Rogue Rage

Chapter 17

I was sitting on the edge of the narrow bed when the first gentle knock came. It was not loud, but it cut through the little hut like a blade. My hands were folded in my lap so tightly my knuckles had gone pale, the borrowed tunic wrinkled beneath my fingers. The room smelled of damp leather, old wood, and river water drying too slowly on the rack by the wall. Morning light slipped through the small window in a thin gray line, catching the dust that floated between me and the door. I took a deep breath, then another, trying to force air past the tightness in my chest before I stood.

When I opened the door, Samuel stood on the other side looking as though the night had taken pieces from him. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw covered in rough stubble, and the set of his shoulders made him look older than he had yesterday. I looked down at my hands because meeting his eyes felt too much like admitting how frightened I was.

“I wanted to ask last night,” I said, my voice quiet enough that it nearly disappeared into the cold air between us, “but it didn’t seem all that important.”

He looked at me, waiting.

“How did you know I was here?”

Samuel took a deep breath. Whatever answer he had, he swallowed it. “Let’s go.”

I nodded because my throat had gone too tight for words. I gathered my leathers and the other clothes he had lent me, folding them against my chest like they could shield me from what waited beyond the door. “Thank you for the clothes,” I murmured as we stepped out of the hut.

He answered with a nearly inaudible grunt. The path outside was still damp from morning dew, and the hem of the borrowed pants brushed against my ankles with every step. Smoke curled from chimneys in thin pale ribbons. Somewhere near the gathering area, women were already moving between tables, setting out baskets and clay pitchers for the morning meal. Their voices drifted softly through the village, familiar and easy, and that made my fear worse. They belonged here. Their scents were woven into these paths, these homes, this cold morning air. I was the loose thread waiting to be pulled.

Every step toward the Alpha’s office made my stomach twist harder. I chewed my lower lip until I tasted blood, then stopped because looking afraid would do me no favors. My body wanted to fold inward, to make itself smaller, softer, less noticeable. My survival instincts screamed for me to slip between the houses, scale the fence, and vanish before anyone could put my name beside my crimes. After passing the gathering area, my feet stopped so suddenly that Samuel took two more steps before noticing. My breath caught. My knees felt weak beneath me, and for one terrible moment, I was nothing but a frightened girl in borrowed clothes, carrying a bundle she had no right to keep.

Samuel stopped as well, his back to me. He stared at the pack house ahead, its windows catching the weak morning light. For a moment, I wondered if his wolf was arguing with him, if some deeper part of him still wanted to drag me in by the scruff and let the pack decide what became of me. Then he turned. The final decision rested in his eyes.

“I will not continue to lie to them,” he said. His voice was low, roughened by exhaustion. “If you want to survive, you will have to find a way to do it yourself. I will only speak for myself. Do you understand?”

At first, I didn’t. Then the meaning slipped beneath my fear. “You’re not going to tell them?”

“I am going to answer their questions honestly. Nothing more.”

So if they did not ask the right question, he would keep my truth to himself. A fragile flutter of hope moved through my chest, delicate and dangerous. I almost hated it. Hope made people reckless. Hope made women soften when they needed to sharpen. I straightened my spine, wiped my damp palms down the sides of my pants, and forced my face into something calmer than I felt. There was no room for self-pity now. If I wanted to live, I had to guide the conversation before it swallowed me whole.

“Let’s go,” I said, and this time I made my feet obey.

Leon was standing behind Gabriel’s large desk when we entered. A map covered most of the polished surface, weighted at the corners by a dagger, a sealed inkpot, and two smooth river stones. Morning light fell through the office windows in clean bands, but the room still held the smell of last night’s lamp smoke, cedar polish, leather, and paper. It was a room built for decisions, and every object in it seemed to remind me that none of those decisions belonged to me.

Leon looked straight at Samuel first, then at me. His eyes swept over the borrowed clothes, the bundle tucked against my ribs, the way my fingers clutched the fabric too tightly. “Good morning.” He placed his hands in the pockets of his leathers. “You must be Mabel.”

“Yes, sir.” My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. I hated that. I hated the way my fear made me sound young, breakable, and easier to dismiss.

Leon crossed his arms. “You went into the rogue camp with no proper training.”

“Yes, sir. I—”

“I’m told you were accepted here by the Alpha to assist in Sam’s daughter’s adjustment.” His tone gave away nothing. “You have no actual loyalties to this pack, yet you now have inside information about our defenses and our people. So you can understand why going into enemy territory was not just dangerous for you. It was dangerous for us. If you had been caught and they attempted to get information out of you, do you really think you could have held out for the sake of people you have no real ties to?”

The question landed too close to the truth. My words caught in my throat, and for a heartbeat, the room blurred at the edges. I imagined hands on me, claws at my skin, Damian’s voice asking what I knew and how long I had been betraying him. My stomach rolled. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, forcing myself not to swallow too loudly, not to tremble where Leon could see. Silence was safer than a lie. Leon seemed to take it as understanding.

“It’s best you stay here, where you won’t run into harm.” Maddock’s voice came from behind me, quiet but unmistakable.

I turned sharply. He was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder pressed to the shadowed paneling. I had not noticed him when I entered, and that realization sent a fresh pulse of insecurity through me. Maddock looked different in daylight after everything that had happened. Less careless. Less charming. More solid somehow, as if the room itself had been built around the weight of him. His damp-blond hair was pushed back from his face, leaving the hard line of his brow and the sharp cut of his jaw completely exposed. Dark stubble shadowed his mouth and cheeks, rough enough that my gaze caught on it before I could stop myself. He was broad through the shoulders, lean through the waist, and still in a way that made the quiet around him feel deliberate rather than empty.

His eyes moved over my face with an intensity that made my stomach tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. It was not the playful look I had seen at the river, not the lazy confidence of a man used to being wanted. This was quieter. Controlled. Protective in a way that felt dangerous because he did not have to raise his voice or step closer to make me aware of him. I suddenly wanted to smooth my hair, hide my hands, and straighten the borrowed tunic all at once. I hated that instinct too—the small, feminine urge to look composed in front of a man who had seen me filthy, frightened, and nearly broken. Worse, I hated that some traitorous part of me cared whether he liked what he saw.

“It’s really best for everyone,” he added.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Leon said, and some of the tension I had not even realized I was holding loosened around the room, “let’s get down to it.”