It wasn't in his nature to run.

Alphas were strong, dependable and wise. They had all the answers. They thought through their problems with a clear head. When necessary, they made fair judgments and protected what was theirs by right.

They didn't run. They didn't falter, and they were never wrong.

He remembered all the lessons his father had taught him, all the training he'd endured and every responsibility he held on his broad shoulders. He remembered the promises he'd made to his pack the day he'd become an Alpha himself. He remembered the day he'd let them all down because of his own selfish desires.

He had faced rogues and war. Uprisings and treachery. Alliances and treaties. And he'd faced all of them with the aura of patience and duty that he had always been so proud of. The oath he'd made was one he would never break, never falter on, never fail again.

Then, he thought of her.

In the short time since he'd found her, he'd fought against himself. Against his protective instinct. Against his oath to always put his pack first and against his desire to sweep her into his arms and never let her go.

And so, he ran.

Every night he shook off his human form and let his wolf take over - flying across the terrain faster than any timber wolf could manage. Freeing his mind of the burdens he'd been carrying for so long, feeling his limbs push themselves to the limit in a joyous moment of wild freedom.

Some nights, he continued running until he'd crossed from one side of his territory to the other - revelling in the wide-open spaces where he could really push himself and the cool tempered forests where he let Rothan take over to hunt.

Other nights he patrolled the borders, often marking the entire perimeter between sun down and sun up.

He knew the patrols speculated amongst themselves about their Alpha's strange new behaviour and that the general consensus was that he was looking for someone to blame for the recent attacks.

He suspected Alex or Marcus was at the root of that rumour.

It was true in a way. Blake's anger over the breaching of his borders had been spectacular to behold. The man who never lost his temper, never gave up that cool, calm exterior, had stood in the centre of the training grounds the following morning and challenged each and every warrior present.

Beasting them all with training exercise after training exercise and barely allowing them to recover from one before starting another. They'd trained until the sun disappeared behind the tree line and none of them could stand up straight.

Marcus and Alex had stood by his side all day, grim looks on both of their faces as they cowed any warrior who was foolish enough to complain.

No attack had ever penetrated so deep, or done so much damage as this one had. There had been no fatalities this time, but it wasn't from lack of trying and Blake blamed himself more than anyone for being lenient with their training in the last few months.

Alex had taken it particularly hard, insisting on leading all following training sessions himself - pushing himself alongside them. He was the leader of the warriors and felt the sting of his Alpha's displeasure strongly.

But it wasn't the whole truth.

Blake was running.

He ran from more than his responsibilities to his pack. He ran from the future Luna's invading his pack house. He ran from the decision he would soon have to make, and he ran from his feelings for the girl now living in his home.

She confused him enormously. His physical attraction to her clashed with the knowledge that she was, albeit unknowingly, a threat to his pack. Every time he was near her he was torn between distrust and an urge to pull her into his arms and press his lips against hers and claim her for his own.

He couldn't, of course. She was a werewolf. That knowledge complicated the situation far more than if she'd been human.

She belonged to another pack; she had a true mate of her own out there somewhere. She wasn't his to claim. It was the oldest law - written before the councils were formed, long before even the Shadow Wars started:

Don't interfere with the mate bond.

A male wolf could claim a female and forge a ‘chosen' bond if they wished, as long as neither of them had met their true mate yet. With the consent of both parties, it was accepted by the council and by the Moon Goddess - a fate he himself would have to face soon.

But without memories to fall back on, without a pack or family to provide insight, there was no way to tell if she had met her true mate yet - they didn't even know her real name, or age. In the eyes of the law, she could consent to nothing and be claimed by no one. To say nothing of the dangers she still presented as long as rogues and assassins were after her.

So, he suffered quietly, ever bound by the duty of an Alpha.

Instead, he ran, and tried to forget. This was far harder than it would have been just a few short weeks ago. His wolf had completely changed his mind about her. Learning that she was a werewolf without a wolf had answered the fundamental question that had bothered Rothan from the start - her unusual scent.

Once satisfied that it wasn't a threat to himself or his pack, he had dismissed Blake's other concerns - they were not the concerns of wolves. Relaxing around her, ironically choosing the moment that Blake had decided to keep his distance to suddenly show an interest.

She stood up to us, Rothan mused.

I know.

They never stand up to us.

I know.

I like her. When can we see her again?

The last three weeks had settled into a pattern for them both.

The day belonged to duty - to hours spent huddled in his office with his lieutenants, researching the rogue crisis. To mornings covered in sweat as he helped train up his warriors that would fight on the front line during an attack and to afternoons spent perched uncomfortably on the edge of sofas, making polite conversation with unmated females, desperate for his attention.

The night belonged to freedom - to the earthy, primal smells of the forest, to the small creatures that skittered away from his wolf's shadow and the moon that blanketed the forest floor and bathed the world in its cold blue light.

He always arrived at the same destination - no matter where he ran.

His wolf would answer his unspoken call and guide him back to the same clearing in the forest - a lonely spot that few knew about, far from the villages or roadways.

The water from the small stream glistened in the moonlight, the steady flow of water trickling steadily through the trees bringing life to the forest around it. There might have been a path once. A thin trail leading up to what should have been a small log cabin nestled against a rocky outcrop, almost flush to the water's edge.

There had been a landslide at some point long ago and the debris had half-buried the remains from sight, the wooden structure had broken down under the pressure. Time and the weather had done the rest and there would soon be no evidence that someone had ever lived there.

Rothan took a drink from water's edge, his senses alert for anything out of place. But, as always, it was eerily quiet. Tired from his long run, he curled up under an ancient oak - a tree that had watched over the clearing long before the cabin or indeed, any of the other pines nearby.

Blake was left to his own thoughts once again - his mind drifting back to the last conversation he'd had with his brother before he'd left, another worry to add to the growing list:

Asher had delayed his return to his own pack just long enough to examine the surviving rogue from the hospital attack with Marcus and it had thrown up a surprising complication.

"There's no tattoo."

"What?"

"We've examined him from head to toe. There's no sign that there is, or has ever been a tattoo anywhere on his body," Asher declared, throwing himself into one of the office chairs.

"So what are we saying?" Marcus asked, once again pouring over the hand drawn map of the territory. "That these are a different group of rogues?"

"That would be far too much of a coincidence, don't you think?" Asher raised an eyebrow towards his brother, seeking support.

"Honestly? I don't know what to think anymore." Blake dropped the last of his paperwork into a drawer and leaned back, frustrated by the new discovery.

Alex, leaned over the desk and added his own set of forms. "Transfers and training schedules," he shrugged by way of explanation.

"The attack was clearly coordinated," Marcus continued to argue with Asher. "Every rogue we've seen so far has had that tattoo."

"I just don't think we can count the possibility out that this was a separate group, maybe with a different agenda." Asher's voice was tinged with scepticism.

"Well, that's just perfect." Blake concluded in disgust.

"We might be jumping to conclusions a little prematurely here," Marcus stubbornly countered. "Everything up to now has indicated one large group, coordinating their attacks and – "

"So, we assume that this one was, what?" Alex argued, "New to the group? Uninitiated?"

"Maybe our man in black didn't want him to have one so he couldn't be linked back to them." Marcus continued, irritated. "After all –"

"Are we going to continue to call him the man in black?" Alex interrupted. "There has to be a better name for him –"

"After all," Marcus snapped loudly. "You said they might be specially trained for missions?"

"Rogue one, or The Assassin..." Alex mused to himself.

"Will you shut up?"

Alex shot him a hurt look and continued to spout increasingly ridiculous names for the assassin under his breath until Marcus was forced to sit on his own hands to keep from strangling him.

Ignoring them, Blake turned back to Asher, a look of frustration on his face.

"What now? If we don't find out who's behind this, they'll probably try again."

"I certainly hope so," Asher said. "We can save a lot of time if we can catch somebody who's still alive. You can only get so much out of dead people."

"I'd rather not risk it," Blake responded testily.

"We might be better off concentrating on how they got in, in the first place," Asher pondered thoughtfully. He looked at Blake seriously, his brow furrowed. "I think you're going to have to consider the possibility that they have someone in the pack helping them."

Alex abandoned his argument with Marcus and growled. "There are no traitors in this pack," he objected harshly.

Asher raised an eyebrow. "There is always the possibility of traitors in any –"

"There are no traitors in this pack!" Alex growled again, beginning to shake as he tried to control his enraged wolf.

"Then you have a mystery on your hands," Asher said dryly. Alex snorted contemptuously and Asher narrowed his eyes. "Tell me - just out of curiosity, oh mighty warrior - which question were you planning on answering first without considering the obvious? How the rogues are penetrating your territory so deeply without anyone trying to stop them?"

He took a menacing step forward, while Alex continued to shake violently.

"Or maybe, how did they get into the hospital and - in the case of our mystery assassin - out again without anyone stopping them?" Alex snarled and Asher smiled at him mockingly.

"Or - and this is my personal favourite, how they seem to always know exactly where the girl is and how to get to her at any given time no matter where you move her to?"

"Enough!" Blake stepped in between them and glowered at his brother while Marcus physically hauled Alex out of the room. He could hear the pair of them yelling at each other from the corridor and he pinched the bridge of his nose, fending off an impending headache.

"I'm sorry, Blake," his brother said, looking only mildly ashamed of himself. "Your Gamma has a gift for bringing out my worst side. My point still stands though. These rogues are far too cocky to be working completely blind."

Blake sighed and regarded his brother through tired eyes. "He brings out the worst in most people," he conceded wearily. "But he's a damn good warrior... and he has a point as well. No pack wants to believe they may be harbouring a traitor. Nor do they take kindly to an outsider pointing out all the flaws in their security."

He cast a sidelong glance at his brother who threw his arm across his chest in mock horror. "An outsider? Brother, you wound me!"

Asher had been right. There were too many coincidences to not consider the possibility that someone could be handing information over to the rogues. And far too many questions that he didn't have answers to yet.

He was snapped out of his morbid thoughts by a rustle from the nearby bushes. Rothan lifted his head to sniff the air. Blake recognised the scent of one of the oldest members of his pack and felt his wolf relax again, his ears pricked forward in interest at the new arrival.

A small grey wolf padded out of the undergrowth, his coat matted and patchy - showing all the signs of a long but hard life. It bowed its head in respect to the Alpha and settled down nearby in companionable silence.

Rothan drew back and handed control back to Blake - it was the human who wanted to talk, the wolf was content to enjoy the privilege of being this close to his Alpha.

"Hello Samuel. What brings you out here tonight?" Blake greeted him over the link.

"The night. The moon. You." Samuel answered in his usual stoic manner. He had to be in his nineties by now, an Elder in all but name.

"Me?" he asked curiously, tilting his head to gaze at the smaller wolf.

"You’ve run the forests every night for nearly three weeks now, Alpha," he cast his gaze around the small clearing. "You always end up here."

"I suppose I do." he agreed. "You've been watching me?"

"Someone has to," Samuel said bluntly. "Even a rogue can take down an Alpha in the right circumstances."

Blake blinked in surprise and he heard Rothan chuckle at the thought of the old wolf protecting him.

"I appreciate the loyalty," he acknowledged carefully.

The old wolf nodded his appreciation. They sat in silence for a while, watching the light dapple between the branches.

"This was my father's home, for a while," Blake explained.

Samuel looked unsurprised that the Alpha was confiding in a low-ranking wolf like himself. "I didn't think you knew that," he offered up by way of a reply.

Blake nodded, lost in his own thoughts. "He doesn't speak much of the past, but he brought me here once. To tell me the true story- or at least, some of it."

Samuel chuckled at that and Blake looked over at him curiously. "The official tale is a little fanciful, isn't it?" the old wolf reminisced. "A seventeen-year-old boy crosses over an enemy border and takes down not one but two Alphas in single combat... or so say the written records. Still, it did wonders for his reputation." He shot his Alpha a sidelong glance.

"I sometimes believe the real story is even more incredible," Blake admitted. "How did he do it? How could he spend so long living in his enemy's territory, obeying his every command and knowing every day that he destroyed your family and your pack?"

His father hadn't marched across the borders like a conquering hero to avenge his fallen pack. He had snuck across as an unknown refugee, submitted a request to join the pack and served as a warrior for nearly five long years, plotting his revenge. An uprising that would ultimately destroy two Alphas and bring both the packs to their knees.

He pawed the ground in agitation. The packs he now ruled, combined under one name. "I don't know if I could have done it." he finally said.

The old wolf whined in protest. "Your father was a strong man, Alpha Blake, driven by the strongest motivation there is - revenge. He was probably one of the most patient and calculating men I have ever met. He also had a fair bit of help. He wasn't entirely surrounded by enemies, you know," Samuel reminded him a little reproachfully.

"Of course." Blake realised, looking at him with greater interest. "I sometimes forget that you were there as well. I'm sorry if I caused any offence."

"It was seventy-five years ago, Alpha- back then life was about survival." Samuel recalled. "You followed the strongest, the fittest, the smartest... not necessarily the wisest. I was a low ranking warrior, too young to be involved in Clearwater's destruction... too old to have been completely brainwashed by the brother's Grimm."

Blake snorted at the nickname for the twin Alphas who had held such sway back then. You wouldn't have used it in front of them if you'd wanted to live. It was a testament to how unintimidated the young wolf must have been by them - no wonder his father had seen him as an ally.

"Your father proved himself to me early on and to many others. His uprising was one of the finest acts of strength and rebellion I have ever witnessed. And he did take out one of those Alphas by himself... the other one took a little more work though." He looked down at a long, thin scar across his wolf's hip. "We all walked away with scars that day."

Blake stared over at the cabin."I don't think I can be as strong as him. I've made so many mistakes already, I'm not sure I can afford to make another."

"May I speak plainly? As I once would have done to your father?" The old wolf trembled at his own request but the human inside him spoke clearly, unperturbed by the difference in rank.

Blake nodded, intrigued by his bravery, willing Rothan to remain quiet.

"Alphas don't make mistakes. They make decisions that lead their pack in one direction or another. It's not the place of lesser wolves to question it." He stood up and padded over to his Alpha, taking care to lower himself down in front of him, showing his Alpha the respect that his words were not.

"You are not your father. I don't think anyone could live up to a legend where half the stories are exaggerated and the other half are even more remarkable because they are truer than the myth could ever be... But you remind me an awful lot of him," he added mildly.

"I do?"

"Naturally. You carry the same type of guilt he did. For an event you could neither have prevented nor controlled."

Rothan growled viciously, the sound escaping Blake's control.