Running with Rogues

CHAPTER 3 - SIEGE

"Why not? I got mine because I wanted to be safe," she told me. She tapped her own tattoo, which said Last Haven because she had been born before the castle fell. "Because I wanted all of us to be safe."

I didn't understand, and it must have shown on my face, because Nia laughed at me.

"Ain't no way out, is there? Packs won't take us. Even if we stopped raiding, they wouldn't leave us alone and, besides, how would we live? We're backed into a corner, and we're dying out. The only way to find some peace is to win the war, and we can't do that without fighters. And me? I'm damn good at fighting."

"Not so humble, though," I muttered, and she kicked me playfully.

"You think I won't kick your ass just because you're concussed?" she demanded.

"I don't feel concussed."

It was far from the worst lie I'd told about an injury. One time, when I was about ten, I'd tripped on a run, broken my ankle, and walked around on it for an hour because I hadn't wanted to miss a game of sardines.

Nia peered into my eyes carefully. "No? That's good. You can help me barricade the doors."

Getting up was difficult, and Nia had to pull me most of the way. My head didn't like the movement much, so it throbbed with every beat of my heart, but I didn't feel dizzy, and I wasn't about to pass out. My injured leg didn't much like taking my weight. It could go to hell for all I cared.

I went to the back door and locked it. That wouldn't be enough, so I put my shoulder against a chest of drawers and pushed it towards the door. It opened outwards, but it might slow them down. Then I went from room to room, checking for any large windows. If there was no furniture to use as a barricade, I sealed off the whole room.

"Eva?" Nia asked after a few minutes. There was something in her tone which made me want to tuck my tail between my legs and roll over, so I was careful to smother that urge before I went to find her. She was in the kitchen, her back to me, staring at something on the counter.

I went to stand beside her. At first glance, I couldn't see anything amiss — just counter and a fruit bowl, but then I noticed the gleam of silver on top of a Domino's advert.

"That's your knife," she said, and the words came evenly, but her voice was too quiet.

Oh. Oh no.

"It looks like my knife," I admitted, pretending to frown at it. "Same make, yeah."

"Horseshit. It's your knife."

And she pointed to the hilt, where my initials were carved into the wood. E.M. Extreme Moron. I used my dad's surname when it suited me, and it suited me to avoid getting my ass tortured if I ever broke the golden rule and got myself caught. No reason to give them clues that I was anything more than a run-of-the-mill dumbass rogue.

"I'm waiting for an explanation," Nia reminded me sharply.

"Can I have, like, two minutes to think of one?" I asked.

I winced pre-emptively, my wolf half expecting a clout, but instead she grabbed hold of my collar and twisted. It wasn't painful or uncomfortable, because she wouldn't hurt me in anger, but it did suitably remind me that she could be scary when she wanted.

"I ain't playing, Eva. You were here yesterday, weren't you?"

I didn't deny it. I just picked up my knife and tucked it into my jeans pocket.

"You really are a reckless piece of shit," she spat, shoving my chest with just enough force to make me take a wobbly step backwards. "Raiding alone? I can't think of a quicker bloody way to get yourself killed."