The car journey home had been far from quiet. Rhodric had driven, with Fion riding shotgun. Rhys, Ollie and I were crammed into the back seat. It was a relief to have someone with a licence behind the wheel for once, even if my father wasn't one for respecting speed limits. Ollie had fallen asleep after ten minutes of poetry and snored quietly for the rest of the journey.

Arriving back in the camp was far calmer. Lle o Dristwch was exactly as we had left it — weather-beaten and crumbling. The repairs to the walls had been halted with so many of the workers away, but I was glad to see some attempts at weather proofing had been made.

No one looked surprised to see Rhodric. He was greeted as if he'd never left, as impossible as that seemed.

He had stuck around for a few hellos, although he had stayed back and let me do most of the talking. He was unusually subservient and even more unusually quiet. It seemed that despite his return, I would still be leading. At least, that was the impression I was getting. I knew damn well that if it came down to it, the rogues would listen to him, not me.

I took careful note when he excused himself after an hour or so. And then I followed him, leaving Rhys, Fion and Leo to cheat each other at cards. Something had been up with Rhodric for a long time, I was beginning to realise. I was going to find out what he was hiding once and for all.

He kept a fast pace but didn't bother shifting into his wolf. I stayed far behind and out of the prevailing wind so he wouldn't know I was there, but close enough to detect the scent trail left behind. Until, all of a sudden, the trail disappeared entirely.

How the hell did he do that, anyway? There were many ways to mask a scent, but none of them were one hundred percent effective. He had to mask his scent with something. Like hell was I going to walk all the way back to camp without some answers.

I thought carefully about the direction he had been going and what was in this area. There were a few lakes, deer paths ... and a certain rundown shepherd's hut. It seemed worth a look, at the very least. He had been walking in a straight line, not meandering along game trails. He wasn't hunting. He was going somewhere.

By the time I reached Old Jeff's hut, Rhodric was leaving. Jeff stood in the doorway, watching him as he walked in my direction. I barely had time to duck behind the wall of the house before me. Painstakingly, I slowed my breathing. I was pressed up against the rough stone, my heart hammering away in my chest.

When Rhodric was about to turn the corner — when the soft footsteps were getting dangerously loud — I pushed myself away from the wall. And then I slammed him into it in my place. Rhodric didn't even try to resist me. I'd been half expecting to get punched reflexively, so that was a relief.

But the way he was looking at me ... well. There wasn't much surprise on his face. He looked like he wanted to laugh. Scowling, I flicked out my knife, and I pressed it against his ribs. Once again, he didn't lift a finger to stop me.

"Is that really necessary, Skye?" Rhodric asked dryly.

"Yes," I snapped. "Just for once, I want some answers."

"Oh, I doubt that," he said. He moved his weight forwards so that the blade cut into the fabric of his jacket. "You wouldn't be here unless you had the answers."

Of course he knew that I knew. I decided to go all-in and glanced pointedly at the hut. A lot of things had been bothering me. The way Jeff looked so familiar. That he had a set of wolf armour with the Llewellyn family crest on it. How he had called Rhys and Brandon 'blood of mine'. All of these little things added up to only one explanation, however unlikely it was.

"Don't you think it would have been polite to introduce Rhys to his grandfather?" I demanded.

Rhodric sighed quietly, confirming my words. "Polite ... yes, but sensible? No. My father is dangerous. He's been crazy more than thirty years now. Losing his mate ... let's just say it broke him. So when I left home, I took him along, more to get him away from other people. But, well—"

I tried to look encouraging and sympathetic, when in reality I was hanging onto every word. For the first time in a long time, he was telling me more than I absolutely had to know. Even putting some emotion other than careless cheer on the table. I couldn't remember the last time he had made such little effort to not sound miserable.

He loosed a long breath, heedless of the knife at his ribs, and how I had to move it to avoid drawing blood. "My sister insisted on visiting him, no matter the danger. It was inevitable really, that he had a fit while she was there. But I guess you know the end of that story already..."

I did. Even if Tom had refused the details, it wasn't exactly a puzzle. Eira Llewellyn had been the girl who lost an ear and bled to death in Jeff's hut.

"She died, didn't she? I'm sorry—" I began, but he hadn't finished.

"I was away from home when it all went down. Left my pregnant mate and son with your parents, and still arrived too late. Eira was dead and cold when I found her. Dead and cold and alone."

The unspoken words hung between us. And I've never forgiven myself for it. The link was making that very clear.

"Then... Then everything happened. And afterwards, my head wasn't in a good place. I could hardly look after myself, let alone Jeff. So he was neglected, I suppose," Rhodric admitted. "I'm still trying to make up for that."

"And me? You couldn't look after me?" I wanted to ask a lot more directly how I'd ended up outcast in a pack, but I wasn't sure how to do that without sounding accusing.

"I left Bran and Rhys with their grandma, but you..." He shook his head. "I thought I was doing the right thing when I returned you to your birth pack. You had an aunt living there, but as best I can tell, she passed away when you were just a toddler. No one else stepped up."

Normally those words would have hit me like a ton of bricks, but my heart had already stopped. "Their grandma?"

Because he had already told me that his mother was dead. That left Jessie's side of the family, and I had seen a photo of her. Dark hair and all-too familiar features, yet I would have never made the connection on my own.

"Maggie?" I asked. She was the right age. She had always looked out for us. I had never understood it, but here was an explanation. And Goddess above, she had even admitted that she had a daughter, and Rhys and I were like her.

The smile on my dad's face told me I had the right answer. "Clever girl. She was Jess's mother."

That took a little while to sink in. All this time, despite being an orphan without a blood relation to my name, I had been surrounded by family. Rhys's family, mostly.

"Jeff is your father and Maggie is your mother-in-law," I mused "Why didn't you tell us?"

A hint of a grin. "Because I was a paranoid bastard. Still am. I made Maggie swear to keep her mouth shut about who she was to those boys. Which was cruel, in hindsight, but it was safer that way — no chance of Rhys asking questions about his mam."

Rhys's mother. Yet another secret I had to unravel. But I wasn't sure I dared ask him — Jessie had always been a sore subject.

"That's why you didn't tell me about my parents, isn't it?" I demanded. "So I wouldn't ask you questions?"

"You seem to know a lot about where you came from, all of a sudden," he murmured, rubbing at his jaw ruefully. "Tom has always been good at twisting orders."

"He was being an arse and refusing to say anything," I corrected. "Everything I know, I got from that letter you wrote."

Rhodric made a face and then clenched his jaw. "Yes. That. How much detail was there?"

My forehead creased. "You don't know?"

"No."

"You wrote it!" I said in exasperation. "Do you really not remember?"

He shook his head patiently. "I promise you that if I'd written it, you wouldn't have been able to read it. I never did very well with pens and paper. Tom wrote it. I asked him to, in case I died. Clearly, he didn't hide it very well."

"So that was Tom's handwriting? I thought—"

"Yes," Rhodric said. "I told you. Mine isn't very legible."

I withheld a frustrated growl. "It's the same handwriting as all the files, though..."

"Because he wrote those too, kiddo," he told me, almost laughing now. "What else did the letter say?"

I chewed on my lip. Here went nothing. "That Rhys's mother didn't die in childbirth. Is that true? You always told him—"

"Bloody Tom," he muttered, and then he swore again, just for good measure. "The people who killed her are dangerous, and I don't want Rhys anywhere near them. If that means lying to him, then ... that's fine. But she wasn't your mother, was she? I'll tell you the story if you take that damn knife off me."

I grunted and flicked the knife away, tucking it into a back pocket. His eyes sparkled with amusement. When Rhodric began the story, however, the grin faded away again.

"Eira died. That's how it began, really. As I said, Jess stayed with your parents. Only I'd pissed more than a few people off and some of them didn't have any qualms about going after my pregnant mate. So while I was mourning my sister, the hunters raided your birth pack. Took everyone. Jess, Bran, Rhys, your parents and you. It took a while, but eventually, I found a trail which led to a warehouse in the Silverstones."

I tried not to wince. "They were being held there?"

"You could say that. Jess and your parents died in that warehouse. I don't want to talk about exactly how it happened..." Understandable, especially as he had been bonded to Jessie. I didn't push. "No. They died, and their killer had taken a cruel sort of revenge, intentionally or not. I didn't realise until later, when the differences became obvious."

"Differences in what?" I asked cautiously.

"Brandon," Rhodric replied sadly. He fell silent, brooding over events long past. I felt my heart beat that little bit faster as he began to speak again. I had a feeling that I wasn't going to like what he was about to say.

"When he was a little kid, he was just like Rhys. He was trouble, but he was sweet. Things changed when his wolf started to make an appearance. And the day he first shifted ... let's just say someone nearly died."

"What did they do to him?" I breathed.

"Brandon was... He wasn't in control, kiddo. You only ever spoke to his wolf, and his wolf was half out of his mind."

Rhodric was going to continue, but he didn't need to. All at once, I knew.

I knew why Brandon had pushed his little brother off a waterfall. I knew why he had killed Davies. I knew why he had been so unspeakably cruel.

"Brandon was a feral," I stated.

My dad didn't reply. But the pain in his eyes made me think I'd got it right. There were some things that didn't make sense, of course. His eyes had been hazel, not black, but maybe that was just something that happened when you'd been feral for a very long time.

"We ... we could have saved him," I realised. "If Fion had marked him, he would still be alive."

"It was more complicated than that," Rhodric said. "And besides, you didn't know. Not then. No one knew how to cure it. We couldn't have saved Brandon, but I can still avenge him. And believe me, I will."

I thought about the deaths in that warehouse and frowned at him. "You haven't done that already?"

Not even a flicker of emotion on his face as he said, "No."

"Malcolm?" I dared to ask.

He shrugged at me. He didn't look surprised that I knew the name. "He escaped me at the warehouse. I have no idea how. One day, Skye, you'll help me kill him, but we're not ready for that just yet."

"He's the one who killed my parents, isn't he?" I asked quietly.

Rhodric nodded.

"My parents..." I began, almost shyly, "You knew them, right? What were they like?"

The smile which lit up his face was genuine for once. "Evie was friendly. Very friendly. But I'll be damned if she didn't have spirit. One of those people who just seemed to see right through you. And she would have made a great mother. Not much like you, mind, but I think that's nature versus nurture."

"My father?"

Rhodric snorted. "First time we met, he threw a punch at me. That's how all good friendships start."

"So that's where I got my punching genes from," I murmured.

"No," he laughed. "Believe it or not, you're not much like him, either. He was quiet and sensible. I have no idea how you turned out the way you did."

I mulled that over in silence. I knew how I'd turned out this way. A combination of neglect, being allowed to run wild, and then Rhodric's hands-off, happy-go-lucky parenting methods.

"They were mates?" I asked next. It was so rare to catch him in this kind of mood, and I wanted to take full advantage.

"Yes. And they were happy. Happy and deeply, deeply in love."

There was a pang deep in a chest. My parents had never been around, but I had never felt that loss until that moment in that rainy forest, listening to Rhodric Llewellyn remember the people who had brought me into this world. He brought alive two people who hadn't existed for me, and I almost wished he hadn't opened his mouth. Because it was easier when I didn't wish they were still alive.

"Is that how you felt about Jessie?" I wasn't sure where the question came from — it was a hopeless inquiry, because Rhodric never talked about her. Not even to Rhys. Maybe I was just trying to change the subject from my dead parents before he could show me what I had missed.

"Words don't do justice," he said slowly, "to how I felt about Jess."

Rhodric said it steadily enough. His voice didn't waver even once. And it was that calmness, that acceptance, that made me want to cry.

"There's something else I should probably tell you," he said.

I noticed something in his voice, and I got the feeling that this might be the worst secret of all.

"You'll hate me," Rhodric told me. "You'll hate me for this."

"I could never hate you," I said truthfully.

Rhodric carried on reluctantly, every word forced out. "Your parents didn't tell me, I swear."

"Get to the point," I insisted, with a sinking feeling that I wouldn't like what I was about to hear.

"When I walked out of that warehouse with you and my sons, I left someone behind. I didn't know, Skye, I swear. He raised that girl as a test subject for all his vile experiments, probably just to spite me."

"Who was she?" I growled at him, completely out of patience.

"Your sister," Rhodric said. "Your twin sister."

And for reasons I've never quite understood, I burst out laughing.