit of charm, an old friend in trouble, and boom — we had an army.
To my surprise, they all lowered their ears and tails when they saw me: a clear sign of submission. What was that about?
"They all came for us?" I asked Rhys quietly.
Rhys shook his head. "They all came for you, Skye. Who could refuse Rhodric's heir?"
"What do you mean I'm his heir? Surely that should be you?"
"We don't pass leadership by blood, you know that. Otherwise Bran would be in charge. No, rogues follow whoever they like. And that happens to be you. Made quite a name for yourself, with this whole rebellion thing," he explained. "It helps that dad was never shy about recommending his replacement."
I blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you idiot. You're in charge."
"So he passed his rogues to me?" I asked, taking far too long to grasp the situation.
"Not just our group. Every single rogue in Snowdonia listened to Dad. That's about seven hundred shifters scattered all over," Rhys said. He was full of pride, not just for his father, who had united all these people under one banner. But for me, as well. For the sister who had been chosen to succeed him.
No jealousy. Not even a drop. I could have hugged him again for that. Anyone else might have felt miffed if their father chose someone else over them. But Rhys? Nah. It didn't even occur to him to be jealous. I think he was just glad it wasn't him.
I blinked several more times. It's not every day that a seventeen-year-old discovers that she is probably the singular most powerful person in a country. Seven hundred wolves was bigger than several packs put together.
To this day, I still cannot quite work out why Rhodric chose me, of all people. And that is no false modesty on my part — I knew my own mind, and I was not ready for this level of responsibility. There were a dozen people with more experience and cooler heads, who could have made reasonable decisions.
But, as I think Rhodric knew all too well, they could not inspire people to fight as a Llewellyn could. Even an adopted Llewellyn, like myself. And maybe there was some vanity on his part — trying to keep the rogues in the (extended) family.
He knew I would fight Brandon until my last breath, just on principle. He knew I was loyal to him. He knew Rhys would back me. And perhaps, he knew that Brandon couldn't kill me. Even if I had no clue. Rhodric always seemed to have ways of knowing things that he shouldn't. It didn't seem too farfetched that he chose me because I was the only one who could survive being singled out.
But whatever the reason, my adopted father named me his heir, and whether it was for the better or worse is not for me to judge.
"Uh, Skye ... we're a little pushed for time here," Ollie whispered. He was right: adjusting to my new role could wait. This fight couldn't.
I inclined my head towards the castle. "True, true. Carry on, lads."
Every single one of Rhys's reinforcements raced past, heading for the fight. Ollie and the fighters we had brought joined them. It was an impressive force and outnumbered Brandon's current army two to one. We would have won that fight, if we had got a chance to start it.
If I could pinpoint the single moment when things went completely and disastrously wrong, that would be it. As our reinforcements charged, so did Brandon's. The problem was, we hadn't seen them, but they had definitely seen us.
A hundred large, male wolves slammed into our vulnerable right flank, splitting the rogues and easily forcing them to retreat. I stood frozen with shock, watching our males and females slaughtered without any chance of resistance. Growls and whimpers and yelps filled the air, drowning out every noise except my thundering heart. Brandon's men killed with an eerie ferocity. No mercy, and certainly no humanity. They literally ripped their opponents apart.
I had no idea where Brandon had found so many fighters, but I didn't get a chance to find out, because Rhys was suddenly tugging my arm and shouting something I couldn't find the will to hear. He dragged me away from the fight, straight into the midst of the storm, where the wind nearly knocked me off my feet and the thunder and lightning were seconds apart.
It took minutes for me to recover enough to understand what Rhys kept repeating. "They'll be looking for you, Skye. We have to get out of here."
"Whoa. You're just going to leave them to die?" I demanded coldly. The words were hardly audible over a shrieking wind. But I was grateful for the background noise. It covered the screams of dying rogues.
He didn't dare stop moving. We didn't have any time to waste. But he shook me, rougher than he had ever been with me before. "You think I want to?"
My brother was not, and had never been, a coward. He would have stayed and died with them, without a moment's hesitation. I saw that then. But he was scared, just not for himself. For me.
"I'm not afraid to die," I insisted, only half lying. I was afraid, but I wasn't unwilling. There were things worth dying for, and this was one of them.
"You really don't get it, do you?" Rhys asked. "You're the one we need alive. You. An army without a leader is as useful as a train without tracks. We'll all happily die to help you get away, if it means we'll win this war."
Every time he said you, he jabbed me in the ribs to reinforce his point. I didn't have any reply, but as it turned out, I didn't need one, because there was an ear-splittingly loud creak. My eyes lifted slowly, already half suspecting what had made such a horrible sound.
And I was right. A tall, spindly poplar tree was just beginning to topple over. The wind had done it in, and we were directly in its path.
The first thing that came to mind? It's going down, I'm yelling timber, to my eternal shame. But as the reality of the situation sunk in, I didn't really feel like singing anymore. Becoming a human pancake was not the epic death I had always hoped for.
This time, I was the one dragging Rhys — to the side and out of the way. But as luck would have it, I tripped a metre from safety and went sprawling on the muddy forest floor. With the little control I had over my fall, I succeeded in manoeuvring Rhys ahead of me. I only had time to grit my teeth before something heavy landed on my left leg. Not for the first time in the last couple of weeks, I felt the bone snap.
The pain wasn't as bad as you might expect. I blame adrenaline for that. It was more of a spreading numbness than real pain. A side branch (not the main trunk, thank the Moon Goddess) had pinned and mangled my thigh.
Rhys turned from where he had fallen and stared at my hopelessly trapped leg with horror. He pulled at the branch, but it was damned heavy and refused to give in to even a werewolf's strength. We might have been able to dig a way out, if we had a little more time.
Howls sounded nearby: Brandon's men, hunting for escapees. We had less than a minute before they found us. Especially now blood was pooling from my leg, creating an unmistakable stench, even through the rain.
Rhys gave me a rueful grin. "Well, I guess this is goodbye."
Anyone else might have assumed he was going to ditch me to save his own hide. Anyone else didn't know him like I did.
"Don't you dare ... even think ... about it," I hissed with some difficulty. My breathing was oddly shallow, and it was hard to find the air for speech.
He sighed sadly. "You really don't listen, do you? You're the one we need alive. Not me."
"My life isn't worth more than yours. Or anyone's, for that matter. You are not dying for me, Rhys Llewellyn. That is not even an option, you hear?" I told him, while desperately clawing dirt from my legs. Maybe I could wriggle free, with just a little more room.
He didn't take any notice of me. "Well, we've had a fun time of it. Good few years, weren't they? I love you, little sister. Tell Fion that I love her too."
Rhys didn't think he would survive the fight, and he was okay with that — he was still grinning, somehow. I later realised it wasn't because he found the situation amusing, it was just that he wanted my last memory to be of him smiling. In that way, he took after his father. Goddamn idiots, the both of them. Far too cheerful when it came to dying.
Somehow, I felt that when he said he loved Fion, it was in a different way to the sibling love he felt for me. Maybe the beginnings of a crush on her. It was something I should have picked up on a long time ago, so why I chose that particular moment to realise it, I have no idea.
I had always considered them as siblings. It had never occurred to me that they might not have adopted each other. That they might see each other in a different way.
"Rhys, don't you dare—" But before I could reel off the myriad of reasons against his suicide mission, he shifted and ran off. To lead them away from me, of course.
My rant continued in his absence, calling him a dozen filthy names. When my anger finally faded away, although he couldn't hear me, I whispered, "I love you too, little brother."
So soppy. So unlike us. But sometimes, those words need to be said.
Alone in the woods, while lightning crackled all around and thundered deafened the world, I lay back and gave up. We had lost. All our preparations, all of our planning, and we had still lost.