Betrayed: Days of the Rogue

by Nicky Charles

  Eve set the ice cream down on the counter with a thump and marched across the room, snatching the sketch from his hand and shoving it under a pile of books. “I’m an artist. I draw everything I see. It’s an occupational hazard.”

  “Hmm.” He nodded, getting the distinct impression that Eve was interested in him. The idea pleased him even though nothing could come of it. After ten years of working in Rehab, he was here for some much needed alone time, free of emotional commitments. And Eve didn’t look like the kind that went for no strings attached relationships. It was better to keep his distance. Besides, humans were too tiring to be around; he had to keep his guard up constantly.

  “Rafe?”

  With a jerk, he realized Eve had been talking to him. “Pardon?”

  “I asked if you wanted to…um…stay for lunch.”

  Not having expected an invitation, he looked at her in surprise. Their meetings hadn’t been that cordial, and he was curious as to what had prompted her to ask. He hesitated, part of him wanting to spend more time with her, while common sense urged him to leave. Regretfully, he bowed to the side of caution.

  “No. Thanks anyway.” He made sure he kept his tone cool, not wanting to encourage her. “I only came around to see if you were okay.” A faint clouding of her features told him that he’d disappointed her, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “I appreciate your concern, but as you can see I’m fine.” She responded airily, and walked toward the door obviously anxious to have him gone now. “Did you see any more signs of the wolf?”

  “No. Not yet. But it could still be in the area so be careful. Stay inside unless it’s absolutely necessary to go out.” He gave her a pointed look and she nodded.

  “I’ve nothing planned for the next few days so that shouldn’t be a problem.” She paused and then frowned. “But what if it doesn’t leave? I don’t want to be holed up in the cabin for weeks on end.”

  “It won’t stick around, that kind never does.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “A rogue. A lone wolf without a pack. They’re dangerous, but transient. He’ll move on soon enough.” And if he doesn’t, he added silently, I’ll help him along.

  Eve seemed to accept his explanation, but the way she firmly shut the door after him left him in no doubt she was peeved he hadn’t accepted her invitation. He hesitated beside the cabin, part of him regretting leaving. Through the window, he could overhear her muttering angrily to herself.

  He risked peeking inside. Eve was at her desk, looking at the sketch of him that she’d tried to hide. With minimal straining, his acute Lycan hearing allowed him to hear her as she addressed the drawing.

  “You know, you were almost friendly—well, friendly for you—for a few minutes. You even teased me about these drawings. At least I think you were teasing; with you it’s sometimes hard to tell.” She cocked her head to the side as if considering the idea then held the paper up to the cork board. “Do you have any idea how much nerve it took me to invite you to lunch? And what did you do? Turn all aloof! Damn you, Rafe McRae.” The statement was accompanied by her firmly pushing a thumbtack through the page and anchoring it in place.

  Rafe winced wondering what part of his anatomy she’d just pierced.

  Eve spun on her heel and marched to the kitchen. Grabbing the tub of ice cream off the counter, she went in search of a spoon and then plunked down at the table. Taking the lid off the container, she dug out a big scoop of the dessert and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed as a blissful smile spread across her lips. “Nothing like ice cream for a pity party,” she muttered.

  Frowning, Rafe slipped away trying to ignore the voice inside that urged him to go in and comfort her. It would only raise false hopes. Better that she think him an unfeeling bastard than expect a relationship to develop between them. He hiked into the woods until he was out of sight and then shifted forms once again. Thankfully Eve hadn’t asked where his truck was!

  Back at his home, Rafe drummed his fingers on the desk as he read the updated list of rogues he’d managed to put together. It had bothered him that none of the rogues on the list had dark hair since the tuft he’d found yesterday had been black. Deciding to dig deeper into the files, he’d logged into the clinic’s computer system. Annette would probably have a fit if she found out he’d been ‘working’ and accessing the files, but he hadn’t wanted to wait until Monday when she was back at her desk. He had his doubts about whether or not Eve would follow orders and stay inside so wanted to ensure his information was complete.

  As usual, Annette had done an excellent job; there was only one omission on her list. He’d have to tease her about that later on, though it could be argued it wasn’t really a mistake since the data was based on projected movements rather than verified fact. Lycan Link was tracking Damien Masterson and, based on previous reported sightings of the man, it was speculated that he was headed this way.

  Headed or already here? Rafe pondered the probability of two different dark haired rogues ending up in his territory within the same time span. It wasn’t a likely occurrence at all. Rogues were loners and tended to avoid each other. Studying the data again, he could already feel the beginnings of a headache starting to form.

  Damn.

  He’d been expecting the usual list of rogues and their failings: disrespect for authority, a series of failed attempts to integrate with a pack, run-ins with local authorities necessitating the intervention of Disaster Control officers. A situation such as this had never come to mind.

  Masterson was at the top of the most wanted list. A onetime Enforcer, a member of the ACS, an elite squad trained to deal with Purists and rescue persecuted halves, Damien was probably more highly skilled than almost any Lycan Link employee. Some of the cases he’d worked on with his partner, Reno Smith, were now text book material. Unfortunately, when his mate and unborn child had been killed, the man had gone rogue, somehow escaping the infirmary and living on the lam for the past eighteen months.

  Rafe thought of the tuft of hair he’d found by Eve’s cabin; it had been black, the colour Masterson was when in his wolf form. Hmm…

  Conflicting documentation had been trickling in about Masterson for several months now. Some claimed that he was dangerous, involved in vigilante work within the Lycan realm and taking on questionable jobs in the human world, jobs that could lead to the exposure of Lycans. Other reports showed him to be a loner who shied away from contact with others, obviously lost in his own grief.

  Which was the true Damien Masterson? The tortured soul or the ruthless rogue? And did it really matter? Duty dictated reporting his suspicions. While known rogues were tracked, they were allowed to roam unless they represented a threat to society. Ex-Enforcers, however, automatically fell into the threat category.

  The problem was that the man presently in charge of the Rogue Retrieval unit—Adrian Somerset—was an idiot who acted like a bounty hunter. ‘Bring ’em in dead or alive’ was rumoured to be his motto. The number of rogues killed or seriously injured during retrieval operations had skyrocketed since his promotion. Rafe’s attempts to educate the buffoon on the benefits of slowly talking a rogue in had been a waste of time and energy.

  “I’m not here to baby them, McRae.” Somerset had sat behind his polished desk, hands clasped on the meticulously organized surface. “These rogues are dangerous; a menace to public safety and Lycan security.”

  “I’m not asking you to baby them, Adrian.” Rafe recalled how he’d struggled to keep his temper in the face of the other man’s supercilious attitude. If Somerset had done his homework, he’d realize that the clinic was similar to a boot camp; more than once Rafe had grappled with the rogues in order to enforce his authority. “All I want is that you consider the benefits of dialogue before resorting to force. I’d be more than willing to lead some training sessions.”

  “My men are already trained in dialogue. They read rogues their rights and ask them to come along quietly.”

  �
�And then start to attack before the rogue even has time to consider its options!” Against his will, Rafe had heard an edge enter his voice. He’d taken a deep, calming breath.

  “My men have a right to defend themselves if they perceive they’re in danger. This is the ‘real world,’ Dr. McRae, not some fairytale clinic where everything is candy-coated and viewed through rose-coloured glasses.” Somerset’s nostrils had flared and he’d pursed his narrow lips.

  “In your ‘real world,’ the number of dead rogues has escalated dramatically since you’ve taken over the division.” He’d clenched his fists, resisting the urge to grab the man by his scrawny neck.

  “An unfortunate trend which I have noted.” Somerset had calmly taken a file from the neat stack near his elbow and opened it, barely flicking a glance at the contents. “However, in each case the amount of force used was deemed appropriate and unavoidable.” Closing the file, the man had set it back in place, taking a moment to ensure it was perfectly aligned with the others before looking up. “Was there anything else?”

  Clamping his mouth shut, Rafe had left before saying something he would’ve later regretted. The man was a moron if he thought the sudden change in statistics was simply a ‘trend.’ Before returning to the Rehab Clinic, he’d submitted a request to High Council for an investigation into Somerset’s leadership. That hadn’t won him any popularity points, but he hadn’t cared. The state a rogue was in when it entered treatment was his concern, and Somerset made his job a hell of a lot harder. Since Somerset had held onto his present position, it seemed that if the rogue wasn’t killed in the field then it came to the clinic seriously injured. By time the wolf healed, therapy was behind schedule, the budget was strained and the whole process was off kilter.

  He’d first become interested in rogues when completing his residency at Lycan Link’s hospital, and had then gone on to complete post-graduate studies of them at the Academy. It was his belief that some rogues had a form of learning disability rather than being inherently flawed or evil. Based on his research, he felt they failed to correctly interpret subtle social cues that most wolves naturally picked up on. If they could be given intense instruction on reading those cues, followed by counselling on how to use their dominant, independent traits to help the pack rather than tear it apart, he believed many could be integrated back into Lycan society. The governing council of the Academy had been sufficiently impressed with his research that they’d funded his work and allowed him to establish the first ever Rogue Rehabilitation Clinic.

  Since then, his success rate had been high and he now had a large team of social workers and psychologists working under him. The program had been going well, despite Somerset, and he’d been considering expanding…until his last case.

  The werewolf in question had been injured by Somerset’s men, and claimed to have no recollection of the events that had led to his takedown. Some felt it was a clever ploy to avoid being prosecuted; the rogue had allegedly killed a young woman and once deemed ‘stable’ would go before High Council.

  They’d only met a few times, but building a level of trust was required first. And despite lacking any outward indicators of progress, his gut instinct was that everything had been on the right track.

  It had come as a surprise when the man had requested a meeting, claiming he’d recalled something and wanted to discuss it. Rafe had rearranged his schedule, arriving only a few minutes late for the appointment, and had hurried into the office with one eye on the clock.

  “Sorry I’m late, Annette. Has—”

  She’d answered even before he finished speaking. “He’s in your office, Dr. McRae. I kept him company for a while.”

  “Good. Buzz Jillian—she’s his assigned counsellor, correct? Have her join us.”

  His hand had just touched the door knob when Annette stopped him. She’d appeared worried. Looking back now he wished he’d paid more attention, but he’d still been thinking about the funding proposal he’d put forward.

  “Doctor, I don’t think he’s feeling well.”

  “No doubt he nervous.” He’d brushed her concerns aside, intent on getting started. The man’s demeanor had been calm enough when he entered the room, sipping on a soda Annette had given him. They’d started with banal conversation about the weather, Jillian had joined them and then the man had suddenly shifted…

  Rafe rubbed the scar on his abdomen that was a constant reminder of the incident. He’d spent time in the hospital because of it. Thankfully, Jillian, the counsellor, had completely recovered. The client, however, had not. It still made no sense; the reports stated the rogue had simply faded away, all will to live gone.

  To this day, he wondered if he might have been able to reach the man had his own doctors not insisted he stay in the hospital. Perhaps his ability to read the emotions of a rogue wasn’t as good as he thought. Or was it because he’d still been thinking about the funding proposal? And if he’d only been more attentive to the subtle signs the rogue was giving… ‘If only’ was a futile game to play, a labyrinth that led nowhere, draining hope and energy while keeping you trapped with past regrets. He’d said as much to others. But when it was your own guilt and self-doubt that ate away at you, the game became strangely addictive.

  He’d left the Rehab Clinic shortly after being released from hospital, unsure if he should proceed with his work. His faith in his own skills had been shaken. He felt drained from years of dealing with rogues and battling the prejudices that still surrounded his work with them. The passion that had spurred him onward all these years was fading, leaving him with a sense that something was missing. But what?

  He returned to the present day and studied the information before him. Dealing with another rogue—especially Damien Masterson—was not part of his plan. Idly, he stroked his lower lip with his thumb as he scrolled through the particulars in Damien’s file. Age, date of birth, no family though the reports would indicate he thought of Reno Smith as a brother… Ah ha! That was the key.

  Rafe looked up Reno’s number, hesitating on where to reach him before choosing the Lycan Link number. The man worked two jobs, spending half his time at Lycan Link and the other half as a Beta for the Kolding’s Pass pack. It was an unusual arrangement but apparently Reno hadn’t wanted to give up all of his ties to Lycan Link, at least not until his partner was found. Well, here was what the man was waiting for. Reno could deal with bringing Damien in.

  “ACS. Smith speaking.”

  Ah, he’d chosen correctly. Reno was working at Lycan Link this month.

  “Reno? Rafe McRae here. How are you?” Rafe slipped into his professional persona, giving no hint that he’d been out of circulation for several months. He leaned back in his chair picturing the man he was speaking to. Reno was considered one of the toughest Enforcers Lycan Link had ever produced. The man was smart, strong and extremely rough around the edges. Apparently he’d mellowed over the years, especially since his mating to Brandi Johansson, but news trickled down that he could still swear a blue streak, and bent every rule to the very edge of the breaking point. Listening to tales of his escapades was always highly entertaining.

  “I’m good, Rafe. And you?”

  “Never better.”

  There was a pause before Reno spoke again, as if he were choosing his words or trying to piece something together. “I’m surprised to hear from you after all this time. Rumour has it you’ve finally decided to head out on your own.”

  Rafe chuckled. Reno’s attempt at subtly fishing for information was transparent. “Reno, you know better than to believe the rumour mill. I’m on a sabbatical. Taking an extended vacation, enjoying some down time. You know how it is.”

  Reno grunted, obviously not buying the canned response. Well, if he didn’t like it, that was too bad. Rafe wasn’t about to announce his personal plans to anyone, especially not over a Lycan Link line. While statutes forbade the tapping of phone lines, there were always rumours that private phone conversations weren’t quite as private
as one might wish.

  “Rafe, I’m going to call you on my cell phone. Gimme a sec.” The line went dead and Rafe hung up on his end as well. Obviously Reno had the same reservations about privacy.

  A few minutes later the phone rang.

  “Okay, Rafe. This is a secure line. Now cut the crap. Last I heard you were at death’s door from a rogue attack at your clinic. What’s up?”

  “As subtle as always, Reno.”

  Reno snorted. “Rafe, I haven’t heard from you in almost five years, not since that Enforcer went rogue on me.”

  “And he’s doing well, according to the latest report I received. Thanks again for your help with him.”

  “No problem. Now what do you need?”

  Rafe sighed. Reno’s social skills were still borderline. The man would benefit from a few therapy sessions. “I have a rogue in my territory.”

  “So? Contact Somerset.”

  “The man’s an ass.”

  “True.”

  “And the rogue I’m talking about is someone close to you.”

  There was a pause and then a rustling sound as if Reno were pressing the phone more tightly to his ear. “Damien?”

  “I think so. Black fur and the latest reports from Lycan Link seem to indicate Damien was heading this direction.”

  “Exactly where are you, Rafe? No one claims to know where you took off to, or if they do they aren’t talking.”

  “That was my plan.” He smirked, knowing it likely drove the higher ups crazy. They were too nosey for their own good. “I’m in Grassy Hills, a little place outside Calgary, Alberta.”

  “Canada? Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Let me think a minute.” There was a pause and then Reno spoke again. “Normally, I’d head right out, but the Captain is on special assignment—a pack almost enacted The Keeping—and I’m in charge for the next few weeks. I have meetings and paperwork coming out of my ass.”