Small pack. My father’s pack. The realization hits me like a thunderbolt, and I exchange a wary glance with Zayn. The gravity of the situation dawns upon us both simultaneously.
“Your father!” Zayn’s voice is laced with raw anger. I only feel disbelief. I bite my lip, mirroring his thoughts.
“Please, that is all I know,” the rogue begs, his voice quivering under the weight of his fear. Andrea steps forward, her touch gentle as she rests her hand on Zayn’s arm.
“Zayn, we are not monsters,” she reminds him, her voice carrying a note of compassion as she glances at the rogue man, not with hatred but pity.The look on Zayn’s face betrays an internal struggle, torn between his instincts and the desire to maintain his humanity.
“What reason does he have to lie?” Andrea adds firmly, her eyes searching Zayn’s troubled furious expression.
Zayn’s response is swift and cutting. “Depends on what he was offered for doing this,” he snaps back, his words laced with a bitter skepticism.
The man interjects hurriedly, his voice tinged with desperation.
“Food, he offered us food, the lands are bare this time of the season, nothing left.” My eyes drift over the rogue taking in his emaciated frame. It also makes me think back to the rogue attacks in the city over the past year—how they’ve gotten worse. Are things really getting that bad outside the city borders? That desperation is sending them in?
Despite everything I have been taught about rogues—wild and uncontrollable creatures—this man before us appears no different from any other. His appearance is marred by dirt and blood, but his eyes hold a flicker of humanity that defies the stereotypes I’ve been raised to believe.
“Zayn, I think he’s telling the truth,” I whisper and his gaze cuts to me.
“They attacked our pack,” he reminds me.
“We killed no one, no one!” The man sobs and I swallow the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.
“They’re starving; you can’t say you wouldn’t have done the same if in his place, especially if you haven’t been in his situation.”
“How can you say that? Your mother was killed by rogues,” he reminds me as if I have forgotten.
“That was different, Zayn, and you know it. This would be different if they killed people but they haven’t; everyone got to the bunkers, and our men pushed them back. Like he said, no deaths. I thought they were attacking, they could have easily killed me and didn’t. I was outnumbered once I lost Vance,” Andrea says, glancing at the man.
Zayn averts his gaze, jaw clenching tightly as he considers this. His eyes flick back to the pathetic man before him, who is now shaking in fear, awaiting his fate. I chew my bottom lip trying to think of something to say but nothing comes to mind.
Zayn, however, chooses not to answer Andrea. Instead, he waves one of his men over as they head forward out of the tree line, having driven the rogues out.
“Send out teams to scout the northern borders. Keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, increase training sessions with our warriors, and send word to Alpha Greyson of our newest addition please,” he says as he still has a death grip on my hand. I stare up at him in question, remaining silent.
“I don’t want any slip-ups if your father sends more our way,” he says gruffly before turning away, rubbing a hand over his face. The pack member rushes off..
“What about him?” Vance asks. I glance at the rogue.
“Take him inside, I want to be sure before we let him go,” Zayn states and my stomach sinks.
“Zayn?” Vance and Andrea ask simultaneously.
“I want to be sure.” Zayn states leaving no room for argument.
Zayn’s fury at the attack is obvious when Vance and Andrea hesitate; neither of them looks like they want to punish or torture this rogue for information, however Zayn is blinded by his anger. Vance hesitates a second too long, and Zayn moves toward the rogue man, who whimpers and begs again.
Zayn’s grip on the rogue’s arm is ironclad, his knuckles white with tension as he drags him inside the pack house. The air is thick with Zayn’s menacing aura, and the scent of the rogue’s fear, which emanates from his pores in a thick musk scent. “Zayn, stop,” I plead, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest. “He’s scared, look at him. Please don’t hurt him, he’s too scared to lie to you!”
“And that is precisely why he would lie, Cleo! Especially knowing what he says decides if he lives or dies!” I shake my head, racing to catch up to him.
The rogue’s eyes flicker to me, wide and brimming with a raw desperation that clenches my heart. He’s not much older than I am, his face gaunt, dirt smudging his skin like a second layer.
“Please, Zayn,” I urge, stepping forward to place a gentle hand on Zayn’s tattooed forearm, feeling the thrum of power beneath the surface of his skin as his skin ripples. His aura blasts me, and I gasp, my hand dropping, and I nearly do too before he realizes what he did.
“Cleo!” he blurts, letting the man go, who staggers and stumbles onto his knees at the abruptness of Zayn no longer dragging his weight. “I didn’t mean that,” he murmurs, reaching for me. I slap his hands away, only for him to lift his hand to the rogue. “Look what you made me do!” he snarls, about to backhand the poor man, when I move, stepping in front of him. Zayn only just pulls back in time.
“No, you’re letting your anger rule you, stand down, Zayn, or I am leaving!” I growl at him, before covering my mouth with my hands at what I did. Zayn startles at the sound, too.
