Rogue Rage

Chapter 18

“Roughly how many tents did you see?” Leon asked. After going through the details about what I heard, while I was within the camp, he begin asking more direct questions about the camp. I did my best to answer without making it seem like I knew too much.

“Not many, about twenty.”

“Twenty is enough to launch an attack. Especially, if they got ahold of this other Rogue. You said you heard them call him Keith?”

I nodded. “Yes, but I don’t think all of those tents were soldiers.”

“Why?” Leon asked.

“I—” s**t, I was hesitating. What can I say that sounds convincing. “Well, I meant there was the woman that is pregnant and I heard crying coming from one of the tents. It sounded like a child. There could be more.”

“That doesn’t meant there aren’t warriors in those tents. The kids could be the family they brought with them, when they were exiled.” Leon stated.

Maddock scoffed from beside me. He found his way next to me when we started discussing my expedition. “Who in their right mind would take their family to such a place?”

“They couldn’t have been in their right mind,” Samuel said from the other side of me. We all looked up at him. He didn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the map, on the dark smear of forest between the pack border and Damian’s camp, but something in his face had gone distant. “When I was exiled, I considered taking my daughters with me. More than considered it. I stood outside their room that night and thought about it until sunrise. I didn’t trust my Luna or the Beta not to reach for them again once I was gone.” His jaw worked once. “But the wild lands don’t forgive weakness, and rogue camps are worse. Out there, a child is either a burden, leverage, or bait. Here, at least, there were eyes on them. People who might notice if either girl disappeared or turned up bruised.”

Samuel finally looked up, his expression hard. “Damian understood that. He welcomed families because families made rogues easier to control. A lone exile could run. A man with a mate and children had something Damian could feed, shelter, threaten, or reward. He made himself look like mercy, then turned that mercy into a chain.”

My fist tightened beneath the table before I realized I was doing it. I wondered if Damian had looked at my father that way when he brought me in—not as a grieving man with a daughter, but as a future weakness to cultivate. “It wasn’t really about the exiles,” I said. The words left my mouth before I had time to soften them. Every eye turned toward me, and my stomach dipped, but there was no taking it back now. “Everyone worries about Damian collecting exiles because grown wolves can fight. That makes sense. But grown wolves also remember what real packs felt like. They remember laws, family lines, Alpha bonds, healers, patrols, winter stores, children eating before warriors. They remember enough to know when something is wrong.”

I forced myself to keep going, even though my pulse had started beating too loudly in my ears. “The children don’t have that. If they’re raised in Damian’s camp, then Damian becomes the only Alpha they understand. The only food they remember comes from him. The only shelter they know is his. The only stories they hear are the ones he chooses to tell them. He can teach them that traditional packs abandoned them, that exile is proof of corruption, that loyalty to him is survival, and they’ll believe it because there’s nothing else to compare it to.”

The office went still. Outside the window, a guard passed close enough that I heard leather creak and boots scrape against the path. Inside, the map lay between us like a wound no one wanted to touch. “That’s the army,” I said, quieter now. “Not the exiles. Their children. The ones left behind when Damian sends their parents into fights they can’t win. The ones he feeds afterward. The ones he comforts. The ones he tells, See? Your old packs did this. Your old Alphas made this world. I’m the only one who will protect you from it.” I swallowed. “By the time they’re old enough to fight, they won’t think they’re serving a rogue. They’ll think they’re defending the only home that ever wanted them.”

Samuel’s hand settled on my shoulder.

For one foolish second, I thought he meant to comfort me. The weight of it was warm and steady, and some tired, starving part of me wanted badly to lean into it. Then I looked up and saw his expression.

Caution.

Not anger. Not pity. Warning.

My stomach dropped. I had said too much. Way too much. I was not supposed to sound like I knew Damian. I was supposed to sound like a scared nomad who got dragged into something awful and happened to overhear a few things. Instead, I sounded like someone who had lived it. Like someone who knew exactly how he used food, shelter, promises, and fear to make people love him before they even knew they were trapped.

I had shown too much of myself.

The room felt different after that, like everyone had leaned in without moving. Leon watched me with that calm, patient look that made me want to squirm. Maddock went quiet beside me, which somehow felt worse than if he had snapped. I could feel his eyes flick from Samuel’s hand on my shoulder to my face. Great. Now he was probably wondering what else he did not know.

I needed to fix it. Say something normal. Something harmless. Maybe laugh like I had guessed and gotten lucky. Maybe pretend I was just scared and rambling. But my mouth went dry, and every excuse sounded stupid before I could even say it.

Before I could think of one, Leon spoke.

“I think we’ve made a lot of progress.” His voice was pleasant, almost too pleasant. He looked at Samuel first, then at me, and the faint smile on his face did not reach his eyes. “Thank you both for your insight.”

It sounded like he was letting us go. It did not feel like that at all.

He glanced toward the window, where morning light had grown brighter against the glass. “First meal will be over soon.”

Samuel took the chance right away. His hand left my shoulder, and I hated how much I noticed the loss of it. He headed for the door like he needed out before he said something that ruined everything. I followed because leaving sounded better than breathing in that office for one more second. Maddock followed too.

“Mabel, hold back, will you?” Leon said.

My feet stopped.

Samuel’s did not. He had the door open before Leon finished speaking. For one brief second, his gaze cut back to mine. I could not read it. Apology, warning, helplessness—maybe all three. Then he stepped out and left me there.

Maddock did not.

He stayed by the door with his arms crossed, trying to look casual and failing. Maddock was too big to look casual when he was blocking an exit. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were on Leon, but I could still feel the attention he was holding back. That was the thing with him. Even when he was not staring, I felt noticed. I had spent most of my life trying not to be noticed, so of course he had to be impossible to ignore.

I wished that did not matter.

I wished it annoyed me more. It should have. He was the Luna’s brother, a warrior, and exactly the kind of man I should have kept far away from. But this version of Maddock was not the one from the river with the lazy grin and wine on his breath. This one was quiet. Watchful. Like he had decided to stand between me and trouble without asking if I wanted him there. It was irritating. It was also…not irritating enough.

That was the problem.

Maddock should have been easy to write off. He was too handsome, too confident, and too used to girls looking at him like he was something special. I knew better than that. I really did. But then I kept remembering him jumping between me and Keith. His wolf blocking everything from view. Him lowering himself so I could climb onto his back like carrying me home was just obvious. And his voice when he was angry—low, tight, like he was holding the worst of it behind his teeth.

I did not trust it.

I did not trust him.

But my body kept noticing him anyway.

“I don’t think we need a chaperone, Maddock,” Leon said. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

Maddock’s gaze flicked to me.

It was not soft. Maddock did not really do soft. But there was a question in his eyes, like he was asking if I wanted him to stay. That bothered me more than if he had just refused to leave. If he demanded things, I knew what to do with that. But giving me a choice? That was harder.

I did not take it.

After a long second, Maddock pushed away from the wall. When he passed me, his shoulder came close enough that I caught the clean, masculine scent of skin, leather, and forest. He did not touch me, but my body reacted like he had. My stomach dipped. Stupid. Completely stupid.

His eyes dropped briefly to my face. The look said he would not go far.

Then he left.

The door closed behind him, and the room changed.

Without Maddock by the wall and Samuel beside me, Gabriel’s office felt way too big. The map on the desk looked like evidence, which was ridiculous, because it was just a map. The dagger on one corner did not help. Neither did the inkpot or the little river stones holding the paper flat. Everything in the room suddenly looked like it could be used against me.

Leon moved around the desk and leaned back against it. He did not rush. He did not raise his voice. He simply watched me until my skin began to feel too tight.

“My brother seems to trust you,” he said.

I swallowed. “I think he just—”

Leon lifted a hand. “No need to explain him away. Maddock has always done whatever he likes.”

“And whoever he likes,” I said before I could stop myself.

His mouth twitched. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t.” I folded my arms, then immediately dropped them because it made me look defensive. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

Heat crawled up my neck.

I hated that my first thought was Maddock in the shadows earlier. Broad shoulders. Damp-blond hair pushed back. Stubble along his jaw. Those eyes looking at me like he noticed way too much. I hated that my body remembered his voice before my brain could remind me that attention was dangerous. Worse, I hated that I had started comparing every version of him like that was a normal thing to do.

The Maddock at the waterfall had been easy to roll my eyes at. Bare skin, sharp grin, wine, arrogance. The Maddock who chased Keith had been all teeth and muscle and fury. But the Maddock in Leon’s office was worse, because he was trying not to be either of those things. He was trying to be careful. Maybe even decent. Which was unfair, honestly, because decent men were harder to ignore.

That made him harder to ignore.

“No,” I said, more firmly. “We’ve only met a handful of times. Mostly by coincidence. The gathering area. The falls. The attack with the rogue.”

Leon studied me. “You believe all of that was coincidence?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

That was the problem. I did not know anymore. With Damian, coincidence usually meant a trap I had not found yet. But Maddock did not feel like one of Damian’s traps. He felt like trouble. Annoying, warm, good-looking trouble. The kind I should have avoided and kept noticing anyway.

And perhaps that was worse.

And that might have been worse. Traps made sense. You found the sharp parts, found the way out, and kept moving. Maddock did not feel like something I could figure out that easily. One minute he was teasing. The next he was angry. Then protective. Then looking almost ashamed of himself. I could not tell which version was real. Maybe all of them were. Maybe that was why he made me nervous.

Leon let the silence stretch just long enough to make me uncomfortable.

“Speaking of the attack,” he said, “why didn’t you chase Keith immediately?”

My heart gave one hard kick.

“Excuse me?”

“You were close,” he said evenly. “Closer than Maddock. Closer than Samuel, at first. Keith attacked you, then ran. Maddock and Samuel gave chase. You followed later.” His head tilted slightly. “Why?”

“I was hurt,” I said. “He knocked me down, and I—”

“Then your first obligation should have been to go to Dr. Gene.”

The room seemed to shrink.

Leon’s voice remained calm, but every word tightened around me. He was not accusing me outright. That was what made it worse. He was building a cage from facts and waiting for me to notice the bars.

“I was scared,” I said.

“I believe that.”

I blinked.

He held my gaze. “I believe you were scared. I also believe fear was not the only reason you ran after them.”

My palms grew damp. “What other reason would there be?”

“That is what I’m asking you.”

For a moment, I could hear everything too clearly—the faint pop of the lamp wick, the distant murmur of pack members outside, the door Maddock had gone through, the blood rushing in my ears. I thought of Keith’s eyes on me before he ran. The betrayal in them. The warning. The way he had tried to tell me to flee even after I had handed him over.

“I thought he might escape,” I said. “If he escaped, the camp would know something went wrong.”

Leon nodded once. “That is a reasonable answer.”

It should have relieved me.

It did not.

“And yet,” he continued, “you did not run for help. You did not alert the nearest guard. You did not seek medical attention. You ran toward the cliff after two trained warriors had already gone after him.”

I said nothing.

Leon’s expression softened by a fraction, but somehow that made him more dangerous. “You are very good at giving answers that are true enough to stand on. My sister used to do that when she was cornered. The truth, angled just enough to hide behind.”

My chest tightened.

“And beyond that,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, “my wolf can’t sense yours.”

Everything inside me went still.

There it was.

No careful path around it. No excuse. No half-truth that would survive a wolf who could feel the absence of what should have lived beneath my skin.

“Why is that, Mabel?”

The name sounded wrong suddenly. Too borrowed. Too fragile. I stared at the map because looking at Leon felt like stepping off a cliff.

“I don’t have one.”

The office went unnaturally quiet.

Leon inhaled slowly. “Did you ever?”

I shook my head.

He did not react the way I expected. No disgust. No disbelief. No immediate suspicion that I was cursed, broken, or some impossible thing that needed to be studied. His face changed, but the change was careful. Controlled.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The words nearly undid me.

I looked up too quickly. “Don’t.”

His brows lifted.

“I don’t need pity.”

“No,” he said. “I imagine you’ve had enough of people deciding what your weakness means before asking what you survived with it.”

My throat tightened so hard it hurt.

Leon pushed away from the desk and crossed his arms. “My sister did not receive her wolf until recently. For years, we thought she had none. We were wrong. Her wolf had chosen her at birth and stayed dormant until Kate was ready to receive her.” His gaze searched mine. “According to my wolf, there is no dormant spirit in you.”

I looked away.

Hearing it said aloud felt different than knowing it. I had lived with that emptiness for years. I had shaped my whole life around it. Still, there was a cruelty in having someone else name the hollow thing inside me as if he could see straight through my ribs.

“Does Samuel know?” Leon asked.

“Yes.”

“Maddock?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

Leon noticed.

I hated him a little for it.

“Samuel knows because he figured it out,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “I asked him not to tell anyone.”

“You asked Samuel to keep a secret that could affect pack security.”

“He agreed.”

“Samuel has daughters,” Leon said. “That explains some of his poor judgment where you’re concerned.”

The words stung even though they were not exactly aimed at me.

I folded my hands together to stop them from shaking. “My lack of a wolf doesn’t make me dangerous.”

“No,” Leon said. “But hiding things does.”

I laughed once, short and humorless. “Everyone hides things.”

“Yes. And in a pack, secrets have weight. Yours is heavier than most.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him it was none of his business, that my body and whatever was missing from it belonged to me alone. But I was standing in the office of a pack I had infiltrated, wearing borrowed clothes, with Damian’s secrets still sitting behind my teeth. I had no moral ground solid enough to stand on.

Leon watched that realization settle over me.

“Maddock will find out,” he said.

My stomach dipped.

“Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually Riven will notice, if he hasn’t already. A wolf knows absence as well as presence. Maddock may be distracted by you right now, but his wolf won’t be forever.”

Distracted by me.

The words should not have affected me.

They did.

I thought of Maddock’s eyes in the office. The way he lingered. The way anger sat in him like something chained, not absent. He made me feel watched, but not hunted. Protected, but not safe. It was a terrible difference, and I was beginning to understand why it mattered.

No one in Damian’s world had ever looked at me that way. Men noticed what they could use, what they could take, what they could intimidate into obedience. Maddock noticed too much, but he did not look as if he wanted to own the information. He looked as if he wanted to understand what had put the bruises there, what had made me step back, what had taught me to flinch before I remembered to hide it.

That frightened me more than desire.

Desire was simple. Bodies wanted things all the time. Warmth. Food. Rest. Touch. Maddock was attractive enough that noticing him could have been dismissed as instinct. A broad-shouldered man with a warrior’s body, a sharp mouth, and eyes that turned serious when they settled on me was not exactly difficult to want in a passing, foolish way.

But it was not only that.

It was the way he tried to control himself when anger would have been easier. The way he seemed ashamed of his own reputation when it mattered. The way he did not press when Leon told him to leave, even though every line of him said he hated doing it. The way he had looked back before stepping out, letting me decide whether to ask him to stay.

A man who gave me a choice was more dangerous than one who tried to take one.

“I don’t owe him that,” I said quietly.

“No,” Leon agreed. “You don’t owe Maddock your pain. You do not owe him your history. But if you let him care about you while hiding something that will feel like a betrayal once he learns it, you should understand what that will cost.”