Luna of Rogues - Chapter 45: Chapter 45

"How many?" I asked.
We were crouching behind a yew tree, and there was no clear line of sight, but scent and audio could work miracles. Leo shook his head at me in concern. "I count seven at least."
I raised my eyebrows at Rhys and Sophie, who were sprawled in a bramble to our right. He used the link to reply, "Three over here. They're not freshly minted ferals, but they're damn close."
Well, shit. We were hardly a mile from Jace's camp in the Silverstones. Yet we had somehow stumbled on a feral scouting party in the deepest, darkest part of the forest. I could scarcely move without getting tangled in a bush, which made sneaking around practically impossible.
We could have strafed sideways and kept going, or even returned with pack reinforcements. But these ferals seemed to have a prisoner — a female, by the sound of her weeping. And none of us were okay with leaving a female at the mercy of crazed wolves if we could help it.
And we could certainly help it. Ten against four was tricky, but it wasn't impossible.
I jerked a thumb into the trees to our left and nodded at Rhys. He got the message and slipped further right, skirting the camp's edge to reach the far side. Sophie followed a few steps behind. I'd asked her to stick with my brother because I wasn't entirely sure whether she was alright, and she hadn't been thrilled, but she hadn't kicked up a fuss either.
Next, I looked long and hard at Leo. He was making a huge effort to prove he was fine, but he'd been suffering from a dry hacking coughing since Ember. I had to reflect that it was just not possible to bounce back from dying.
"I don't suppose you'd stay here?" I sighed.
Leo's answer was a scoff. A moment later, he slunk left, and I was alone. They would be waiting for my signal. Blowing on my hands to warm them, I kicked at the snow and listened. It sounded like the ferals were about to break camp, which was convenient for us.
I pulled out my knife and flicked out the blade. That went upside down in my left hand. For my right, I found a yew branch and snapped off the side branches. The tree of death. Appropriate. Ready as I'd ever be, I tugged on the link.
"Rhys, Sophie, shift. You two take care of the bystanders. Leo, go for the runners, if there are any." A nice, easy job to avoid straining his lungs. "I'm going to find the female, okay?"
"Don't want to shift," Rhys grumbled.
I sent a growl rumbling through the link. "And why's that?"
"Because they're not shifted, and they'll have knives, that's why."
He had a point. It was easier to fight in wolf form unless there were pointy objects involved — then you were twice as vulnerable. And it wasn't like Rhys to care about safety, but there was something about fighting rabid animals that made you itchy.
"You don't have a knife," I pointed out shortly.
"Reckon I'll find myself one."
"Well, fine." Rhys didn't often dispute my orders, so it was best to listen when he did. "You don't have to shift, little brother. Same goes for you, Sophie."
"I'd rather have my teeth," she muttered. "Can we get on with this, please?"
I chewed on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. This had to be done carefully — the whole situation was very fragile. One slip and everything would come smashing down around me. "Yeah, okay. Let's get as close as we can."
I crept to the next patch of undergrowth, then the next, until I was a foot from the closest tent. I couldn't stay there; there were several angles at which I could be spotted, but I could use it to pick my first mark — a scrawny youth, just to warm up.
Another thirty seconds I delayed, making sure Rhys, Sophie and Leo had time to get ready. Then I lifted my hands to my mouth and mimicked a crow's kraaa kraaaa. Sophie's red-brown wolf was amongst the ferals before I had even finished.
All then I was running, and the youth was scampering away from me with the shock of it, and I backhanded him with the yew. Teeth and blood sprayed. The second blow he caught; he used it to pull me closer, and I used the proximity to bury my knife in his stomach. He doubled over, sliding downwards, and I stepped over him, leaving him to clutch the yew branch as his blood drained into the snow.
My brother was playing with two ferals, Leo was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed he had found a runner, and Sophie was wrestling with another wolf behind me. I spotted an open tent, and pushed my way inside, expecting to find the female.
She was in there, bloodied and tear-stained, but there was also a giant of a man holding an axe. Startled, he began a swing, and I stumbled backwards. The ground came rushing up to meet me, and the man followed me out of the tent, axe braced in both massive hands.
I flipped myself over and scrambled out of the way, the axe blade biting the snow where my chest had been. I needed help, as much as I hated it, because he was heavier and he had a longer reach. So I tried to move towards where Rhys had been.
But Rhys wasn't there anymore — he wasn't even in the campsite, so I reckoned Sophie would have to do. I crossed my feet in the struggle to turn without losing an arm to that flashing axe.
And I slipped. There was a patch of damp snow that made mud under my boot, and I came down heavily. I tried to get my right arm beneath me and my knife arm far away from me, but the ground came rushing up to meet me far too soon. My nose and chin smashed into the frozen earth. Pain, in a dizzying, distracting waves, got the better of me for a moment, and there was blood in my mouth.
The feral took his chance. This time, in his hurry, he swung clumsily, backhanded, and misjudged the blow so it was the wooden handle which made contact at the base of my skull. I heard something crack, and that was what sent me over the edge. My mind fell deep into lovely, comforting blackness, into a chasm where even the imminent danger to my body couldn't reach me. I floated there for a few heartbeats, hovering beyond the brink of consciousness.
And then a tug on the mate bond, desperate and panicked enough to snap me back into awareness. Dizzy and sick from the numbness in my skull and spine, I found myself lying on the floor. And someone was fighting over my body. A reddish-brown blur battled with the axe-wielding feral, for my sake.
I tried to squirm, but my foot was caught in something. It felt like a guy rope, and it was suspending my leg in mid-air — hopelessly snagged. It pinned me in place while the feral kicked the wolf into a tree and raised his axe.
I blacked out again.
It was only for a heartbeat or two, but, by the time I came back around, the axe head was burying itself in Sophie's chest. A swing so forceful that ribs splintered and snapped. It lodged in the collarbone — I could see the thin bone clinging to the axe-head as the feral ripped it backwards.
Not again.
Please, not again.
But the damage was already done.
I wrenched my leg again, and something snapped loose. It was a struggle to make my arms and legs obey me, the back of my head was warm and sticky, and my body felt so heavy as I crawled towards Sophie's lifeless form. No — that wasn't right. It wasn't lifeless, because I could see her chest heaving as she fought for every breath.
Rhys was back. I was vaguely aware of him grappling with the feral to our left, but there was a thoughtless disinterest; I was acknowledging it without processing it. It took a few tries and my neck felt like it was on fire, but I managed to take off my coat. She had shifted back in her panic, as most wolves do when faced with death. I used the coat to cover her — to give her that little bit of dignity.
And then I pressed both hands to the rip in her chest. It was too long and too wide, and the blood seeped past my fingers without even slowing. I still had to try.
There was a piercing cry of pain. Rhys had the axe now, and the feral's hand was split nearly in two. He was cowering on the ground, clutching that wound and dripping blood from a gash on his hairline. Satisfied that his opponent was no longer a threat, Rhys crouched beside me. He took one look at Sophie and swore quietly, fearfully.
"Why?" I asked in a broken voice.
"Because I'm better than you," she laughed. Every word grated in her throat, wheezy and faint, but I understood. Just. "Because I'm not so far gone that I could watch another person die."
Rhys lifted her head gently out of the snow, supporting it with a hand. The other hand pressed over mine to stem that relentless river of blood.
"I don't want to die," Sophie told us in a small voice. "I- really- I don't think I want to die."
"You're not going to," Rhys promised her vehemently.
But he was a liar, and she was dying. She was terrified, as most people are, and she was bleeding out in front of me. I could have held the wound closed all day, and it wouldn't have mattered; it was just too big, and her lungs were too shredded.
"I don't care if that makes me a coward," she forced out, fighting for every word now. "But I — just — please, don't let me die."
She tried to say something else, but the words were noiseless now, just wet breaths as she drowned in her own blood. It was excruciating, and it was taking too long.
I saw Rhys's chest hitch, and I saw his hand edge into a pocket, fumbling for—
—for the gun. And I understood. I was shaking now, too, but I took Sophie's hand and squeezed.
"Look at me," I told her. "Just keep looking at me, okay? Keep those eyes open for half a minute, and your wolf will start healing. Think about Davies. Think about how happy you were."
She actually managed to nod her head, almost hitting the barrel of the gun, which was now pointed at the place where her skull met her spine. Rhys let it rest against his knee, then — just as Sophie's lips twitched into a tiny smile — pulled the trigger.
I flinched at the sound, so close and sudden. Her blood soaked me. All I could feel was relief. Relief, that she'd died quickly. Relief, that she hadn't realised what we were doing. Maybe that made a horrible person but, as far as I was concerned, I was already a horrible person.
Rhys let the gun fall and took a few shuddering breaths. He dragged himself backwards, away, until he was leaning against a tree trunk.
"It was the right thing to do," I managed to say, somehow. We had swapped roles since Owen — Oh, Goddess, Owen. This felt so much worse, I decided. Maybe because Sophie hadn't been trying to kill us. Maybe because she had been properly alive. Maybe because we'd known her longer.
Rhys put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, making no attempt to reply because he felt otherwise. It was written all over his face, as I was sure it was written all over mine. Killers — and not always of people who deserved it, as I liked to think. We both had the blood of a friend on our hands now.
And then Leo skidded into the clearing. He saw me and seemed to remember how to breathe —  he would have felt my pain through the bond —and then he saw Sophie. He must have heard the gunshot. Everyone in the damn forest would have heard the gunshot.
"She's —" he began, and it sounded like a question, but he didn't ever finish it. "Shit, shit."
The feral started laughing. Three heads turned slowly to look at him, and those looks were hateful enough to cut right through him. But he threw his head back and laughed even more, even as his eyes wandered with dizziness and his hand dripped red.
I reached for the gun with a lethal calm. Running on adrenaline, I managed to stand, another my vision alternated between darkness and spinning. Leo moved towards me and tried to catch my shoulder, but I shook him off easily. The feral was still on his knees, and he would die on his knees. I didn't have to afford any of the normal courtesies to an animal. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth to his beard.
"No, please, don't," someone sobbed.
I whirled around, alert for another danger. There was only a grimy female standing beside a tent. She had mud-streaked blonde hair and looked to be in her forties; this was the prisoner. So, ignoring her, I lifted the gun again, taking careful aim at his forehead.
"Please!" she repeated, more desperately.
What was her problem? Hadn't we just saved her worthless bloody life?
"You're safe now," I promised with a blatant lack of feeling. "He can't hurt you anymore."
"You stupid girl! He could never hurt me in the first place." She choked back a furious sob. "We're mated."
I turned my head to glare at her. Sophie's murderer would not be walking away because this random woman happened to be in love with him.
But Leo was standing behind me, so I took a few steadying breaths and tried to clear my head. His mind opened completely to mine, our thoughts rushing together in an unstoppable wave, and then my anger seemed to just ... drain away.
I loosened my grip on the gun and took a shaky breath. "We can't cure him. It's kinder."
"Kinder?" she exclaimed. "Kinder?"
No one bothered to look at her, let alone reply. Rhys was still sat with his head in his hands, watching the feral wearily.
She gestured at Leo. "He's your mate?"
I nodded tersely and pulled my shirt over my mark. If she could guess, anyone could guess, and then we were just walking, talking bargaining chips.
"If they turned him, would you shoot him? Or would you do everything in your power to save him?"
I bit my lip and glanced at Leo, my heart pounding. I didn't even want to consider the answer to that question. "Irrelevant. He's rabid. I'm not about to let him walk."
"And I'm not about to let you kill him. Look, I'm not crazy — I know he's not the man I fell in love with. He killed our children."
I got a vague sinking feeling. To have a loved one attack you was one thing. To have a loved one kill your loved ones was another.
The woman broke into wracking sobs and forced out words between them. "He was on patrol when he was turned. Came home early, and I didn't even see him. He went into the garden and killed my little boys. Seven and four years old, strangled by their own father."
"Look, I'm sorry and whatever—" I began.
"Don't be," she snarled. "He came for me next, dragged me with him. Wanted me close, see. Wolves don't stop needing their mates, not even when they're psycho."
Leo squeezed my hand, and I reckoned I could understand that sentiment.
"All I'm asking is a chance. Even if he lives the rest of his life in a cage, at least I'll know I've tried," she finished breathlessly.
I looked at my mate and my brother for their opinion. Leo shrugged and Rhys just moved his stare from the feral to Sophie's body. There didn't appear to be any obvious dissent, and my head was hurting too much to think up a valid reason to deny her.
"If we do this, he goes to Lle o Dristwch," I warned her.
"I don't know what that is, and I don't care."
Unsurprising. Despite the hundreds of rogues living there every winter, its historical significance, and the place being a big-ass castle visible for miles, the packlings remained oddly oblivious to Lle o Dristwch. It was a useful phenomenon.
"Someone will have to take you there, I suppose," I muttered.
I glanced between Rhys and Leo, lingering on the second. He could steal a car and drive, so his lungs could have a chance to rest, even if a feral and a hysteric woman weren't ideal company for a road-trip. Besides, if I sent Rhys, I wasn't entirely sure the feral would stay in one piece.
Leo sighed. "I'll do it. I'm the expendable one."
Quite the opposite. He was the person I most needed safe and sound, although, admittedly, I didn't need his help to meet with the Alphas and draw up battle plans. I would probably need Rhys, or I would've sent both of them. As cold and calculated as it appeared, I couldn't feel bad.
"You," I whispered, prodding his chest, "are not expendable."
He dipped his head, kissing me roughly. It was not a goodbye; it was a promise. A promise that he would be back and we would spend a lot more time kissing and the whole damn world would be okay if we wanted it to be.
I picked up the gun from the snow, suppressing a shudder at the feeling of the warm metal in my hand, and pressed it into his palm. "Just in case."
"Just in case," Leo repeated dutifully. He helped the woman into a dead man's coat, dragged the feral to his feet, and herded both of them from the camp. The feral cooperated without a fuss, but I suspected that would change when his wrist healed over. Still, Leo was careful, and never let the man get at his back.
All too quickly, the three of them were gone.
I sank onto my haunches and retched until my stomach realised there wasn't anything to throw up.
***
Another grave to dig. Another pyre unlit. This time, there was no rush. I sat with my back to a tree and wiggled my fingers and toes, hoping they would regain some proper feeling, while Rhys dug into the frozen ground. Several times I tried to help, only to be overcome by dizziness.
Afterwards, when the earth was stamped down and Rhys had carved a marker into a beech tree, we sat side by side to wait for my neck to heal.
"Did you know they were trying to have a baby?" Rhys asked tonelessly, staring at nothing. I shook my head and winced at the stabbing pain. "Two weeks ago, they were starting a family, and now they're dead and buried."
I didn't say anything. What could I say? I had gotten Davies killed, and Sophie had died defending me. This was my fault.
"I should've made her stay at camp," he added. "Her and Owen."
"Maybe," I admitted wearily.
And that was the end of our conversation. Truthfully, Rhys couldn't have made either of them stay — Sophie was a capable fighter, and Owen had been several years older than we'd been when we'd started doing dangerous shit. But we were too shell-shocked to care much for truths.
Because, of the twelve fighters who had left Lle o Dristwch, only two of us remained. And we had nearly done the impossible: liberated an entire pack, fought rabid animals, and trekked across mountains to do it. Another three miles, and it would be over.
"We've had a busy week," I commented wearily.
He lifted his gaze from the floor to glance at me. "Oh, for sure. I can tick a few things off the bucket list. Get arrested. Turn feral. Burn a building to the ground."
We were smiling then. They were bitter, miserable smiles, but at least it was an improvement on hollow-eyed staring.
"Nah," Rhys decided. "This was a quiet week by our standards."
I felt hot pain, then a grating of bone on bone, and finally a jarring click. I hauled myself up, one hand on a tree, to experiment. There was only a little dizziness, a hazy darkness to my vision. I'd be fine. I started putting on foot in front of the other, and Rhys pressed himself against my side in case I fainted or something.
"Don't get ahead of yourself — it isn't over yet," I warned. "Who knows what we'll have done by Monday... Got tattoos? Met our evil twins? Committed genocide?"
"All three?" he suggested darkly, and so our fate was sealed.