Warning: This chapter contains parental advice which should not, under any circumstances, be construed as wisdom. Please dismiss this content (or, really, anything Rhodric ever says) as utter bullshit. I cannot be held liable for the consequences of heeding such advice.

Speechlessness. It was something I encountered rarely. And never to this extent. So many questions — what, why, how? I must have stood there, staring and scowling for a good minute before managing to ask, "Dad?"

"No, I'm Matilda the Unicorn and my only children are rainbows," Rhodric Llewellyn muttered. Then, louder, "Come on, kid — stop gawking and move your ass. I didn't raise you to be sentimental."

Defiance — the kind that always ended in trouble — stirred within me. "Sentimental? I'm angry, you bastard."

"Now, now, there's no need to be nasty. My parents were happily married at the time of my conception, I'll have you know," Rhodric said nonchalantly. He didn't deign to address my anger — unsurprising. He crouched beside his injured son with nothing but amusement in his eyes. "What a perfect mess you've made. Couldn't have done it better myself."

He proceeded to toss a battered rucksack to my mate, then haul Rhys up and sling him across his shoulders, somehow making it look effortless. I snapped out of my frozen, shocked state and trailed behind as he set off in a seemingly random direction. We followed the fringe of the forest instead of entering it, treading on pre-trampled snow. And somehow Rhodric was managing to walk faster than me, despite the extra seventy-five kilos of weight. He led while Leo, Tally and I tried our damned best to keep up.

"Um," Tally whispered too loudly, "can I just ask who the frick this guy is?"

Leo must have answered through the mind-link because soon her mouth was unhinged and she was openly gawking. I rolled my eyes. "Thanks. As if his ego needed any more fuel."

"It's self-awareness, not ego, you cheeky little shit," Rhodric corrected. He was teasing. Probably. "Talia Everton, formerly Shadowless Pack, right? I hope Kyle's being a gentleman."

I fumed silently. He shouldn't be allowed to know more about her than I did. It wasn't fair. Rhodric noticed my resentment and winked ... which only annoyed me more.

The next half hour of our trek passed uneventfully. Rhys didn't stir at all, and I began to pray he hadn't cracked his skull in the fall, or worse. His father didn't show any such concern. He whistled 'The Grand Old Duke of York' and 'King of the Castle' as he walked and never once stopped grinning.

As we scaled a particularly treacherous slope covered in grass slick from snowmelt, Tally sidled up to me, her face miserable. "I'm shit at linking. I tried, honestly I did, but they're too far and too freaked out. Could you...?"

She meant the others, of course — the eight rogues we had left at the police station, her mate included. Surprised they hadn't already caught up, I nodded. "Course. Two ticks."

I closed my eyes, letting my arm rest against Leo's for guidance, and reached out with the mind-link. Eleven years with Fion had taught me a lot, but I didn't have her range. Even locating the rogues in the town was effort. Especially because they weren't in the town anymore. No, they were miles clear. In the wrong direction.

There was nothing but ruckus and noise which didn't explain anything. Sure, I caught the odd word. Blood and shot and danger and scent and chased and where? So the general vibe wasn't optimistic.

Then one panicked snatch of communication burst through all the rest. It sounded like Aaron to me, and he was giving some sort of warning. A warning that had the word run bleeding into everyone else's thoughts.

My concern must have transmitted, because one of them seemed to notice my presence for the first time.

"Skye?" Owen asked, seeping hope and blind optimism. "Skye?"

And then nothing. Silence. The mind-link slipped away from me like a greased wire, almost as if it had been severed. Or more likely, something had demanded their attention so thoroughly that they forgot the link altogether.

Not good. Not good at all.

"Are they okay?" Tally. Her voice came very close to breaking.

I realised that I'd been digging my nails into my palms hard enough to draw blood, unfolded my fingers carefully, and suffered a wince which had nothing to do with my own pain. "No."

"That'll be my fault," Rhodric said in an I-told-you-so kind of tone. "There was a pack of ferals on my ass. I ditched them before I came by the town, obviously, but they can't have got far."

"How many?"

"Dunno, to be honest. I didn't stop to count. Less than a hundred, more than three."

"Thanks," I growled, "that really narrows it down."

Not that it really mattered, because almost any of those numbers could be fatal to our wounded and exposed friends. Tally knew it, too. She deliberately turned her face away to hide her tears. She wanted to be left alone, so we left her alone. She fell back to act as rearguard before long.

An hour later, we reached a river as wide as I was tall. Upstream led to a gorge, and by trudging through the shallows, we were able to reach a concealed rocky ledge at the end of the gorge. It had protection from the elements in the form of an overhang and a goat track with access to a woodland slope. Water, shelter, safety and firewood — a perfect campsite. And Rhodric had just stumbled into it? No, not possible.

"You've been here before," I remarked, not really expecting an answer.

He must have been in a sharing mood — a rare treat. He slapped the rocks with a palm and said, "Oh, I lived here for an autumn, fed off the salmon run, made pebble towers... Bran and Rhys had a knack for rolling down the gorge without breaking their necks. Fourteen years ago, give or take."

Bran. It formed a pit in my stomach, and I had no doubt my emotions were written all over my face. I had killed Rhodric's son. Surely that was a sensitive subject. But, no — how could I have even entertained the notion that Rhodric was sensitive about anything? He just shrugged, guessing my thoughts.

"Kids squabble. It's only natural, so you can stop looking so guilty."

"I ripped out your son's throat..." I said slowly. Even for my father, this reaction was ... well, non-existent.

"Tragic," Rhodric mused.

"You really ... don't mind?"

"Not at all. Just try not to kill any more of my children, please." He reached down to tousle Rhys's hair affectionately. "I'm quite attached to this one."

I let my gaze settle on Rhys's blood-soaked shirt, and worry hounded my thoughts. He had been shot twice. And if the wounds healed with the bullets still inside, there would be no end of problems.

"Tally, we could use a fire, if you don't mind. Leo — a strong, straight branch for a splint," Rhodric said as if he had read my mind (and there was a good chance that he had). "There's no point stitching him up, so I'll want some cobwebs too."

"Cobwebs?" Leo asked.

"Yes, please." That tone brokered no argument, no questioning. Rhodric had mastered the trick of conveying an order nicely wrapped in civility and good manners. He never raised his voice — never needed to. Leo and Tally disappeared towards the woody slope, dragging their heels out of exhaustion rather than reluctance. "Skye, his shirt."

I accepted a pocketknife from him before pointing out, "We don't have any spare clothes, and it's about as far from summer as it gets."

"He can have one of my shirts if he survives the night," Rhodric replied easily. I couldn't see a problem with that, so I knelt beside my brother and carefully tore the bloodied fabric from sleeve to hem. His shoulder was a mess, his arm even worse. It really was a blessing that he was out cold, because the next part wouldn't be pleasant.

I may as well have flipped a switch. Rhys's eyes flickered once, then edged open, absent of their earlier glaze. So the concussion damage had already healed itself, at the expense of his arm. He tried to get up, too, but I caught his injured shoulder and squeezed. He called me several unrepeatable names through his laughter — and didn't try it a second time.

"Language, pup," Rhodric growled at him, even though he'd taught us every one of those words.

I watched my brother freeze, knowing all too well how he felt. That voice was unmistakable. Slowly, Rhys lifted his head to see the man by the riverside, and I was surprised to see a scowl spread across his face.

"Is that Dad?"

"Yeah," I replied cautiously.

"Have you punched him yet?"

My eyebrows shot up. "Not yet, no..."

"Then let me up or do it yourself."

I hesitated. I genuinely didn't know whether I wanted to hug my foster father or hurt him. Such a muddled, tangled heap of emotions. Davies had died. Brandon had put us through hell and back. I'd fallen headfirst into the abyss that was leadership. All of that I could blame — had blamed — on Rhodric. But seeing him, seeing how worn he had become, had called back some of the blind faith of my childhood.

I was spared having to make a decision. Rhodric brought over with the first-aid kit and regarded his son affectionately. "You'd have to be a special kind of stupid to start a fight right now, wouldn't you? No one's obliged to patch you up — perhaps take that into consideration before you start making threats."

Rhys writhed in my grip a second time. I put my full weight across his collarbone and grinned down at him haphazardly. Persuading the patient that they needed medical attention was the hardest part of nine-tenths of our surgeries. I knew because Fion had conducted a legitimate study when she was fourteen.

"I don't need coddling, Skye!" he insisted. "It's hardly even bleeding. Just let me up and we'll get moving. I don't suppose the cops are sitting on their arses and letting us get away, are they?"

I laughed, because the idea of him travelling on that broken arm really was laughable. In human form, maybe, but we'd only cover a few miles and it wasn't worth the effort.

"You're a shitty patient, boy," Rhodric observed.

"And you're a shitty parent, Dad," Rhys retorted. I readjusted my position to give Rhodric room to cuff him, but he laughed instead. Odd. Maybe he thought his son had outgrown the rough sort of discipline.

"Last warning, now. Shut up and lie still, or you'll be meeting the Goddess ahead of schedule."

Or maybe not. I raised my eyebrows, trying to put genuine concern into the expression. Through the link, I was able to imprint a suggestion that now might not be the choicest time to test Rhodric's patience.

Rhys stopped moving finally and took to glowering at his father's back instead. Tally and Leo chose that opportune moment to return with their errands complete. The Shadowless girl stayed just long enough to wake a fire before being dispatched again, this time to scout. I got the sense that Rhodric was keeping her occupied, probably to stop her dwelling on her mate. Leo busied himself with feeding the fire, within sight but far enough to give us privacy.

The next half an hour was a blur of activity. First, I boiled water and used it to clean Rhys's wounds. He was shivering before long. All the while, Rhodric carefully set his wrist and splinted it. I didn't envy him that job, which entailed a lot of manoeuvring bone through flesh.

Then we worked together to remove the bullet. This time, my father held him down while I wielded a pair of heat-sterilized tweezers. I didn't have any practice removing bullets, and I said so, but Rhys claimed he didn't care and Rhodric was an advocate for steep learning curves. By the time I had dug the metal pellet out of his shoulder, it was needless to say that both of them were regretting that decision.

But in the end, I managed it. Rhodric used Leo's cobwebs to seal the wound, some ancient remedy from the days before stitches. We were done. But before I could stuff my fingers, swollen with cold, into my pockets, my father said, "There's a hammock in my rucksack. We'll let your brother have it just this once — reckon a nap would do him good."

"I'll get it," Leo offered without hesitation. I shot him a rueful grin as I edged closer to the fire and began to toast my own hands. They tingled painfully, warming too fast, but I couldn't care less. It was better than frostbite any day. If only Aaron had found the time to fetch my gloves from the station.

My brother, disturbed by the motion, hauled himself into a sitting position and insisted, "I ain't going to sleep."

He was quickly proved wrong. After Leo had fastened a travel hammock between two spruce saplings so that it hung over our heads and we had wrought some extensive teamwork to get Rhys into it against his will, he fell into an uneasy sleep. A healing sleep, hopefully.

Then Rhodric and I settled around the fire, across from each other, and I took the opportunity to properly look at him. It had barely been a fortnight since he'd left Lle o Dristwch, but the change couldn't have been more drastic. A previously ageless face now flaunted his years, he needed a shave, and there was a new scar crossing his cheekbone. But worst of all were his eyes — dull and haunted and ... I could have sworn they were less hazel than they had been. Now ... there was green flecking around the pupils. What on earth could change a person's eye colour?

Rhodric caught me staring and laughed. "That bad, huh?"

"You look like you lost a fight with life."

He shrugged. "The fight isn't over until you win it, kid."

"Or die," I muttered.

"Or die," he agreed. "It's been a long time since I slept. That's all. You don't need to worry about me."

The silence stretched minutes. I remembered that Leo was still here, and looking distinctly uncomfortable about it. He seemed skittish of Rhodric in the way most young rogues were, half in awe and half intimidated. Personally, I thought it was cute. Especially since they were the werewolf equivalent of in-laws.

"I'm starving. Would you mind...?" I asked him, a gift and a chore wrapped in a neat bow. Leo nodded and slipped away up the slope, and I returned to staring into the fire.

"Neatly done," Rhodric muttered. "Keep your mate away from me, why don't you, and maybe I'll forget my rights."

I didn't bother hiding a sigh. What he was talking about — and what I was hoping to avoid — was the werewolf way of welcoming a newcomer into the family. It involved an awful lot of hitting — all good-natured, of course. But I didn't see how Leo against Rhodric and Rhys could ever be a fair fight.

He chuckled at the apprehension on my face. "Well, you needn't worry, girl. If I didn't approve, I'd have driven him away weeks ago."

Weeks. So he had known before I had, from that brief argument in the courtyard. How?

"Like you did for Fion?" I found myself snapping. It was a good excuse to steer the conversation towards Brandon, which was a pressing topic. Whether or not he'd forgiven me for killing his son, I still hadn't forgiven him for loosing his son on us in the first place.

"Watch yourself, Skye Llewellyn," he advised me cheerfully, although the grin on his face had vanished. "I did drive Bran away — for ten years. If you had told me about the forced mark when it happened, I could have done it again. Permanently. But no, you and Rhys were too busy playing the heroes to think straight, weren't you?"

I was too busy fuming to consider whether I had made a mistake. Because he was joking around. Joking about Fion and Brandon — now, even for Rhodric, that wasn't right. I could only think of one explanation, and it didn't feel plausible, but there was no alternative—

"You don't know," I said, not even believing my own words. "You're so brilliant at knowing everything, and this ... this is what you don't know?"

His eyebrows arched in warning. Spit it out already, that look said, and I'll be damned if my wolf didn't tuck her tail between her legs. She always did when my temper flared around Rhodric. "Oh," I laughed bitterly, "it's nothing much—"

And then, just as the mind-link between us boiled over with my cold anger, I glanced sideways, suddenly remembering Rhys, and cursed like a sailor. But he was fast asleep still. Too damn close. I didn't even dare think about that in his vicinity. I'd made a promise.

Rhodric must have seen my hesitation and the reason behind it, because he didn't press for an answer. Instead, he cast his gaze downwards, spreading his hands and running his fingertips across every scar, ridge and callous. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought he was looked ashamed of himself.

"Skye ... when I left, I didn't know that Bran had ferals. I underestimated his hatred, I suppose. Didn't think that he would work with hunters to kill me. Didn't think the hunters would dare approach him. That was my mistake, yes, but you can't blame me for every obscure consequence."

I tried to call back the anger, but it had burned down to embers at that too-quiet voice. I rubbed my face wearily and asked, "Why not? If you'd been there, none of it would have happened."

"Quite the opposite, actually. The further away I am, the safer you are. Or did you think the ferals are avoiding the castle out of pure coincidence?"

'What?" I hadn't thought. Not really, not after a vague assumption that they were saving us for last.

He began picking at a torn fingernail. "They know I'm not home. No point scorching a rat's nest unless the rat is inside. So they're scorching the packs instead, one by one, hoping to flush me out."

"The ferals are doing that," I scoffed. "The ferals who have no motives beyond causing pain. Yet you think hundreds of them are organising themselves to find you?"

"Organising themselves?" He laughed darkly. "Not quite. The ferals are just the tool, Skye. Their leadership do whatever the hunters tell them, and they have a hierarchy, same as us. I don't reckon it occurs to them to question their orders, so long as they're killing and maiming and spreading their disease."

I muttered an unintelligible question word.

"Look, why do you think they were created? To destroy our species? No, there are a thousand ways to accomplish that — like exposing us. Humans can't even cope with genders, races and sexualities, let alone shape-shifting. We'd be exterminated before the end of the year.

"What are they for, then?"

He said very matter-of-factly, "Well, they're supposed to kill me, as far as I can tell."

"What?" I managed to splutter before falling into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"And you wonder why I don't explain things! No one believes me," Rhodric muttered.

"I don't care," I insisted. "I really don't. Keep all the nonsense to yourself and explain the raiders, why don't you? Explain why you left a teenager in charge of adults? How was that ever going to work? They only refrained from gutting me because they're afraid of you."

"And you're very welcome, but these subject changes are giving me whiplash." I heard a long, will-gathering breath. There was a coating of patience to his voice as he asked, "How did I teach you to swim, Skye?"

The randomness of the question threw me off balance, as I'm sure he intended it to. I sounded it out in my head, searching for a trap or a play on words. Nothing clicked.

"Threw me in the deep end and walked away," I said slowly, so sure there was some pitfall I hadn't seen. But the connection was there, waiting to be made. Oh...

"And that was a shitty thing to do, but did you mind?"

"No," I admitted. "'Cause it worked."

"So did this. You sunk for a bit, sure — came close to drowning. But then you got the hang of keeping your head above the surface... See the metaphor at work here?"

My eyes tightened. "I see it. Don't believe it, but I see it."

And that easily, his grin was back with a vengeance. "I could've named Tom, you know. But I thought it was about time you got a chance. And you did better than I expected, I'll admit."

Leo chose that opportune moment between arguments to return with a wood pigeon slung over one shoulder. It wouldn't go far between all five of us, but I didn't think more meat was worth the energy we'd expend to get it. Besides, my father must have had food in that big-ass rucksack of his, right?

"We'll be fighting over that, y'know. Pigeon is a rare delicacy," I greeted my mate.

"You get first dibs," he promised with a wicked grin, set the pigeon down beside the fire and then his eyebrows shot upwards. "Where'd Rhodric go?"

"What?" I demanded. And I looked at the spot where my father had been sat a moment ago. The spot which was now empty. And so began a frantic search. I paced a wide circle around camp and eventually spotted my father's retreating back at the riverside.

He hadn't appeared to notice me, so I leant against a tree and called, "Going somewhere?"

Rhodric didn't even hesitate. He turned around and smiled ever so innocently. "Yes, to the toilet, if you must know."

"No, you're not," I snapped. He had his knife with him. He didn't need a knife to defend himself. He didn't need a knife at all. But he had gone to the effort of picking it up for one reason alone. He'd had that knife as long as I could remember, and it was the one thing he couldn't bear to leave behind. Not his children, a knife.

An idle smile and a cocked eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

I didn't bother to hide the malice in my words: "I was hoping you'd stick around for longer than an afternoon."

"And I was hoping you'd cook me a gourmet dinner and put me up in a hotel, but we can't all get what we want," he said. "Now, I've got places to be and people to kill, so I'll see you around, kiddo."

And then, to my disbelief, he began walking off. I started after him, determined to get an explanation at the very least. As soon as my fingers brushed his shoulder, he shook me off like an irritating fly. There was anger in his eyes now. I wasn't sure if it was directed at me, but it was definitely there.

"Save your energy. I'll knock you out before I let you follow me," he said roughly. "Is that understood?"

That got Leo on his feet. He was worried, both by the direction our argument was taking and by the frustration which was spilling over into our mate bond. Rhodric slid his eyes sideways in a very deliberate warning, letting them settle on my mate with a glint that was equally predatory and amused.

"It's okay," I insisted through the link, and let my coward of a wolf reach out to his for reassurance. "Stay out of it."

Leo didn't sit back down, but he dropped my father's gaze like a hot iron, which seemed to satisfy him, because those hazel eyes flickered back to me. My wolf curled herself into a tiny ball at the back of my mind, whimpering for all she worth. Damn her.

"Not the impulsive sort, are you, boy?" Rhodric mused. "Well — good. Maybe you'll rub off on my hellion of a daughter."

"Or maybe she'll rub off on me," Leo replied very quietly. It was enough to make me blink.

"Leo?" I asked through the link.

He allowed a smile. "What? He's going to beat me up sooner or later. I'd really rather get it over with."

Seemingly oblivious to our mental conversation, Rhodric was shaking his head and muttering, "Two weeks. I leave for two weeks and they throw a bloody mutiny. Who'd have kids, eh? They eat your food and take up eighteen years of your life and they're so needy. And what thanks do you get? Mutiny!"

"Oh, quit whining," I snapped. "It was your choice."

"It was my mistake, apparently. Now would you please go back to the fire, have some pigeon, and forget I was ever here."

I had to bite down on my tongue to keep from swearing at him. "Stop treating me like a child."

His eyebrows lifted. "Stop acting like one."

I was shocked enough to shut up. Because behind the front of a strict parent, I could see pain and reluctance. Maybe it came from the mind-link, because the physical act was flawless. But somehow, I had realised exactly what he was doing. Pushing me away to keep me at a safe distance. Rhodric would rather I hated him than I went with him.

I folded my arms, trying to preserve the tattered remains of my pride. "I don't see what's so dangerous."

"Of course you don't," Rhodric sighed. "And there's a simple reason why. People don't listen to each other. I could tell you about ... them, but nothing I say would hit home until you've seen it for yourself. And then it would be too late. So what's the point in explaining, huh?"

"I suppose there isn't any," I mumbled.

"Exactly! You still won't listen to me, mind. But I suppose that's my own fault — for spoiling you. I've never told any of you no before, not once, not even when you were risking your lives. Now you can't grasp the concept that there are things you shouldn't be allowed to do."

Very, very grudgingly, I nodded. "Maybe ... you might be right... You raised us too well."

His grin returned, this time with a hint of pride that coaxed the barest of smiles out of me. "Well isn't the word I'd use for it, Skye, but we managed, didn't we? Only encourages my belief that children raise themselves when left to their own devices. The way I see it, my absence will only encourage personal growth."

"I get it, okay? You need to leave," I conceded wearily. "Just tell me where you're going."

"Where's the fun in that?"

He winked at me, cast one last look at the hammock where Rhys slept, then strode away at a determined pace, the kind which ate the miles away. Once he reached the undergrowth, my furious stare became redundant. He had melted out of sight. I could still track him ... or so I thought until I cast for a scent and found absolutely no trace of my father. How did he do it?

Footprints? No, of course not. He knew where to walk to avoid leaving tracks. So all in all, I stood zero chance of following which was, I realised, very deliberate. Because Rhodric knew me too well.

I wheeled and slammed a fist into the nearest tree trunk, trying to take out my frustration. My knuckles took the brunt of it and while I flexed them, checking for damage, Leo's arms wrapped around my waist. I let my head rest against his shoulder and leant back into him.

Apparently having a mate was excellent for anger management, because I felt my heart calming within seconds.

"It's okay, Skye. We can do this without him."

"I know," I replied quietly. "Doesn't mean I want to."

We were still standing together when a piercing whistle cut through the forest, accompanied by a shout of, "Shit, guys, ain't you been listening?"

"Listening to what?" I yelled back, assuming Tally had returned from scouting.

"The bloody dogs, that's what."

I let my wolf take control. She could use my ears better than I could, and it took her seconds to pick out the sound of dogs barking. The police must have wanted us back really damn bad to bring in the sniffer dogs. Far off — but for how long?

Leo and I went back to the campsite, where Tally was waiting with her arms crossed. "Well? Is the patient fit enough to travel?"

"Yes," Rhys insisted at the same instant as I said, "No."

Dammit — our shouting must have woken him. Another problem for Skye. How many did that make? I'd count them, but I didn't have enough fingers and toes.

"It'll be dark soon," Tally pointed out. "So either way, we can't outrun them."

"Speak for yourself." That was my brother, who made a valiant effort to sit up in his hammock, face still white as sheet from the blood loss.

"You couldn't outrun a hedgehog right now," she scoffed. They continued to bicker while I desperately ran through the options. Set off now, find a freezing river and stumble through it until the scent was hopelessly lost. Stay here and fight off the entire North Wales police force. Or ... find a third choice?

"Shut up, both of you. I'm trying to think," I snapped, running my hand methodically up and down my left arm. "When the police are tracking, do they let the dogs off-lead?"

"Not usually," Leo said. "But with miles of woodland to cover? I don't know. It's possible?"

"Fab. You two babysit Rhys, okay? I got a plan."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like your plan?" Leo groaned as I left. My brother growled at him, but his heart wasn't in it.

I went into the woodland first, far enough to be concealed when I stripped off and shifted. Then, once I had four legs instead of two, I took off running in the direction of the barking.

I ran a mile or so before lifting my muzzle to howl a challenge older than the mountains.

Honestly, I hadn't expected it to work, but there was an enthusiastic flurry of barking as the dogs raced to find the source of the howl, leaving their handlers far behind. Unless they got more sniffer dogs to track their sniffer dogs, we'd be okay for a little while.

I only had to wait a few minutes before the pack came into view. There were four of them — all overexcited German Shepherds in police harnesses. Three were still trailing their leads.

They'd been expecting to find another dog, I assumed, not a strange dog-like creature with a growl like liquid thunder. I wasn't surprised that they decided to attack, but I was surprised that the smallest of the dogs was the first to put his hackles up and snap at me.

And then commenced a fight for the history books. Wolf against dog. Wild ancestor against domesticated descendant. I'm more than a little proud to say that, even outnumbered four to one, I emerged victorious.

All credit due, the dogs didn't give up easily. I found myself actually having to concentrate to keep them from locking their jaws around mouthfuls of my pelt. During the scuffle, one of them managed to scrape my muzzle and the little one sunk his teeth into my flank. Eventually, though, all of them stayed on the ground where I put them and rolled over.

I stood and panted for a moment, struggling to get my wolf under control. Her instincts told her that it had been too easy, that this was just a trick. But they weren't wolves. I knew I didn't have to beat a submission of them — no, dogs were smart enough to realise when they were outmatched.

Submission was enough for me. I could never win their hearts — those were already bound to their handlers — but they could accept that I was above them and should be obeyed.

Out of curiosity, I brushed the mind-link. Animals were not like humans at all. You could only communicate with herd or pack animals, because elsewise they had no use for a link. These dogs shared constant tendrils of thought, but I understood next to none of it. It was like speaking a foreign language, save that the dogs didn't speak a language at all. They communicated in pictures and senses and emotions.

"Sorry, sorry. Don't hurt. Friends?" And on it went.

Only one conveyance made any sense — it revealed their confusion about my species, and it could be roughly translated into English as, "Not-dog, not-dog, not-dog. Four legs, dog-coat. But not dog. Two legs, furless, tall. Changing eyes. Swapper? Yep, Swapper!"

"Shifter," I named myself, but they dismissed the word because, well, it was a word. I tried again, this time sending a memory of a cloudy sky and adding, "Skye," for my own clarity.

"Yep, yep, yep," the dogs thought. Their approval was obvious, for even they could understand that my eyes were storm coloured. Then they began introducing themselves to me in a flurry of scent identities and defining features.

The littlest one was named for his ear, which flopped forwards rather than standing straight. The others were more complex — a longer series of tiny details. It was mostly scents, of course, and scents can't be put into words. There are so many things about animals which could not be put into words. I couldn't help but wonder why shifters relied on language as much we did, because there were very few conversations which couldn't be held without it. Convenience? Some desperate attempt to cling to our humanity?

There wasn't time to sate my curiosity further. I needed to get back to the camp before it got too dark to traverse the gorge, with its mud-slopes and treacherous footing.

I knew I should tie the dogs up in our camp to be safe, but that felt cruel. And I won't lie — I kinda wanted to keep one. But no, Skye, that would be irresponsible. They needed to go back to where they belonged.

My lip lifted as I snarled at them. It was a vicious, horrible sound that had every single mutt whining and dropping their tail between their legs. I only had to take a pace towards them, and they scattered in every direction, running back to their handlers. The smallest threw an offended stare back at me. Even I knew it was rude to end an acquaintance so abruptly, but it had served its purpose because, somehow, I didn't think they would dare hunt me again.

I took my time returning to the ledge so I could cast for scents. Scouting was a necessity with ferals running loose, but I didn't catch so much as a whiff of another shifter. Not even Rhodric. It was empty, this part of the woods. Almost too empty — or was I just being paranoid?

Must be, I decided as I shifted back and tugged on my discarded clothes. Not five minutes later I trekked my way back to our fire and grinned at Leo.

"All fixed. You can sleep soundly now, mate."

His forehead creased. "The hell did you do, Skye?"

I didn't answer to preserve the aura of epic mystery. And Leo, wisely, didn't push.

***

Rhys drifted in and out of consciousness all evening. The fourth time he woke, I bullied him into drinking half a tin of lukewarm beans from Rhodric's rucksack, since we'd already devoured the pigeon. He asked where his father was.

"He's right here," I lied.

"Okay," he managed to mutter before drifting off again. I tried to feel bad, honestly, but I was just too weary.

I went back to sitting with Leo, my back against his chest and his arms around me. I used the pocket knife to whittle a clumsy star. Religion or not, there was a long tradition of offering tokens to the forest when you needed a streak of luck, and I figured we could use all the help we could get.

Four of us left. Even if Aaron's troop escaped their pursuers, I doubted they would catch up. So what were our chances of liberating Ember Pack, when we were outnumbered ten to one?

"Who cares about the odds?" Leo asked through the link, no doubt sensing the pessimistic colour of my thoughts. "I'd never bet against you— my beautiful, terrifying rogue."

I nudged him playfully. "You're a bit of a smooth talker, aren't you?"

"Only for you," he replied without missing a beat. "Hey, watch this."

Leo dragged a burning log from our fire with a boot tip, then waited for the flames to fade to embers. While I watched on, he crouched beside it and blew softly on the embers, sending them spiralling into the air like a dozen fireflies.

I watched the embers as, one by one, they slowly drifted into the river and extinguished themselves in the cool water. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, but the now the stars were coming out to dance and that dim glow illuminated the edges of my mate's face.

"Nice trick."

"You know I live to impress you, Skye," he said sarcastically.

We began to doze off, not intentionally, but rather in that sneaking, gradual way that you do when exhaustion finally catches up.

"Night," Tally muttered when she noticed our closed eyes. "Don't let the werewolves bite."

"Far too late for that," I told Leo as my finger traced the mark on his neck. He shivered— out of something more than cold— and kissed me softly before I could tease him any further. For once, my wolf didn't push for more.

I wandered absently to a corner of the ledge and lay down. It wasn't long before Leo joined me, and Tally too, when she had finished moping. We would all share warmth. I wriggled around until Leo's chest was against my back. We shared his jacket for a pillow, and although it was freezing and uncomfortable on the rocks, I fell asleep in five minutes flat.