This chapter is for smokybear18 for voting on every single part <3

I've got another two chapters ready and more on the way, so stay tuned. We're just starting to kick off again. I'm writing this when I should be doing an essay  #thuglife (it's lucky my mum doesn't pay attention to which word document I've got open).

The next morning dawned bright and hazy. Before the sun was even up, my second-in-command was shaking me awake. Fion stood at his shoulder with her arms folded across her chest.

"What?" I asked groggily and with no small amount of annoyance. I knew I had been having a wonderful dream, even if I couldn't for the life of me remember what it had been about.

"Border patrol caught a scent," Ollie explained. He wasn't the type for beating about the bush. "There is a small group of wolves to our north-west. Just four or five, but I have reason to believe they're feral."

That word was better than a bucket of cold water. I blinked to clear my mind, but it only served to remind me how much I would prefer to keep my eyes closed. "Ferals? Why?"

Odd. They had been staying away from us at all costs since Brandon died. I wondered if they were salty that their master plan had failed, or wary of something. What made Last Haven more dangerous than any of the established packs?

Could it be a person? I considered Rhodric, but he wasn't currently here. Did they know that, though? I wasn't sure, and I didn't have the brainpower to think it through in that moment.

"Because they have a prisoner who's shouting for help through the mind-link to anyone who'll listen. I'm surprised you haven't heard it."

"I was asleep," I reminded him. Ollie acknowledged that with an apologetic smile and waited expectantly for his instructions. I pulled myself up into a sitting position and ran a hand through my tangled hair. "We'll investigate."

"Just investigate?" Ollie asked in a tone which suggested he thought that was an underreaction.

"We'll investigate forcefully," I corrected myself. "Find me another two fighters — we'll match their numbers."

I did prefer to fight fair when I could, if only because I had experienced the despair of being outnumbered personally. Besides, while ferals fought with less care for their own wellbeing and without mercy, they didn't have any magical talent for combat. My friends and I were as trained as fighters could possibly get, so I had no fear of losing.

"Will Ryker and Emmett do?" he asked me dubiously, eyeing the only pair of fighters who were up this early.

I decided that they would do just fine, and Ollie went to brief them while we got ready. Fion actually turned down the offer to come along, explaining that she had firewood duty this morning. But Leo agreed instantly and assembled my armour for me. He shifted once I was cocooned like a metal turtle, and together we waited in the courtyard for the others. I didn't bother replacing Fion — four was still a decent number.

At this early hour, the younger generation were still asleep. But elder people, as I had found, often woke before the sun during winter. It was those old-timers who roamed the courtyard quietly, and it was them who caught the first glimpse of my new attire.

It caught more attention than I had predicted ... and for an entirely different reason. The rogues didn't stop and stare at an unusual sight, but they were having double-takes at a familiar one. I heard a faint whisper of, "Eira."

The next thing I knew, the name was spreading around until the courtyard rang with it.

"Eira, Eira, Eira," they seemed to say, one after each other. I had never felt more out of place in my home — as the trigger for some kind of shared knowledge. What confused me even more was the utter sorrow in their gazes. As if they were seeing a ghost when they looked at me.

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I didn't know any girl called Eira, and I had never reminded anyone of her before, to the best of my knowledge.

Leo didn't seem to have any more of a clue than I did, so I went to speak to our pack elder, Tom. I only needed to raise a wolfy eyebrow for him to start explaining.

Tom sighed, a sound full of reminiscence. For once, he decided there was no harm in explaining something. "They're talking about Eira Llewellyn — Rhodric's little sister. She was a rogue leader, same as him. Here since the very beginning, Eira was."

"Was?" Leo asked through the mind-link.

"She died a long time ago, lad. Before Rhys was born."

"Why have we never heard about this?" was the first of my many questions. The mind-link thrummed with curiosity from us and careful deflection from the Elder.

"You probably have, just not in the way you think. People don't tend to talk about her anymore, and you can blame Rhodric for that. They're scared of him," he explained matter-of-factly.

Leo looked around at the staring people. "So why are they talking now?"

"He's not here to know. And they think Skye looks like her because she used to wear that wolf armour. Had the dark colouring as well, if I remember correctly." Tom frowned sadly and mumbled, "It was a long time ago. Such a long time."

What? Now, this didn't make sense. How had Jeff got hold of it? He could have stolen it from Eira, I supposed. Or there must have been another set of wolf armour around, maybe on Anglesey. I got a nagging feeling that I was overcomplicating the situation, but Jeff and Eira were two loose ends I couldn't quite tie together.

Unless, I thought, unless they were both part of the same thread. And maybe Rhodric was too. Which meant he had been hiding a lot more than my identity and the enemy he was hunting. There were two dead girls: Jeff's daughter and Rhodric's sister. Was it so farfetched to consider that there might only be one?

I came out of my thoughts having missed a long spiel from Tom, just in time to hear, "It was a terrible business, what happened to Eira Llewellyn."

"What did happen to her?" I probed at the mind-link curiously. It was so rare to find someone willing to talk — I wouldn't give up the opportunity easily. "Did it have anything to do with a crazy werewolf?"

I received a reproving, taken aback look from the Elder before he managed to collect his thoughts.

"Werewolf?" Tom asked innocently. "Oh, no. Nothing to do with werewolves at all."

If he was lying, I couldn't tell, both from his voice and the thoughts that were hidden behind it. Outright lies were difficult across the link, but half-truths were not. You could say one thing and mean another. Damn him.

I curled my lip and tried again. "Malcolm, then?"

Not only did he scowl at me furiously, but he also repelled across the link. Connected as we had been, it would have been difficult to hide what he knew about that, so he simply severed my mind from his. Reeling and dizzy from the suddenness of it, I reverted to the one strand of mind-link he had left. Enough for me to talk, but not to listen.

"I told you, girl. Enough of that. If you want to know, ask your father," Tom said aloud.

"Oh, sure, I'll do that," I snapped, "just as soon as you tell me where he is."

The mind-link stretched even further as he shielded his thoughts. The old man glowered. "Let's not start this again."

"Then just tell me one thing. Does he know what Brandon did? Does he even care?"

"Of course!" Tom almost shouted. He took several shallow breaths as he tried to control his anger. "Of course he does. You kids are all he cares about these days. Staying away was not a decision Rhodric took lightly, and I'm frankly ashamed that you could even consider the alternative."

Staying away, not abandoning us. So that explained something. Brandon had taken over that particular morning because Rhodric had left, rather than Rhodric leaving because Brandon had taken over. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or angry about that realisation.

I pretended his rebuke had cowed me. "I just don't see why everything is so secretive."

"Rhodric would kill me for opening my mouth. He doesn't keep things from you without good reason, you know. It's for your own sake. We wouldn't want you following in Eira's footsteps. Or worse — his own."

The remainder of Tom's mental barrier slammed down, and that was the end of our conversation.

***

I slunk through the trees, pleased that the armour didn't make any sounds which might alert the enemy of my presence. Leo was just as silent to my left, even though his tail swished back and forth as he walked. And although they were out of my range of vision, I knew that Ryker and Emmett would be somewhere on the far right, outflanking our foe.

These wolves had chosen a very stupid place to make camp, I noted. It was only common sense to choose a natural formation to guard your back, but they had taken that one step too far. A short cliff stood at their backs, impossible for them to climb but easy for us to jump from. A deep, icy stream wrapped around the remaining sides. As our bank was far taller than theirs, it was another one-way barrier.

In short, their only possible escape route was the one which Leo and I now blocked off. The ferals had also neglected to draw watches. Instead, they all snoozed around a smouldering fire. The hot coals had produced enough smoke to draw us here but very little warmth.

Were they plain stupid, or were they trying to invite an attack? It was hard to say. Or ... an even more disturbing thought, did they simply not care if they lived or died? We would find out soon enough, I guessed.

At least they'd had the sense to sleep in their wolf form. I made a quick count of the furry bodies. Nine. So the patrol wolves had underestimated, but it hardly mattered. Even outnumbered two to one, this would be laughably easy with the terrain on our side. We would be able to kill at least three of the slumbering wolves before any of them realised they were under attack.

Or not. A pigeon, hidden in the bushes, noticed Leo's approach and flapped away noisily. I froze in place with a grimace, waiting for the inevitable. Seconds later, the forest sang with birds' warning calls. So much for the element of surprise.

The closest feral jerked awake, assumed the dawn chorus had woken him, and yawned. He was about to stretch his muscles when my snapping jaws crushed his spinal cord. He slumped back onto his belly noiselessly, and hot, metallic blood filled my mouth.

The next wolf was up by then and blinking rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. My wolf laughed darkly and observed that he would care less about his eyes when he was missing his throat. I responded to that with a mental eye-roll. She was begging for control as the wolf bit at my shoulder and I gave it to her willingly. The feral's teeth grazed off the metal, and as he floundered, my wolf took the chance to fulfill her promise and tore open his throat.

And then they were all awake. Leo knew without being told to watch my back. I heard a muffled thump and a crunch as he tackled a feral away from my vulnerable flank. A few heartbeats of ferocious snapping and wrestling later and Leo had successfully removed his opponent's guts.

Not bad, I thought admiringly, for an ex-flockie.

We were running out of opponents faster than I had anticipated. Ryker and Emmett, who had come from the cliff, fought back-to-back with brutal efficiency. They were finishing off the last wolf in their side of the camp. And soon there was just one left in our half, too, and he was escaping.

It was a scrawny grey wolf, floundering in the stream. He alone had tried to escape, and he'd obviously misjudged the jump to the far bank. I coiled my hind legs and sprang for the same target, only to make the same mistake. I had forgotten to account for the weight of my armour, and so I fell short, straight on top of the escapee.

"Yield! Please — I surrender!" his voice screamed into my mind through a temporary link. Blood swirled into the water as my claws scraped his pelt, but his submission was confusing. Ferals didn't give in. Ever. And I had hardly even hurt the guy.

My wolf was in favour of killing him just to be safe, and she caught the scruff of his neck in preparation to snap his spine. I struggled to persuade her to let him live, if only because I'd prefer to have a prisoner to interrogate. She rejected that reasoning in favour of a clean kill, and I was left with no other option but to forcefully wrestle back control.

She wasn't expecting that, so it wasn't difficult. I exiled her to a distant corner of my mind and then dragged him onto the shorter bank and loosed my hold on his scruff. Instead of taking the opportunity to make a break for it, he lay shaking and dripping on his stomach.

Ah, he was a coward. That explained a lot. I decided to name him Wimpy in absence of his real name.

Leaving Wimpy coughing up his lungs, I padded back to the original fight. Eight shredded bodies lay scattered around the campsite. One corpse had fallen on the fire, where it smouldered and let off the disturbing smell of burning flesh. I felt mildly sick at the carnage. Killing other shifters came in the job description, but it wasn't something I would ever get used to.

My wolf sulked in a distant corner of my mind, irritated by my interference in her kill and indifferent to my conscience. She had an animal's way of thinking — killing the ferals was necessary, and it didn't do any good to mope about it afterwards, let alone regret something I couldn't change. No, my wolf lived eternally in the 'now,' with no concerns for the past or future.

Leo nudged my side with a bloodied muzzle, probably checking for injuries. I shook off the stream water carelessly, and once he was soaked to the skin, he seemed to change his mind about the coddling. His gaze instead turned to my prisoner, who was huddled miserably where I had left him, afraid to move a muscle.

Ryker slunk towards us. He looked the wildest of us, splattered in blood, grinning dangerously and wagging his tail in long sweeps. Emmett stood nearby, watching the other rogue with masked fondness. He didn't fool me — the wolfy scowl didn't undo the smiling eyes.

Those two worked well together, I noted. Very well. I was impressed enough to invite them on outings again, even though they were a decade older and a good deal rougher than most of my friends.

Emmett reached out with the mind-link, his gaze sliding to the whimpering survivor with undisguised disgust. "You want this one alive? For interrogation?"

I nodded in reply and watched as he and Ryker chivvied Wimpy to his feet and marched him in the direction of camp without ceremony. That left Leo and me together in the forest, much to my delight. It was hard to find a minute alone with my mate.

Leo pressed himself against my side, heedless of the sharp armour. His wolf was asking for reassurance and company, and mine was happy to provide it. She noticed a tear in his ear and after some nagging, he lowered his head to let her lick it clean. I felt very much like a bystander in my own body as I watched our wolves interact in their own way.

But I couldn't help looking at that rip with a human eye, and I knew that there was too much blood. Whether it had been tooth or claw, I didn't know, but it wasn't a clean wound, so it wouldn't heal. Our healing abilities sensibly stopped short of sealing dirt into our own bodies. If we didn't clean it soon, Leo's ear would remain torn for the rest of his life. Not a crippling injury, but one I would rather avoid.

"C'mon. Home," I told him, knowing he could hear my reasoning through the mate bond.

"It'll close up any minute now. I'm fine, Skye, honestly," Leo insisted. I caught his scruff in my teeth without breaking the skin and dragged him towards the stream. He whined both aloud and mentally. "Aw, really? Do we have to go back?"

"Better safe than sorry," I said firmly. He shook free of my grip only to walk at my side anyway. We leapt the stream, properly this time, although there was an easier way out.

"Race you back?" he suggested. I don't know whether it was an attempt to prove he was fine, or competitive spirit, or impulse. But I had absolutely no problems with that idea, being one of the fastest wolves at Last Haven. "Ready ... set..."

Leo ran off before he said go, in true rogue fashion, leaving me behind in a spray of snow. I didn't bother hurrying after him. I knew a good shortcut. Granted, it was dangerous and rough terrain, but I was feeling too lazy to sprint.

I veered left across a hillside and down a scree bank. Right along a narrow, rocky path which hugged a cliff side. The armour slowed me more than I would have liked, but I was grateful for it when stones rained from the slopes above. When I reached the bottom, I was faced with a crevice. Six feet wide and twenty feet deep, so I would break my neck if I set a paw wrong.

My acrobatics at the stream had made me more cautious than usual, so I chose a narrow section with firm footholds on the far side. A longer run-up than necessary, a wild leap, and a wolf's spring saw me safely onto the far side. My claws held firm in the roots of a helpful ash tree which clung determinedly onto its patch of earth.

Then I was off again, churning though snowdrifts and dense undergrowth. My wolf loved the competition, especially the chance to show off for her mate. She put her ears back and kicked the speed up a notch. We were going so fast that my paws scarcely seemed to touch the ground between strides. And I loved the opportunity to just run freely.

The snow had fallen deeper in this part of the forest — something I hadn't taken into account. And the weight of the armour made me sink deeper than I usually did. Both of those things combined kept me from reaching full speed for the rest of the run, but I still won.

I reached the castle gate first and didn't even think to look out for Leo before he crashed into me. Over and over we tumbled in a mess of fur and claws. He was bigger, but my armour made me heavier, so he ended up on top. I didn't even try to throw him off. He licked my muzzle and squirmed backwards of his own accord.

He's fast, my wolf observed with obvious approval. She hummed happily inside my head. Our mate. Our equal. I agreed with her. Had we taken the same route, we would have been neck and neck.

We went to the alcove to shift and dress. I had to wait patiently while Leo unbuckled every damn piece of armour to let me change back. Once we were both human and decent, I manhandled my mate into sitting on my bed to look at his ear.

It looked better in its human shape, I had to admit. But still painful. I could have taken him to the first-aid tent, but my wolf didn't like that idea. Her instincts insisted that we shouldn't let other people — especially females — near him our mate when he was injured.

I argued with her about that, but futilely. She had been on edge for a while already, for no reason I could work out. So I had to do the stitches myself. I'd had plenty of practice during various emergencies, usually involving trespass or scrapping.

Leo sat dead still as I dug out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and the first-aid kit, and he only flinched when I cleaned the wound. Threading the needle took more patience than I thought I had, but the actual stitching seemed to fly by. He needed three layers — for skin, cartilage and skin again. We used dissolvable sutures to be on the safe side, because our healing could make removing them difficult.

He didn't complain once, not even when his healing took effect and knitted together the re-joined skin. In my experience that part didn't hurt, but it did itch to the point where you wanted to claw the wound back open just to make it stop.

Leo scratched at the remainder of his injury — a dark scar which split his ear. I swatted his hand away before he could do any more damage. He assured me, "I would have been fine, you know."

"Yeah, yeah. I'd just prefer that you didn't die of blood poisoning before we've even begun the mating process," I commented dryly.

"We should really get started on that." He wore a suggestive smile, and I found myself mirroring it. Our mind-link was still open from earlier, and while I couldn't hear individual thoughts, I could feel the general colour of them. And I agreed.

I was already on my feet, and Leo rose to join me. For a while we just looked at each other, letting the link do the talking that words couldn't express. Then he took a sudden step closer to me and tilted his head down. That easily, my mate changed the moment from casual to heated and intense — a trick I still hadn't mastered.

For the first time in my life, words failed me. His proximity was making my wolf hyperventilate, even from her distant viewpoint at the back of my mind. Although I have no idea whether he kissed me, I kissed him, or we kissed each other, the next thing I knew I was pressed up against the wall with his lips on mine.

His hands found my hips and rested there, while I brushed against a solid chest, muscled from training. Rarely had I felt so out of my depth, but even rarer was that feeling of not caring either way. This was worth the plunge.

I lost track of time entirely after that. We might have played tongue-tennis in that alcove for minutes or hours for all I knew. But at one point, Leo's lips moved to my neck and hovered over a certain place on my collarbone. There he paused, his eyes meeting mine for permission.

Then, I could feel his wolf for the first time. Our proximity left the mind-link wide open, and I began to realise just how much the animal was nagging to mark me. My own wolf, who had been on edge for days, liked that idea very much. I began to realise exactly why she had been so restless. Because she wanted a mark, as much as he wanted to mark us.

Ah. Marking. That was a difficult topic. The first stage of the mating process was actually the most important. Once a woman was marked, she was tied to the person responsible with an unbreakable bond. It could so easily be abused, like when Brandon had forcibly marked Fion. Choosing to mark someone was as solemn as a proposal — an offer to spend the rest of your life with someone. Many couples, like Tally and Kyle, mated before they marked, and left it months before actually formalising the bond.

I didn't see it that way. I saw as it as the inevitable next step for us, as just the beginning of a relationship, rather than the acknowledgement of one. There wasn't really anything wrong with that, because Leo's thoughts were the same.

We had known each other for nearly two weeks. Granted, they were the longest days of my life, but still just twelve days. Other wolves may have disapproved, but they weren't us, and it wasn't their decision. We were soulmates, we were together, and we were happy. So I let him mark me.

I pulled down my collar to the only person whom I would ever willingly let at my throat. It was a primal surrendering for our wolves, allowing someone else the power to end your life with a single bite. A display of trust and love.

Leo's eyes darkened as his wolf came out. It was necessary, to manage a partial shift which would allow his canines to lengthen without any other changes. We could have done it in wolf form, but this was just as easy as shifting all over again.

"Ready?"

"Quit stalling and get it over with."

I felt his canines brush the skin, a brief nip, then a painful pinching sensation. It took all of my willpower to hold still and bite back curses. The problem with biting, as I saw it, was the disproportionate pain. Teeth were never sharp enough, so they needed pressure to break the skin. That pressure was what hurt, not the pinpricks in my skin.

But it was all overshadowed when I felt our connection deepen. An emotional link, deeper and more permanent than a mind-link, ran between us. I could feel his flickering worry and the underlying reluctance to hurt me.

"I'm fine," I promised him. "Absolutely fine. Now stop looking like you just kicked a puppy."

Leo laughed and apologised repeatedly just to wind me up. The wound scabbed over within seconds, leaving seamless skin save for the pale scar which would serve as my mark. It was noticeable but surprisingly neat.

He pulled down the collar of his own jacket and waited expectantly. "Now you."

"What?" I asked, sure I was wrong about what he meant.

"If you belong to me, then I belong to you," Leo said matter-of-factly.

Dumbstruck — that was one way to describe my feelings. Because no matter how equal our genders had become, marking was the sole providence of men. It had started off as a way of claiming females. Possessing them, even, and over the years it had evolved into a cultural norm. So normal that not even rogues, for all our outspoken females, had thought to question it.

Marked males certainly weren't unheard of. Just once, I had glimpsed faded tooth marks on Rhodric's neck and known that Jess had left her mark on him. But such a male was one in a thousand, while every female wore one.

He seemed to sense my confusion and smiled teasingly. "You heard — bite me."

I didn't need any further convincing. My wolf rose to the surface in the span of a second. Gently as I could, I bit down until I tasted blood. It was a strange feeling, not enjoyable, but not unpleasant. Just necessary.

Then, all too suddenly, I staggered. The link had strengthened beyond what I knew was possible. I could feel a dull, ghostly throb in my ear and a stinging in my healed mark. That wasn't my pain. It was his. And it shouldn't have been possible. No one had ever said anything about dual marking having side effects. Mind you, no one ever said much about dual marking at all.

"Geez," Leo murmured.

"Geez," I agreed.

"This is going to be inconvenient," he observed.

"Tell me about it."

A needling smirk. "I'm not looking forward to childbirth."

"Yeah, well, neither am I."

I sat down heavily and scratched at my ear, irritated by the aching. He gave me a rueful smile, and soon the two of us were in fits of laughter. Over the next few hours, we thoroughly tested out the new bonds, mainly by poking each other. That proved amusing, if not very scientific.

But there was one nagging thought at the back of my mind. If dual marking let you feel each other's pain, then had Rhodric felt his mate die?