Rhodric Llewellyn is the grandson of a rogue folk hero. When he arrives in Snowdonia, he becomes a rallying point for the outcasts of the shifter world. They're all thieves and murderers, but thieves and murderers make brilliant friends when everyon...
Hey guys! It's been one hell of a journey. Thank you so much for all your votes and comments over the last two years, and I'm pleased to say we are now finally finished. I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that Running with Rogues will be updated in the next few days, too :)
If you haven't had enough of me yet, here are some other books set in the same world for your exploration:
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
***
The sea twisted and writhed like an animal caught in a trap. It spat at us and frothed and roared, and the boat was thrown about in the swell. I couldn't have chosen a worse night to make the crossing ... but that was the point. The watchmen would be dozing at their posts, resting assured that no idiot would launch a boat in a storm like this.
I pulled my hood up and grinned at the boys. Rhys was enjoying the threat of imminent death because he was four and didn't know any better. Bran, however, had his mouth set into a thin line. He looked like he was trying to keep his supper down.
"Nearly there," I whispered, putting my arm around him. "You don't need to be so brave all the time, you know."
"I don't have to be brave. I'm not scared," he said indignantly. "But Rhys might be. He's only little."
Rhys heard his name and whooped loud enough to bruise my eardrums. "We're on a boat."
"Yes, we are," I agreed. "I dunno, Bran. He doesn't sound scared to me."
As if to prove my point, Rhys started jumping around a little too enthusiastically, and I had to sit him on my lap to stop him falling overboard. Bran watched him with a little smile on his lips. It faded quickly enough when we crested another wave and dropped back down. Even my stomach was free-falling, and I'd been on much rougher seas than these.
"Where now?" the fisherman asked me. He had to shout to make himself heard over the howl of the wind.
"You'll want to land it between the two crags," I told him. "Or we'll be dashed to pieces on the rocks. This coastline is bloody treacherous when you don't know it."
"Yeah, well," he said gruffly. "The reason I dunno it is that the whole place is private-owned. You know that, right? Don't say my name when they collar you for trespass."
Bran's queasiness disappeared in the blink of an eye. He sat up straighter in his seat and looked at me hopefully. "Are we trespassing, Dad?"
I just snorted. "You'd be so lucky."
He went back to scowling. He desperately wanted to go raiding. I'd let him play on the Shadowless border, safe in the knowledge that Vik had paused the patrols specially, but that was all. His wolf was getting more and more pissy with every passing day, so I didn't trust him that he'd run away from the flockies and not towards them.
