Betrayed: Days of the Rogue (6 page)

He’d spent the past week surveying
the area, noting the vantage points, studying the inhabitants. When
the time came to act, he’d be prepared. His arrival back at the
cabin was part of his daily routine. The woman who lived there was
his obsession.

For almost a week now, he’d been
watching her, taking note of her comings and goings, studying her
habits. When he’d first set eyes upon her, he’d been shocked. While
her hair was the wrong colour, her build, her facial features, even
the lilt of her voice, were all hauntingly familiar. Months of pain
and loneliness had fallen away and for one heart-stopping moment
he’d thought his Beth had returned. Of course, it was just wishful
thinking. His mate was dead, but even acknowledging that harsh fact
didn’t stop the woman from stirring bittersweet memories within
him.

His wolf found it hard to
comprehend. It kept trying to reactivate the blood bond he’d shared
with Beth, sending out thoughts and messages in an attempt to make
contact with this look-a-like female. A pointless activity, but the
creature wouldn’t listen. It seldom did anymore. They might occupy
the same body but that was it. Interactions with the beast were
more like a cold war.

Damien approached the cabin wanting
one more glimpse of her before night fell. His steps were silent as
he wove his way through the thick trees; his gait smooth to all but
the most discerning of eyes. Showing weakness was never a good
thing, so he’d trained himself to hide the slight limp caused by
his right hind leg. Third degree burns had caused the muscles to
shorten, the faint ache at night a constant reminder of all he’d
lost in his life. For the briefest of moments he relived the fiery
scene—how the pain of the burning timbers landing on him had barely
equalled the pain in his heart—then he shook his head and
concentrated on the present.

Would the woman be outside, sitting
on the porch with her chin propped in her hand, staring unseeingly
at the woods or the lake as she daydreamed? Or perhaps she’d be
inside painting or drawing as she often did for hours at a time.
Earlier in the day, she’d caught sight of him. Across the small
clearing their gazes had met and something about her expression had
caused him to flash back to the first time he’d seen his Beth.

Half hidden behind a tree, Beth had
been watching the full-moon festivities, a look of longing in her
eyes. The other weres had been shifting, preparing for a run, but
no one had appeared to notice her standing to the side. He’d almost
missed her himself, her colouring and stillness allowing her to
blend into the background. But something, some fate, had caused him
to glance her way and then start a conversation.

She’d announced she was a
half-breed, having only recently discovered the fact when helping
her mother pack for a move. For some reason, her family had kept
her true nature hidden from her and now she was full of questions,
eager to learn of her heritage and participate in pack life. Her
mother’s old Alpha had allowed her to join, but her reception by
the rest had been cool.

“No one’s even bothered to tell me
how to shift.” Tears had glistened on her lashes as she expressed
her frustration.

Of course, as a half, raised in a
human culture, she’d missed the Inclusion ceremony. She’d had no
idea that a transfer of at least two body fluids was needed to
activate her latent werewolf genetics. An infant would have been
exposed to breast milk and a small amount of the Alpha’s blood, but
she was too old for that.

Damien smiled at the memory of how
she’d blushed when he explained straight faced that adult halves
usually had sex, exchanging saliva and semen in order to initiate
the change. Her face had gone bright red in embarrassment and for a
moment she’d floundered, obviously unsure of how to respond. Just
as he’d been about to take pity on her and say that blood and
saliva would also work, she’d taken him aback, by boldly asked him
to do the job! It was then that he’d started to fall in love with
her.

He hadn’t gone on the run that
night. Instead, he’d sat beside her in the shadows, backs propped
against the trunk of an ancient tree as they talked. The topics had
been varied; werewolves and movies, politics and favourite foods.
By the time the moon had arced across the sky, she’d been nestled
against him, their hands intertwined. She’d been his soul-mate.

His reminiscing halted abruptly. A
scent hit him as he approached the cabin causing him to freeze in
place. He flared his nostrils and his hackles rose. Another
werewolf had been here. Instinctively, he went on the defensive,
taking a step back and scanning the surrounding area. If his time
as a rogue had taught him anything, it was that his kind were
seldom welcome.

The woods were silent save the
occasional bird call and the scrambling sound of a chipmunk running
up a tree. Through a break in the foliage he could see the woman
inside the cabin. She was near the kitchen window and seemed to be
preparing a meal. With night approaching she wouldn’t be stepping
outside again if she stayed true to her usual routine.

He twitched his ears and raised his
head to sample the air again before slowly allowing himself to
relax. Apparently the other wolf had left the area for the time
being. Hunkering down, he considered his options. Another werewolf
in the area would complicate things and common sense was urging him
to leave, yet it galled him to abandon his plan. Being cautious
would gain him nothing; too much had been lost already. A
compromise was the best he could manage.

Getting to his feet, he cast one
last look at the woman before heading towards the nearby town.

An hour later, Damien entered the
front office of the one and only motel Grassy Hills had to offer.
The bell over the door jingled merrily announcing his arrival, and
he scowled in annoyance at the happy sound. Out of habit, he
scanned the area checking for a secondary escape route and possible
defensive positions. There was a door in the back, a few racks of
travel brochures, and a shelf of snack foods for sale. The room was
clean, even if time appeared to have forgotten it for several
decades.

“Afternoon. How can I help
you?”

Damien snapped his gaze to the man
at the desk. Older, mid-sixties, grey hair but still fit. He had a
fishing magazine in his hand and a look of mild inquiry in his
eyes.

“I need a room.” Damien walked over
to the counter behind which the man was seated.

“Most everyone who stops in here
does. Well, except for a few of the locals who come to chat. I
always put a fresh pot of coffee on around ten, and they know it.”
The man chuckled as he set his magazine aside and got to his feet.
“Passing through, or visiting family?”

“Exploring.” He shrugged and gave
the simplest answer he could think of.

“My wife and I moved here in the
sixties.” The man shuffled some papers while looking Damien up and
down.

Damien grunted and pulled out a
handful of bills. He didn’t want to talk to the man. All he needed
was a room for the night. If it hadn’t been for the presence of the
other werewolf he could have stayed in the woods as he had the past
week. However, antagonizing the local Lycan wasn’t a good idea.
Keeping his nose clean and moving under the radar was his plan, and
he needed to stick to it.

“Yep, we were backpacking across
the country, just like you. Took a liking to the area, did some
exploring and decided to stay on.” The man took the offered bills
and slid the registration book forward.

After quickly scrawling a fake
name, Damien extended his hand for the key.

“Not a talker, are you? That’s
fine.” The man chuckled. “It takes all kinds, that’s what I tell my
wife.” He gave Damien the key. “Sorry, it’s not fancy. We’re doing
some renovations though. Fixing the place up real nice.” He knit
his thick, bushy eyebrows together. “You can stay in this room
tonight, but tomorrow morning we’re taking the carpets out...”

“It’s not a problem.” Damien closed
his hand around the key and walked away while the man was still
talking. It was rude, but he didn’t want to be trapped listening to
talk about paint colours and carpeting. He’d done that with Beth
when they’d bought their little bungalow. Pain shot through him at
the memory, and he cursed the chink in his armour that had let that
recollection slip through. Well, he had the cure in his backpack. A
bottle of whiskey would fix the problem.

It was near dawn when Damien
finally dozed off. He’d been unable to settle, his leg ached, and
the bottle of whiskey he’d bought a day ago had been the human
variety, much too weak and emptied far too soon to have any great
effect. It had forced him to spend much of the night reliving
memories that were best forgotten.

The months after Beth died were
mostly a blur. Days, then weeks, blended together in a haze of
grief and pain that had been almost debilitating. Sometimes human,
mostly wolf, he’d traversed the land existing without a purpose;
physically alive but in all other respects dead. It hadn’t mattered
if he had taken another breath or eaten another meal. There’d been
no reason to live, no will to survive. At times he’d despaired,
begging the fates to take him so he could be with his beloved
mate.

But fate had never been that kind.
It had kept him alive, placing a rabbit before him when he would
have preferred to starve, having him stumble into a warm, dry den
when he would have fallen asleep in a snow bank with the hope of
never awakening. On the verge of total despair, fate had kicked him
in the ass and forced him to carry on.

Now he was left with a numb
bitterness. This was his life; his efforts to speed his exit from
it were futile. For some reason he was doomed to continue to exist.
At least he had a purpose now. Too bad it meant he brokered in
death.

On that gloomy note, he finally
fell asleep.

He’d only been resting an hour or
so when the phone began to ring. Cursing, he rolled over, the
covers tangled about him.

“’lo?” His throat felt dry, his
eyes gritty as he tried to peer at his watch.

“Morning. This is Wilf, from the
front desk.”

Damien grunted recognizing the
voice.

“Sorry to bother you, but the
workers are here to replace the carpets a bit earlier than expected
and I was wondering—”

“I’ll be gone in an hour.” He hung
up without waiting for a reply and climbed out of bed.

Damien leaned against the wall of
the shower, his hands propped on cracked tiles as he let the water
cascade over his body. The bathroom was dingy and mildewed, barely
a step up from the ponds he splashed in when in his wolf form, but
it didn’t really bother him. Where he slept or bathed hardly
mattered anymore.

Shutting off the water, he dried
off then pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, stuffing
the dirty one his small backpack. All his worldly possessions were
there: a change of clothes, a toothbrush and a razor. When it was
time to leave, to return to the wild, he could easily ditch the bag
and never miss it. There was enough money in his pocket to tide him
over for several months if need be; his last job had seen to that.
His needs were simple; he caught food when required, found a cave
or den to sleep in. A rogue wolf could live for months that
way.

He picked up his wallet off the
table and checked the contents. It contained the only item of
importance in his life; Beth’s picture. It had taken him ages to
find one since everything had been lost in the explosion. When he’d
finally come across a copy of her high school yearbook in a
library, he’d had her picture scanned and enlarged. Even though
she’d been much younger when the photo was taken, she looked almost
the same as the day he’d met her. Sweet and shy but with a streak
of stubbornness evident in her determined chin.

Slowly, he stroked his finger over
the curve of her cheek and whispered his message. “I’m sending you
flowers for your birthday, today. White daisies. I know they’re
your favourite.”

Closing his eyes, he thought of how
she’d smile, her grey eyes lighting up with joy at the simple
gesture, her fingers skimming over the delicate petals. Then she’d
stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to his mouth. He exhaled
slowly and tried to imagine the gentle pressure, tried to bring to
reality the warmth of her lips, her hands sliding up his chest, her
flowery scent wrapping around him...

Of course, it didn’t work.

Beth was dead.

The flowers would be placed on her
grave by some anonymous delivery man. And then they, too, would
wither and die.

Damien gave his head a shake and
snapped the wallet shut before tucking it into his pocket. He’d
order the flowers, and be on his way. Staying in town was never a
good idea; it increased the chances of being tracked down.

They were looking for him—the Lycan
Link Trackers—he’d known that since the moment he’d escaped the
infirmary. Rogue Enforcers weren’t allowed. The authorities were
adamant about that. Reform or be locked up; those were the choices
he’d be given if he was ever caught. With the intelligence of a
human and the strength of wolf in its prime, a rogue had the
potential to be extremely dangerous. And an Academy trained
rogue... Well, that was like a walking time bomb.

Tick, tick, tick... Damien chuckled
darkly and wondered if he’d explode should Lycan Link’s posse ever
catch up with him. Maybe he would. Going out in a blaze of glory
held a macabre appeal at times. To let all his pain and hatred out,
to finally be free of the blackness that had settled in his soul.
To rip and tear, and to feel the impact of flesh hitting bone, as
he attacked his enemy and made them pay.

It’s not the way.
A soft
voice echoed somewhere in his head and it had him freezing in
place.