You've all been waiting ten chapters for this so bring out the popcorn and get comfy. It's finally time to watch Skye kick some major ass.
To begin with, the only thing I knew about my plan was that I had to be the only one to risk my life. No more armies. No more pointless slaughter. Just me. From there, I sketched out a rough idea. As Rhys had said, an army without a leader is like a train without tracks. So Brandon was the only one I needed to kill. One death and it would all be over.
The obvious choice was single combat. Brandon and I could fight to the death. The only trick would be making him accept, given that he had refused Rhys's challenge. Brandon had little to gain and a lot to lose by defeating me. So we had to make it worth his while.
While I was thinking about that, there was a commotion at the door; the twins were disagreeing again. I snatched a sandwich from the dwindling food supply before going to sort it out. I felt like momma wolf to a bunch of overgrown cubs.
"Don't touch it. It's probably a trap!"
"How could someone trap a piece of paper?"
"I don't know and I don't want to find out."
"This is ridiculous, I'm just going to—"
"What's going on, boys?" I asked when I reached the door. They had been assigned to guard it, probably just to keep them busy.
They both pointed at a crumpled piece of paper. It looked like it had been pushed under the door. The weird thing was, we hadn't heard anyone come down the stairs. The noise usually made my eardrums hurt.
I bent down to pick it up, hoping it was a message from Leo. But the words were so distinctively familiar that I choked on my food.
Rhodric's handwriting.
What. the. hell? If he had been here, why didn't he just come inside and talk to us instead of passing notes like a primary school child? Had someone else forged it? Delivered it for him?
I eyed the people nearest the door with suspicion. On one side, a coughing ten-year-old didn't seem a likely suspect. But to the left was Tom the Elder, whistling innocently. Rhodric's closest friend, who just happened to be here. Hmm.
With the mystery all but solved, I finally bothered to read the sketchy riddle. Or rather, I gave it to Fion, who read it aloud through the mind-link. Reading is hard. Why should I bother when my oh-so-helpful sister was so close?
At first I look like stupidity, but don't assume too quickly.
Those with nothing still have me, and often wish they didn't.
While I do not help you survive, I certainly make you thrive.
I can't be bought or sold, just swallowed for the right price.
The downfall of so many, yet you choose the road to peril.
What am I?
I hated my adopted father, I decided. Of course he couldn't give us a straight answer. No, that would be too easy. And not nearly as amusing. I think he enjoyed watching us struggle. But on this occasion, it wouldn't work. I wasn't book-smart, but I was street-smart, and the answer was so obviously pride.
It was helpful, if annoying. Brandon was clever and knew it, which made him stupid. He was so wrapped up in his self-importance, that he was blind to his shortcomings and desperately willing to believe he had won. So I'd give him that. I would let him stare victory in the face and then snatch it away.
"Yo, fam," I shouted, and the chattering rogues hushed obediently. Ah, gangster slang. Works every time. "I got a plan."
***
We were all shouting loud enough for any werewolf in a mile radius to hear, so it was no surprise when footsteps came down the cellar stairs.
"She's the reason we're stuck in here!"
"If we give her up, maybe he'll let us go!"
"Or we could just kill her here!"
"Guys, let's just calm down. It wasn't Skye's fault." That was Fion, just because Brandon would expect her to defend me.
"How was I supposed to know about his stupid reinforcements?" I demanded, adding a few nasty curses. I was quite a prolific actress, if I do say so myself.
"My son is dead because of her. I say give her to Brandon. He'll kill her and do us a favour." It was a good thing that Brandon couldn't see us, because half of the rogues were smirking, and the other half were rolling their eyes.
"Hand her over! Hand her over!" They started chanting, banging a beat on the walls with rocks and whatever else they could get their hands on.
"I want Skye Llewellyn. If you give her up and surrender to my leadership, you won't be harmed," Brandon shouted from outside the door, finally announcing his presence. He was probably as smug as a bug in a rug right about now.
"That's the problem, though," Ollie sighed. I'd given him the task of explaining the most important part. "We have to follow the rules of our pack — we can't answer to you until you've beaten her in a fair fight."
Silence. Confusion and suspicion.
"It's a tradition," Maggie added dramatically.
"Okay, well ... as a gesture of goodwill, I'm going to go to the top of the stairs now. You can choose a representative to bring her out and explain," Brandon's tone was condescending, like he was talking to little children. He sounded very pleased with himself to have 'found' a solution without risking the lives of his men.
For a while I had wondered why Brandon didn't just light a fire at the bottom of the stairs and smoke us out. Now I suspected he wanted as many of us breathing and under his control as possible. Maybe even to challenge the packs. Oh, and the door was mostly airtight. That too.
We heard his retreating footprints. I gestured for Kyle and Kevin to open the door, but of course, they couldn't even do that without disagreement.
"Get out the way, Kyle! I need to open it."
"No. You did it last time. It's my turn."
"When did we start taking turns?"
"I thought it was implied."
"Well, it wasn't. You're holding Skye up, so move already."
"Not until you admit it's my turn."
I walked straight through the middle of them and slid back the bolt, tugged the door open, and walked up the stairs. Ollie followed close behind, pretending to restrain me. My leg was improving all the time, but I couldn't help the slight limp as I ascended towards Brandon. The internal damage was mostly healed, it was just weak.
Leo was waiting nearby. He wore an expression that combined confusion with desperate concern. It occurred to me for the first time that he didn't know we were acting. Oops. But it was nice to know he cared.
"So, this fight you were talking about..." Brandon began slyly. He gave me a brief look of disgust before staring down Ollie, who was playing (quite convincingly) at being the class know-it-all.
"Well, you see, we all hate her 'cause she got everyone killed. So feel free to kill her, or whatever. You'd be doing us a favour," Ollie said in a matter-of-fact voice, while still managing to give me a death stare. At the word kill, Leo shot me a horrified expression and mouthed something.
I just sent him a discrete wink and left him to figure it all out. Cruel, but necessary.
Meanwhile, Ollie continued to explain, "Our problem is pack law. It says we can only obey a new leader if they defeat our old one in single combat."
"Okay, this part I don't understand. Why are you following pack law?" Brandon inquired.
"Oh, didn't you know? Rhodric officially made us a pack a few years ago. All official like," I replied casually, lying again, of course.
Now Brandon was, quite sensibly, suspicious. His father had always been a proud rogue. "What's the pack called?"
You should all know that I came so, so close to saying Walnut Pack. However, some obscure part of my brain decided to use its common sense, for perhaps the first time in my life. Walnut Pack wasn't believable. It couldn't be respected or feared, as the name I did choose would soon become.
"Last Haven Pack."
We were the last haven for lone wolves who had been kicked out of their packs, we were the last haven for rogues who were persecuted for their lifestyle, and we were the last haven for people who hated Brandon. Which was just about everyone.
"So in short, all I have to do is defeat that scrawny runt in single combat. Then I become the Alpha of Last Haven Pack and you all think I've done you a favour?" Brandon asked, still wearing that sly grin. He thought he was being oh-so-clever, when he was walking into an open trap.
Ollie nodded. "Yup."
"Then let's fight."
Leo must have finally caught onto our plan, because he came over to help me get ready. I was worried at first being seen with me so openly would ruin his cover. If I died, which seemed likely, Brandon wouldn't trust him. But Brandon couldn't care less, from what I could tell. Okaaaay.
Members of 'Last Haven Pack' were filing out of the cellar. They arrayed themselves in a loose ring around the courtyard to watch the fight. Brandon's men stood at one end, and the rogues took the other three sides. There were far more of us, but only one in four were trained fighters.
"Your leg is still weak," Leo pointed out. "Bran's a tough opponent on a good day. Are you sure you can do this?"
I liked that he was asking me instead of telling me that I couldn't like most male wolves do to their—
Why would I even begin to think that? He couldn't be. Because he already had one. A female whose life depended on the outcome of this challenge, to some extent.
Like most wolves did to their friends? Yes — that was right. Not the other thing.
But friend no longer seemed to fit Leo anymore. After everything he had done for me in the last few days, I was worried that I might have begun to like him in a different way to my friends. Maybe in a way that would disrupt his mate.
"I'm sure." It was a blatant lie, and from the eye roll I received in return, I was sure Leo knew it. But it was far too late to back out, even if I had wanted to.
I shifted on the spot, not caring that it ruined my clothes. If I died, I would never have to worry about clothes again. And if I won ... then I supposed I would just have to do my victory dance naked.
They say a sense of humour can be of comfort when facing death. I've always found it worrying. Why am I able to laugh about dying? That's not normal. It's certainly not healthy.
When I was about to trot into the centre of the ring for showtime, a hand bushed my shoulder.
It was Leo. "Just be careful, Skye. Please? I'm trusting you to get yourself back in one piece."
I gave his hand a lick, at a loss for how to answer that with words. And when he smiled, I walked away. My wolf baulked from my orders. She wanted to stay near Leo, our newest packmate. But I persuaded her, with some difficulty, that ripping apart Brandon was worth the separation anxiety.
Brandon's grey wolf towered a whole foot over my black one. That wasn't good for my self-esteem at all. But size and strength aren't the deciding factors in a wolf fight. Instead, it's speed, agility and skill. Size does help though. It definitely helps.
My size let me be quick, and my extensive training with my foster family had taught me everything there was to know about combat. But my most significant advantage was a good connection with my wolf. We got on well, because I shifted often. All rogues did, and that added bond was what made us feral and wild compared to packlings.
And when I did shift, I used her knowledge as well as mine. Instead of fighting for control, we shared it. A human's vast intelligence blended with a wolf's honed instincts, to create a killing machine.
Against most werewolves, that worked just fine. But Brandon was a Llewellyn. Alpha blood a few generations back, freakishly good at everything, and eighty kilos of muscle.
Brandon had asked Ollie to start the fight. Even the asshole himself had realised how useful my second-in-command was. While we waited for him to reel off the formal rules of a challenge, which I knew by heart, I searched the crowd for familiar faces. Fion was there, hiding in a knot of people to avoid her mate's attention. She beamed at me, full of encouragement. But no Rhys, and no Rhodric.
Then the fight began, as my friend skipped backwards, out of the circle. If I crossed that line, I would forfeit. If I lost consciousness, I forfeited. The only other two ways to lose were submission and death. So as long as I avoided those things, it should be fine.
As I circled Brandon wearily, my wolf picked out a bare patch of fur on his right forepaw, a half-healed injury. Now was the time for observation, so I scanned for any more weaknesses. He moved too stiffly; it had obviously been a while since he had fought as a wolf. These things combined would leave him slow to turn to that side. Between us, my wolf and I had a lightbulb moment. There was a way I could use both that and his height against him.
Brandon must have been in a hurry to finish this quickly, because he lunged almost immediately. I easily leapt to the side to avoid him. He skidded to a halt and turned to face me again. This time, I was the one attacking. In a calculated risk, I bit down on that missing patch of fur. Sure enough, he growled and hopped.
But the cost of that had been a bite to my quarters, which narrowly missed my own injury. It had been deliberately aimed — he had noticed my limp as well. Odd though, that he hadn't taken a more tempting shot at my shoulder. Perhaps he was going for submission rather than death.
And after a few more engagements, that proved to be the case. He didn't care how much he maimed me, as long as I would be breathing at the end of it. Because Brandon had promised Leo to leave me alive, and he needed Leo's support. He was the bridge to our rogues and, without him, Brandon would lose control.
While I was puzzling over that, Brandon had lulled me too far to the edge. He charged while I had nowhere left to go. I tried again to leap to the side and avoid his jaw, but I his entire weight still crashed into my flank. My wounded leg buckled completely. Once again, I couldn't put any weight on it. Shit.
We closed yet again, both managing to rip flesh. I received several injuries, the worst of which was a slash to my belly. It bled badly and tore open the more I moved. But in exchange, I had torn a chunk from his ear. That also bled, all over his face, blinding him.
The taste of Brandon's blood disgusted me, but only encouraged my wolf, who had been waiting for this opportunity from the moment we had first met him. That rush of adrenaline numbed my current injuries.
But still, the blood loss was starting to wear me down. It had been days since I had slept and nearly as long since I had eaten properly. I had to finish this fight quickly; Brandon's stamina would let him continue far longer.
Damned Llewellyns.
That thought got me angry. At Rhodric, for running off and leaving us this whole mess. At Rhys, for being so stupidly brave. But most of all at Brandon. Images from the last few days surfaced in my mind. The smirk on Brandon's face as Davies's crumpled body hit the floor. The bruises on Fion's arm and the vicious mark on her neck. I hated him more than I thought possible.
I massed up all that anger, and my wolf used it to fuel her for one last, fatal attack. Brandon's left eye was blinded by the blood, so I charged at the other side, darting left and crouching at the last moment. I ran straight under his belly, coming out on his blind, disabled side.
While Brandon frantically tried to work out where I had gone, I doubled back and leapt at his neck. I bit for the jugular, and my weight knocked him flat. That easily (well, not really), he was pinned.
I held my jaws around his throat, unwilling to close them just yet. Brandon's eyes met mine, begging and pleading and full of fear. Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. It's a lot harder to kill someone in cold blood than you might expect. To order your muscles to end someone's life. And if I relished it ... well, then I was just as bad as he was.
"Where's Rhys?" I demanded through the link. Let him think I would spare him for answers.
Brandon must have bought it. "Alive. I just had to get him out of the way."
"And Rhodric?"
He growled deep in his throat but answered grudgingly. "Also alive, as far as I know. He's hunting old prey."
Although I had no idea what that meant, it was better than dead. He had told me what I needed to know, but I couldn't give any mercy. He would only betray us again. But it was still difficult for me. Most of the time, when I killed a shifter, I didn't know their name. I didn't know their family.
Then I glanced up to see Sophie at the edge of the circle, watching me with that empty look. No joy, not even when her mate's killer was brought to justice. Because he was gone, and nothing I did to Brandon would bring him back. She was alone, and she always would be. Her silent pain overrode his blinding fear. I bit down hard.
"That was for Davies," I told him through the mind-link.
I bit down again. He was dying already, but I didn't care anymore. The bloodlust destroyed everything in its path.
"That was for my family."
I closed my jaws for the last time, even as the puddle of blood around me grew.
"And that was for me."
Then the light left Brandon's eyes, and I knew he was finally dead.