Rogue Warning
1110 Words
☽ Nyra ☾
The days after my birthday didn’t feel like a celebration aftermath. They felt like punishment. People spoke softly when I passed, or they stopped speaking at all. Some looked sorry for me. Others looked satisfied, like Zarek’s rejection had confirmed what they believed.
I refused to bend.
I trained alone at the edge of the forest, running until my legs shook. I didn’t have Lucan’s steady presence to lean on, and the house was too quiet without him. He was still out searching for rare herbs for Iseya, and I hated that he wasn’t here. The nightmare memories kept coming, too. The stone hall. The rope. The cold blade. I didn’t know the faces, but I knew the feeling of betrayal. It made me watch the pack differently. It made me notice things I used to ignore.
It also made me prepare.
In those flashes of my other life, rogues didn’t show up by accident. They came in waves. They tested a pack before they struck again. So, I hid what I could where no one would think to look. A short knife. Two sharpened stakes. A pouch of pepper and ash. Nothing fancy, just tools that could buy time. Four days after my birthday, I was coming back from the stream when an alarm horn ripped through the air. A scream followed, high and terrified, and then more voices joined it. The sound came from the western border. My stomach dropped.
Rogues.
I left the water where it was and sprinted. The clearing near the border had turned into chaos. Pack members rushed in every direction. Some shifted mid-stride. Others dragged children and elders toward the inner cabins. Two guards were already down near the tree line, and dark shapes moved over them, snapping and tearing. There were too many rogues for a simple raid. They pushed like they had a goal, trying to force a path toward the center of the pack. I didn’t freeze. I couldn’t afford to. I cut around the edge of the fight and raced for the small ravine behind the eastern trees. Leaves slid under my boots. Branches whipped my face. I didn’t slow down until I reached the flat stone I had marked days earlier. I dropped to my knees, dug fast, and pulled up the bundle. My fingers shook, but the moment I felt the knife handle, I steadied. I ran back toward the screams. A rogue broke through the line and rushed a young pack member who was half-shifted and unbalanced. I threw one of the stakes without thinking. It hit the rogue’s shoulder, not killing him, but twisting him off course. The pack member staggered back, and two wolves slammed into the rogue and dragged him down.
“Good,” I whispered as I moved again. Faster now. Another rogue lunged at a woman who was pulling her child away. I ran in, slashed across his leg, and kicked ash into his eyes when he snapped at me. He howled, blinded, and I drove the knife into his side hard enough to make him collapse. My arms burned. My lungs burned. But the fear in the clearing shifted. People stopped running in circles. Wolves formed tighter lines. The pack began to push back.
That was when I saw Vespera.
She stood near the cabin line, still in human form, her hair neat as if she had prepared for a gathering, not a fight. She should have been helping the injured or shifting to defend herself. Instead, she watched the battle with a calm that didn’t belong here. A rogue broke free from the fight and sprinted straight toward her. For a heartbeat, my mind went blank. Then my body tightened, ready to run. But the rogue slowed. He dipped his head slightly, just a fraction, like recognition. Vespera lifted her fingers in a small, controlled motion, almost too subtle to notice. The rogue turned away from her as if pulled by a string and charged at a wounded guard instead.
Cold rushed through me, heavier than fear.
I looked between them. The rogue’s movements and Vespera’s face. She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t look threatened. She looked pleased, like something was going according to plan.
A bitter truth clicked into place.
The rogues were not just attacking us. They were following directions. Another rogue came at me then, and I had no choice but to fight. He was bigger, faster, and his claws raked at the air inches from my throat. My wolf surged up, hot and wild, begging to take over. I forced control, ducked under his swing, and stabbed up into his ribs. He stumbled. I shoved him back and struck him again. He dropped, choking out a growl that turned into a wet gasp. I stood there for a second, shaking, and an image flashed in my mind like lightning. A ritual circle. A white pelt. Hands reaching for power that didn’t belong to them. I blinked hard and pushed it down. The rogues retreated as suddenly as they had come. They melted into the trees in a disciplined line, not a panicked scramble. Zarek and a few of his strongest wolves chased, shouting, but the rogues stayed out of reach, leading them just far enough to waste time. When the clearing finally stilled, the ground was torn up and stained. People cried. Others stared at the bodies like they couldn’t believe this had happened. I wiped my blade on the grass and searched again for Vespera.
She was gone.
My hands curled into fists. I didn’t have proof, but I had a direction now. Zarek had humiliated me, but Vespera had enjoyed it. Now, a rogue had spared her without hesitation, as if she mattered to their plan. My revenge had a sharper target. A new scent cut through the smoke and the blood, familiar and steady. My head snapped toward the path from the eastern trees. Lucan strode into the clearing, travel-worn and tense, his eyes scanned the damage. The moment he spotted me, he crossed the distance fast and gripped my shoulders. He looked me over to make sure I was all right.
“Nyra,” he said, his voice rough. “I was on my way home when I heard about the attack,” he explained. I swallowed, suddenly aware of how much I had wanted him here. His gaze flicked to the knife in my hand, then back to my face, and his jaw clenched. “I missed your birthday,” he said quietly. “And I wasn’t here to protect you today. I am sorry,”
☽☾
- Writer
