/\ Look, guys, look! Fanart by ayeitsjustellie. Thank you, I love it <3

Arriving in the camp was exciting. There were people everywhere. And best of all, none of them seemed to care about me. It was a nice change, not to be glared at by everyone we met. Instead, they smiled, especially at Rhys. He was beloved of all the parents, a perfect little model rogue, and he was also the closest thing they had to royalty.

Fion and I were taken into separate tents soon enough. I was too tired to argue. The young rogue pointed with his muzzle at a small pile of clothes in one corner. They were boy's clothes really, but I was just grateful for anything to wear.

"Shift and get dressed. I'll be back in a minute. Try not to attract any attention. Not everyone here is friendly," Rhys told me through the mind-link, glancing pointedly at a group of lean men who stood a few metres from my tent. I gave him a slight nod and he left the tent quietly.

For a rogue, Rhys didn't seem as evil as the stories suggested. Maybe he was just lulling me into a false sense of security.

Shifting back was more difficult without Fion to help, but I managed to focus on my human form long enough to transform. Every muscle and inch of my body ached with exhaustion, unsurprisingly. I found a black hoodie and tracksuit bottoms in the pile and pulled them on wearily. Darker clothes were always my favourite — they make it easier to sneak around.

When I left the tent, there was a boy with tousled light-brown hair and an infectious grin waiting outside. He had a very familiar pair of hazel eyes, and I guessed that this was Rhys in human form.

"You're a bit scrawny, aren't you? Didn't they feed you in your old pack?" Rhys asked. It hit a little too close to home for my liking. He narrowed his eyes slightly when I just glared in return. "Not very talkative, huh? This'll be a boring afternoon."

"If you're going to kill me, can you get it over with it?" I asked, staying stubbornly where I was. This streak of bravery had come from nowhere, but it seemed infinite.

"I don't think we're going to kill you. My dad likes you, and he always gets what he wants," Rhys replied. He was attempted to drag me towards Fion's tent. I had been right about their relation, then.

"And what does he want?" I asked, standing my ground and glaring at him.

"Well, we're short on slave labour at the moment," Rhys mused. When I looked genuinely worried, he rolled his eyes and gave me a shove towards the tent. "I'm kidding. You can either walk in there, all nice like, or I can carry you. Your pick."

I looked him up and down slowly. He was very tall, and he was stronger than any kid I'd seen. I didn't count on my odds of being able to resist him if it can to a physical struggle, even with the tricks Fion had taught me. I walked forwards with a sigh, deciding to play nicely for now.

Inside the tent, Fion was sat down in a corner, shifted and dressed as well. Although even Fion, who had just turned thirteen years old, was still shorter than Rhys, I felt confident that the two of us could handle him if we worked together. My confidence was misplaced.

Rhys gestured for me to go in. "Sit next to her."

I didn't. I stayed standing, proud of my little insolence. Either way, Rhys didn't seem to care. His attention had turned completely to the man standing in the entrance of the tent. It was his father — the man I had attacked earlier.

He had acquired a handful of nasty bruises in the hours since I'd last him, and his shirt was bloody because, although I wouldn't find out until much later, he had fought and killed my Alpha after we'd left.

The rogue said, "Rhys, you can look after these two."

"But Dad..." Rhys complained. "The others are all—"

I never found out exactly what the others were doing, because the man interrupted.

"You heard me, boy," he said in a tone that didn't leave any room for argument, then left the tent again.

Rhys slumped down in a corner and stared at us grumpily. "Everyone else is having fun, and I get stuck babysitting flockies," he growled.

I had never heard that word before, but it sure didn't sound like a compliment.

"You're not our first choice of a companion either," I assured him.

He lifted his head and frowned at me. "What the hell is your problem? Why can't you just go into hysterics like the other girls?"

That made me move closer so I towered over him, if only because he was sat down. In an instant, Fion was at my side, backing me up. Rhys didn't bother getting up. He remained where he was, as if he didn't even consider us a threat. That annoyed me far more, for some reason.

"Not all girls are weak." I made sure that my words came out in a growl. "I'll kick your ass to prove it."

"Don't make me laugh. You couldn't fight a squirrel, little girl, let alone a rogue," Rhys replied in a condescending tone.

"Rhys Llewellyn, you'd best not be using gender stereotypes." A burly woman stuck her head into the tent. She was in her late fifties by my best guess, and she had balanced several plates of food on one arm, which immediately made her the most important person I had met all day. As you can see, ten-year-old Skye had her priorities straight.

"He was," Fion said instantly, not afraid to snitch.

The woman cuffed Rhys around the ear. "Outside. Now. And if I hear you talking about females that way again, I'll do far worse."

Rhys glared at both of us, but he did do as he was told. The woman bustled over to hand us the plates. It was a sort of curry, and it was safe to say that it was the most nutritional meal I'd had in years.

"Don't let Rhys bother you. He's a good lad, really, even if he does have his mother's temper. Soft as a teddy bear with his friends, tough as a nut with anyone else," she told us. "I'm Maggie."

I was already starting to gulp down the food like I had been starved, which, of course, I had.

"Where's his mother?" Fion asked, eyes filled with innocent curiosity.

"She died a few years ago, honey," Maggie said quietly. A pained expression crossed her face and vanished just as quickly.

I felt the slightest glimmer of pity and empathy for Rhys. Although I had never known my parents, I still missed them not being around. Maybe he would make a decent friend, if I cared enough to be nice to him.

"Is there a reason why Rhodric brought you two here?"

Fion smirked at me. "Yep. Skye tried to kill him."

"Really? Good for you," Maggie said, the approval in her voice evident. "Next time, try a little harder, would you?"

"Um," I murmured. I didn't really know what else to say, but it didn't seem to matter. Maggie wasn't waiting for an answer. She gave both of a motherly pat on the back and headed for the tent entrance.

"I'll get Rhys to show you around. Make sure you tell me if he tries anything."

And with that, Maggie left us to finish our food in peace.

I had cleaned my plate already, so I looked over at Fion curiously. "Are we going to run away?"

"No. Not yet, at least," she said with a shrug. "They seem nicer than our pack."

This was true. It had only been half an hour, yet the rogues had already done more to take care of us than all of my birth pack put together. Half of me wanted to stick around, the other half was a teeny-tiny bit scared of Rhys and his father, although you would never have heard me admit it.

Just then, Rhys called from outside, "Apparently I have to show you around, so get your asses out here."

I growled at him for that, and Rhys most definitely heard it. He stormed into the tent and told me, "Do that again, flockie."

So I did. I gave him my absolute best growl. All it achieved was making him growl back with even more force. Unfortunately, he also put a challenge into it that my recently-discovered wolf told me we had to answer.

I shoved him with all my strength, and soon we were fighting with full force. Neither of us were throwing punches yet, though. He was bigger and stronger, and by all rights should have put me on my ass in seconds, but I could feel him holding back because even he seemed to realise there wasn't much point in beating up a girl half his size. And I think Rhys may have been enjoying himself a little too much. He always did like fighting.

When I realised how badly I was losing, I remembered all too well what to do when you're fighting a boy and kicked him between the legs. Rhys let out a low snarl. To his credit, he didn't start rolling around on the ground — quite the opposite actually. I found myself on the floor.

Fion was desperately trying to pull us apart. She didn't seem to have any success until a huge hand caught my shoulder and yanked me backwards.

Rhys's dad must have heard the commotion. He had Rhys by the collar and held his son in place with no effort at all. I lunged for Rhys again, but Rhodric just used my momentum to bang our heads together. In hindsight, I might have deserved it.

Dazed and sore, I went still and stared sullenly at Rhodric. Now we'd stopped trying to beat the stuffing out of each other, he grinned at both of us. The pressure on my shoulder vanished.

"Now, puppies — less of that, please. You'll have to learn to get along, y'know, because you'll be living together for the foreseeable future."

What? What did that mean? Was I being adopted? Not that I was complaining ... I didn't think...

Then Rhodric turned to his son with a glimmer of anger in his eye that dared us to disobey him. "Show them around, Rhys."

I looked at Fion and shrugged. It couldn't hurt to see where we'd be living from now on. We followed Rhys around as he pointed out various features of the camp and grumbled under his breath whenever either of us lagged behind.

It was a new world for me — trying to navigate the streams of people who all wanted to go in different directions. Fortunately, Rhys could travel through the crowds with the ease of someone who has grown up in this kind of environment. Both of us learned quickly to stick close behind him. He may have been a shitty guide, but he was all we had.

I was also curious to see that all the other kids and the majority of the adults respected Rhys. They offered nods and words of greeting as they passed. In a quieter area of the camp, it was Fion and me who attracted more attention. This was the children's area, I realised. They moved around in small packs, hunting for trouble. One of the larger bands noticed the new kids. They were Rhys's friends, I found out later, but they were not feeling particularly friendly that day.

"Who are they, Rhys?"

"What're they doing here?"

"Ain't they flockies?"

There was an endless stream of questions, all of which were ignored until one bold boy grabbed my wrist. "I don't like flockies."

"I'm not a flockie," I growled back, and I was wrong about that, because it meant I came from a pack. Rhys stopped when he caught wind of our confrontation.

"Let her go, Davies," he snapped, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that look. To be fair, he took his job of protecting me seriously, if you forget about when he tried to bash my head in. "They're with me."

"Flockies killed my parents," the boy said. I decided he must have been a teenager at least, which meant I was screwed if it came to fight.

Rhys didn't seem to notice the size difference. "That's not her fault, dumbass. I said let her go."

Davies tried to yank me closer to him. I twisted out of his grip and punched him in the stomach with all my strength, meagre as it was. That's when it all kicked off.

Half of the gang were trying to get at me and Fion. Rhys and the other half were getting in their way. Most of them seemed to decide it wasn't worth the effort, but Davies didn't give up, and so he ended up trading blows with Rhys. Fion went for a pair of scrawny boys my age — twins, by the look of them. I was tempted to help her, but Rhys was closer.

He was putting up one hell of a fight, completely disproportionate to his age and size, but Davies was just too much bigger. He grabbed the collar of Rhys's shirt and punched him over and over, trying to beat a submission out of him. I lodged my boot into the teenager's chin and sent him reeling. Two punches to the throat followed in quick succession.

Rhys wasn't slow to get up. He started towards Fion, but there was already a tawny-haired boy helping her with the twins. Even as we watched, they sent them limping back to Davies, who seemed to have decided he'd had enough.

Rhys swore at them and helped me up. I was really starting to warm up to this boy. And he fought like a hellion, even better than Fion herself. Maybe he would be useful to have around. He spat out a mouthful of blood. He had a split lip and one eye swollen nearly shut, and half of his face was black and blue, but he was the cheeriest than I'd ever seen him.

"Thanks for that," he muttered to me.

"I should be the one saying thank you," I replied, watching as the tawny boy helped Fion to her feet.

Rhys gave me a careless grin. I thought that meant we were friends, at least for now. "Just doing my job." 

The other boy was staring at Fion and me, his eyes lingering on our bruised knuckles. Rhys gave him a look.

"I'm Ollie," he said. "Nice to meet you both."

And the other kids weren't slow to follow his example. They crowded around, introducing themselves and asking excited questions about what it was like to live in a pack. My answers were always of the rude variety, and they loved that. Even the ones with bruises darkening on their faces thawed quickly enough. After a minute, Davies stuck his hand out grudgingly for me to shake. Amongst rogues, most friendships started with punches, strangely enough.

***

Most parents tell their kids off for fighting. Rhys's dad, however, was not 'most parents.'

"Did you win?" Rhodric asked when he saw our injuries. There was a layer of boredom to the question which made me think Rhys came home bruised and bloody more often than not.

"With some help," Rhys answered, nodding pointedly at me.

"Dammit. I'd just come up with this masterful plan to lock you in a cellar until you hate me more than you hate each other, and now I won't ever find out if it works. But never matter. As long as you're friends."

A long, disappointed sigh. In my old pack, kids would get an earful for any kind of violence. Even if they were hitting me. He seemed to sense my confusion.

"We rogues have a saying," Rhodric said with a grin. "Be good, and if you can't be good, don't get caught."

Those eleven words dictated the rest of my life.

I spent my mornings learning how to fight, both as human and wolf. Then I'd join Rhys in following Rhodric like faithful puppies while he did the million chores of running a rogue pack. After lunch, Fion and I would learn how to read and write from one of the elders — a man named Tom.

Technically, Rhys should have been tutored with us, but he much preferred an occasional light-hearted cuff from his father to sitting in a musty tent learning his alphabet. Instead, he'd be sneaking around the camp and scrapping with the other kids. He did eventually learn to read passably, but it was more Fion's doing than the tutor's.

The afternoons were the highlight of my day. Rhys, Fion and I would run every inch of the hills, quite often followed by a gang of the kids who hero-worshipped Rhys. We'd get into fights almost daily, and I soon learnt to defend myself passably. We'd climb trees, explore ruins and swim in the lakes. No activity was too dangerous. We were never told no. Life with the rogues was complete and utter freedom.

Despite our rough start, Rhys quickly became a partner in crime. There was no end of teasing when I found out he was actually three months younger than me; he hated being the baby of our group. Rhys was very much the worst of us—never hesitating to throw himself into danger or a fight. And in some ways he was the best of us as well: with a compassion I could never quite fathom.

Over the years though, I started to notice the pressure on him. Rhys was expected to be setting an example, taking on more and more responsibilities. He actually had a grown-up brother who was away in the west. But, according to everyone I spoke to, Rhys's brother was a total jerk. Despite that, my friend would still be expected to have a leadership role when he was old enough. He'd once admitted to me that he'd only do it because he felt he had no choice — he completely despised responsibility, preferring following to leading.

Fion got on well, too. She wore her ginger hair long once she had people looking out for her. Of the three of us, she was the only one with a talent for anything and everything academic, as we quickly discovered. My honourary sister sat her GCSEs and A-Levels two years early, after teaching herself the entire syllabus.

And me? I was happier than I'd ever been before in my short life — throwing myself into the rogue lifestyle. That easily, I found myself two more family members. Rhodric was my irresponsible father, Rhys my annoying little brother. I had a home and a family, and I couldn't ask for anything more.

Maybe I didn't have a perfect childhood, but does anyone? Mine was certainly a lot better than most. From the moment I entered Rhodric's care, I was happy, well-fed and safe. At least, until a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday. That's when the story really starts.