Micah Vaughan was being carried away on a stretcher. The doctor had rinsed his intestines with disinfectant, jabbed him with a syringe full of antibiotics, and then stuffed them back inside. He'd stitched him up while we sat in a moving vehicle. I'd helped as best I could, if only to throw off suspicion.
When I got out of the truck, I spotted Liam almost immediately. He was standing with the rest of his patrol beside another one of the trucks, but he came over quick enough when he saw me.
He was covered in blood. And not just a little bit of blood — no, he had several pints drying on him. Like me, Liam should have been safe today. The rogues didn't want to hurt him. The flockies thought he was on their side.
"Hi," I said. There was no energy in it. My legs were so weak and shaky that I sat on the back rim of the jeep just to take the weight off. I ended up sliding straight down, my arse thumping onto the grass, and I didn't make any effort to get back up.
Liam knelt down, looking me over with those big, worried eyes of his. "Are you okay?"
I looked a mess, admittedly. There were bloody furrows under my chin, and my arm was in a sling, courtesy of the grumpy pack doctor. Liam wrinkled up his nose as he got Mason's scent. It was the t-shirt. I'd tried to give it back, but I'd already bled all over it, so he hadn't been interested.
I offered him a very unconvincing smile. "No. But I'll live. What happened to you?"
Liam looked down at himself and flinched. "It's ... uh, it's not my blood."
I could see that. There was too much to belong to a single person. And besides, there wasn't a mark on him. I raised an eyebrow, asking the silent question. He didn't answer right away. He took a moment to swallow and find the words.
"Will's dead."
Oh, Goddess. It hadn't even occurred to me. All this time I'd been worrying about my family ... I'd never stopped to consider that a flockie might get hurt. Because why would I care, right?
Well, I did care. He'd been nice to us. So had Lin, despite the frostiness of the last day, and I knew how badly it hurt to lose a mate. She was sat in the passenger seat of the truck, where Mason had not-so-gently put her, and she was still crying her eyes out. This wasn't hysterics, after all. She'd felt the bond break. Something cold and oily settled in the pit of my stomach.
"Who was it?" I asked quietly.
Liam picked at the blood drying under his fingernails and murmured, "Rhodri."
"Okay." I took a deep breath in and out. "Don't tell him. I know he acts like he doesn't care, but that shit bothers him."
It bothered all of us. Killing wasn't an easy thing to do. Not even when your life was on the line. And we all knew that sometimes we got the wrong flockies. The ones who just wanted to protect their families and were actually decent people. We knew, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Liam nodded. "The thing is, Eva ... I was scrapping with him. You know, trying to make it look real. And Will jumped on him from behind and Rhodri just turned and ... yeah. It wouldn't have happened if Will hadn't tried to help me."
"It's not your fault," I said. It was a useless thing to say, and I knew it, but I had to say something.
"Yes, it is," Liam said firmly. He'd noticed the shaking. He draped his patrol jacket around my shoulders, and he rubbed my arms, trying to warm them up. He'd guessed wrong, but it was still sweet. "And since I've seen Mason walking and talking, I'm guessing he died for jack shit."
I eyed him cautiously. "Well, yeah. Everything went sideways real fast. You did see the Shadowcat, right?"
The alarm was written all over his face. "What Shadowcat?"
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YOU ARE READING
Running with Rogues
WerewolfTHE SEQUEL TO 'LUNA OF ROGUES.' Last Haven is scattered to the wind. It has been nineteen years since the castle burned - nineteen years of bitter warfare - and rogues are a dying breed. Defeat is starting to look inevitable. Every rogue has a choic...