Well hello again everyone! How are we all? Doing ritualistic dances of joy on Brandon's grave? Because that's what I've been up to for the last few days. Well enough of me, on with the story, cause that's what you're all here for anyway.

The next hours were a blissful blur. I had to have stitches, according to the medics. The rip in my stomach and a few other minor places. While that took place, I was sentenced to the infirmary, which had been set up in the command room.

Many of the injured from the last few days hadn't been properly treated, and I insisted on waiting until the most critical had been seen. That drained away even more time, until Fion eventually decided that I was losing too much blood. By the time the medics stopped fussing, I had received stitches, pain meds, a blood transfusion and an IV.

Now, I had been confined to my bed under the eaves. Leo, Ollie and Fion were crowded around, equally exhausted and overjoyed. Maggie had been along briefly, until the kitchen called her back to make lunch.

As soon as the four of us were left alone, Leo leant over to hug me gently, careful not to touch my many bruises and scratches. He sat down on the end of my bed. Fion was slumped on her own mattress, wearing a tired smile. She was dealing with the broken mate bond as best she could. It would be a rough couple of days physically, but mentally, all I could feel was relief.

There was a distinct behaviour pattern I was beginning to notice. Whenever around males, Fion was twice as skittish. She would flinch at fast movements, watch them warily, and breathe that little bit faster. Brandon had left a permanent scar, I realised. It would never heal completely. And all those things were happening right then.

Because Ollie — who had taken one look at Rhys's mess of blankets and decided it would be safer not to interfere — was sharing half of her bed. He was the chirpiest of us and had found the energy to organise the fractured rogues. Under his guidance, a team had been dispatched to bring in the dead, and several search parties were scouring the forest for Rhys.

Amidst all the blood and confusion, my memories of directly after Brandon's death weren't the clearest. The others had clarified things, claiming that the 'Ferals' had left quietly. And that was all well and good for us — they were out of our way. We didn't know that they had gone to join a much larger Feral force, who were preparing to descend on the packs. Ah, ignorance is bliss.

Although we had won, there was still so much to do. Dead to be buried, a castle to be repaired and properly fortified (I didn't want a repeat of our shambles of a siege), and most importantly, there was a party to organise.

"Last Haven Pack, huh?" Leo asked me teasingly. "I suppose you'll go back to just being rogues now, won't you?"

Rogue, by definition, meant a criminal werewolf. Not just all wolves who aren't in packs, as most people believed. We weren't lone wolves, obviously. Rogues tend to band together, but never quite to this scale. We weren't really a pack either, because we weren't 'official'. So where did that leave us?

"I don't know..." the words came slowly. "We're not entirely rogues. Most of the wolves here have never raided in their lives. I guess we could be a rogue pack ... but I'm not sure the packs would like the sound of that."

They might decide to destroy us, was the part I left out. The packs could be very touchy about these things. A rogue pack wouldn't follow their stupid laws or observe their stupid traditions. That made us dangerous to them.

"Who cares what the flockies want?" Ollie piped up. "We've never let them tell us what to do before. So I vote we become Last Haven Pack."

"Great idea, Ollie!" Fion exclaimed, although he hadn't exactly suggested it. "We'll have a vote."

I grinned. "We'll be a democratic rogue pack. Alphas run a strict dictatorship, but I don't want that. We can vote about anything important, and form a council for the small things."

"I'd quite like that," Leo decided. "And it'll make all the difference to the rogues. Free will and all that. So all you need to do now is give a speech and explain it all to them."

I baulked, because talking to several hundred people at once sounded dreadful. "Whoa there ... speech? I don't do speeches."

"Didn't you ever do public speaking in school?" he asked incredulously.

"We didn't go to school," Ollie, Fion and I answered in perfect unison.

"Lucky mongrels," Leo muttered. "Well I did and it's boring as hell, but you do learn how to give a speech."

"So, Leo," I said cheerfully as if starting a how-to video, "how do you give a speech?"

"You think I was paying attention? That's cute," he replied with a snort.

I slapped his arm. "I hoped you were paying attention."

"You saw Rhodric give speeches all the time. It can't be that hard," Fion reasoned.

"You do it then," I muttered darkly. She shook her head immediately. "See? Not fun. This is why we need to find Rhys. He's actually good at that kind of thing. I think ... he might even enjoy it."

Ollie gave me a hopeful smile, "We didn't find his body in the woods. That's got to count for something. The search party drew a blank, though."

"He's too far away for even me to mind-link. So at least the other side of the Silverstones. New Dawn Pack is the best guess from the little I can sense," Fion added.

"Ah, shit," I sighed. "They don't like us. Maybe Brandon did a Callum and had him dropped unconscious on their turf."

She nodded slowly. "Yes, that sounds about right. We still can't help him, unless we're willing to take on all of New Dawn. So, are we going to talk about how Rhodric's note got into the cellar?"

Leo reshuffled himself thoughtfully. "You know, I was on guard outside the whole time. No one went in."

"No scents on the steps. No one saw anything at all," Ollie reported. I felt like hugging him for knowing to investigate without even being asked. It made life far easier for me.

"Add Rhodric to our mystery list then," I said. I wouldn't mention Tom as a suspect yet. A civil conversation was the least I owed him before I started throwing around allegations that he was harbouring or aiding my missing father.

"We have a mystery list?" Leo sounded genuinely curious.

"Well ... no. Not really. It's a theoretical mystery list," I explained. "And do you know the next item? Your mate. Rhys couldn't find a trace of her. I'm starting to wonder if she really exists."

"Oh, that's an easy one. I met my mate nearly a week ago. She's strong, smart, brave and beautiful — everything I could have ever hoped for. Completely and utterly perfect. I didn't tell her that Brandon was threatening her to keep me in line. But now he's dead, I'm free to be with her. And I know where she is, even if Rhys doesn't."

"So it's not a mystery at all?" I felt a twinge of longing at the way Leo described his mate ... or could it be jealousy? I really had no idea anymore. Dammit, stop falling for him. It's not fair on that girl.

"Not to me, it isn't." Leo was grinning so much I'm surprised he didn't pull his smiling muscles.

Ollie frowned, obviously as confused as I was. "So why aren't you going to get her? If I had a mate, I'd be sprinting by now."

"I think I'll leave it a little while — see if she comes to me."

His explanation raised more questions than answers, especially as he was wearing that sneaky smile, and even my own wolf seemed to be laughing at me. She seemed to have figured it out by herself, but she refused to share the answer. Could she be someone I knew?

It was frustrating me so much that I moved onto a topic just to distract myself. Leo, you stupid cryptic human being. Stop teasing and 'fess up.

"Have they collected all the bodies yet?" I asked Ollie.

"Yeah, just about. We've got them on a pyre by the river."

"Then I think it's about time we put the dead to rest."

***

I had insisted on walking to the river, despite my injuries. Leo found me a crutch to prevent any more damage to my leg, which seemed sensible, no matter how much I hated using it. Another day and I would be fighting fit. But until then, I had to hobble around like a lame dog.

The first pyre was small. It only had nine corpses: Brandon and his men. It physically hurt me to know that they had lost so few of their own, but with the ferals gone, it was too late to add a few more corpses.

It was the second pyre that towered over us all. It was nestled into the curve of the river,  and exactly thirty-seven corpses were stacked onto it. There had been more casualties in the initial attack, but Brandon had already disposed of them. Their loved ones would get no closure — we didn't even know what he had done with them. Their trees were on the pyre today, too, because that was as close as we could get now.

The trees — or life-trees, as some people called them — were an old tradition amongst rogues. When a child was born, their parents would take a handful of seeds and plant them in the forest. One of them would grow into a tree, and that tree would grow with the child. We carved patterns into them when we were old enough. And when you died, that tree was cut down to make your pyre. It was like a living, breathing gravestone.

I didn't have a proper one, of course, but I had found a beech tree near the castle and adopted that. It was the right age, and it was right beside Rhys's hazel. That was good enough for me. 

I had been offered to chance to light the fire today, but I didn't think I had any right to. There was no one I had been particularly close to burning that day. Instead, the pyre would be lit by the rogues who had lost their mates in the battle — all twenty-three of them.

The smaller one I had agreed to light, if only because no one else wanted anything to do with it. When I held the flaming branch to the pyre, the flames licked at the wood and began to climb higher. I waited until I was sure the wind wouldn't put it out, and then I went back to stand beside Leo. There were a few jeers from the crowd when the fire reached Brandon's body, but they died out quickly. No one had the energy to be furious at him.

When the larger pyre was lit, everyone went quiet. It was rare that we bothered with eulogies, but the relatives could say something if they wanted to. Today, very few of them did. There was no listing of accomplishments. Those things spoke for themselves in the memories of those who knew them. We just used funerals to say goodbye.

But after the depressing part of the funeral, instead of mourning their deaths, it was our custom to celebrate their life. This was usually done by getting absolutely smashed and telling stories about the dead. Stories which were usually so grossly overexaggerated that they no longer resembled the truth.

We sat around campfires until late afternoon, chatting and drinking. When it was nearly time for our evening meal, I decided I couldn't put off the speech any longer. It was rare to have everyone so conveniently gathered in one place. Very reluctantly, I rose to my feet and hit my beer bottle against the table for silence. Yo fam didn't seem appropriate here.

When I had several hundred pairs of eyes staring at me, I cleared my throat nervously.

"Okay, hi everyone."

That was all I managed to come up with. I threw a desperate glance at Leo, who gave me a thumbs up and an encouraging nod. Oh-so-helpful.

"Now that Rhodric's missing and Brandon's dead" —I had to pause to let them applaud at this point— "some changes need to be made. We told Brandon we were a pack now. I don't see any reason why that shouldn't be true. It'd definitely piss off the Alphas. So how about we call ourselves Last Haven? Those in favour move left. Those against move right."

I had taken care while deciding how to pitch it, and that proved popular. I saw countless smirks, especially on the frequent raiders. Anything to annoy the packs.

They were slow to start moving, but the migration was generally to the left. And by the time the metaphorical dust settled, nine out of every ten stood on that side. Ollie's cheesy password made a good pack name, apparently.

"Alrighty then. Last Haven Pack it is. The second change is democracy, and you don't get a say about this one." A ripple of laughter rose at a joke I hadn't even meant to make. "I don't speak for all of you, so if a decision affects you significantly, we'll vote on it."

Nods and smiles after this. I began to relax unconsciously. They already liked me for what I did to Brandon, and in that moment of victory, I think they would have agreed to just about anything. I could be myself.

"And last but not least — we've all earnt a treat, and then some. So there will be a party tomorrow night. We'll have food, music and no expense spared."

I sat down again, leaving the crowd to talk amongst themselves. They excited chatter went on for minutes on end. One particular conversation caught my attention, which took place between the twins, unsurprisingly.

"I'm not a big fan of parties."

"Well, what do you want to do instead?"

"I was thinking we could head over to Ikea."

"What the hell you gonna do in Ikea?"

"We could hide in the cupboards, then when someone walks by, we jump out and say 'Hey, I'm back from Narnia!'"

"That's actually a good idea. Except that the nearest Ikea is in Cardiff. You want to drive two hundred miles to make a few unfortunate people question your sanity?"

"Oh. I guess we'll just go to the party then."

I turned back to the campfire and took a deep swig from my bottle. The alcohol numbed the edge of my worries about Rhys and Rhodric. Things wouldn't be quite right until they were back, alive and safe.

"Boo," Fion complained loudly. "Tomorrow night? That sucks, Skye. Put it off another day."

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your birthday — duh. We should celebrate both at once."

"What are you talking about? My birthday is weeks away," I insisted, frowning.

"Ahem, the date today is the twenty-eighth of November."

That certainly didn't sound right. The last time I checked, which must have been at least a week ago, it was the ... oh ... twentieth. But just for the sake of argument, I stubbornly folded my arms. "No. It can't be."

"I think you must have lost track of time." Fion was smiling widely, the first genuine sign of happiness I had noticed. "But you turn eighteen the day after tomorrow."

"Huh." I finally gave in. It wasn't like me to forget my own birthday at all, but the events of the last week had given me more important things to think about. I had never even questioned how I knew my birthday as a child, given that I hadn't even known my name. But it was Rhodric who had known, of course, and quietly planned a celebration when I turned eleven. I had never thought to question it.

"You'll be able to find your mate, too. Do you think he's from Last Haven?" Fion's excitement was obvious. I wasn't so thrilled.

With my adopted father mateless and my real parents dead, I hadn't ever observed a healthy relationship. In fact, the only bond I had seen close up was her and Brandon, which had hardly ended, or even begun, well. The whole experience had made me wary of mates.

"As if I would be that lucky," I replied. Of all the people here, I had only felt anything more than friendly love for was Leo. And he had a mate already.

"Ha," she said. "Watch it be a freaking Alpha. I'd pay good money to see that relationship."

I shook my head. "You'd be wasting your money. I would just reject him."

"Pity."

One option, which I had always avoided thinking about, was Rhys. He was still underage. The pair of us had always distinctly chosen to ignore the possibility that we could be mates. Because even though I saw him as a brother, we weren't related. It would be typical of the Moon Goddess to play such a cruel joke on me.

Anyone except Rhys, I prayed. Even an Alpha would be better than that. And if it was my 'brother', I would have to reject him. There was no way we could complete the mating bond. Even the thought of it repulsed me. He was, and always would, a sibling. Nothing more.

Once rejected, he could run off with Fion. And I ... well, I could hunt down Leo's mate and kill her off. Then he would be free for me. But that did sound a tad extreme.

Unless... All that grinning and smirking... Had I just solved the mystery...?

No. Don't even go down that road. It only ends in disappointment.

Wolves who found their mates when they are underage always told them. Always.

My mate was probably a pack member I hadn't met yet. That's what I kept telling myself.

"I saw that expression, Skye!" Fion squealed like a typical teenage girl. "You're ... thinking. Now that doesn't happen often. Have you guessed who your mate is?"

"Nope." I wasn't convinced by my own answer. "Enough of this girly behaviour — it's despicable. Shall we braid each other's hair and have a heart to heart?"

Fion rolled her eyes. "Come on — I know you. That wasn't your clueless face. That was your 'I have a hunch' face."

I glared at her. "For the last damn time. I. don't. know."

"Urgh. I'll find out in a few days anyway," Fion muttered. She walked off to find another bottle of beer, leaving me alone to my doubts. And I had plenty of them.