The hour was late. So late, Asher expected at any moment to hear the start of the dawn chorus filtering through the windows.

He had sat staring moodily into the dying fire for so long that the armchair had moulded itself around him. The warm leather created such a luxuriously comfortable resting place, that he couldn't be bothered to move.

He could have left entirely, of course. Made his excuses and returned to Darkmoon with the shreds of his dignity fluttering around him like tattered rags. But his stubborn streak refused to give his father the satisfaction. Instead he had retreated to Blake's study to rail against the world in silence.

How dare he? his wolf snarled for the umpteenth time, setting his teeth in edge. How dare he think to --

Asher winced, the full weight of Zephyr's displeasure making his head ache. He glared at the amber liquid in his glass through half-closed eyes. The whisky probably wasn't helping either.

Of course he dared. 'Heavy-handed' was the least tempestuous way to describe his father when he wanted his way, and he always wanted his way. He wondered vaguely if the poor girl Avery had chosen for him had been given much of a choice either. More likely her parents would have thrown her directly in Avery's path at the chance to mate into the Hunter family. Not that it mattered one way or the other.

It wasn't happening.

He had just finished contemplating the ludicrous but tempting idea of changing his name and fleeing the country, when his brother walked in with an expression on his face far more serious than you'd expect to see on a newly mated wolf.

"Is everything alright?"

"I'm not sure," Blake responded in a worried voice, entirely unperturbed to find his brother in his private study. He headed towards the drink’s cabinet in search of the whiskey.

"She hasn't thrown you out already, has she?" Asher joked. His brother didn't respond, such a strange look on his face that he sat up in concern. "Has she?"

Blake looked up. "Don't be ridiculous, she's asleep." He hesitated a moment. "I received a summons, of a sort. I've just been with our father."

"Ah." Asher said lightly as though this were all the explanation needed.

Blake shot him an irritated look. "I know you're not on the best of terms with him right now but, this is serious."

"Really? What kind of terms am I supposed to be on with a man that's just announced he's chosen my mate for me?" Asher asked, his eyes dangerously dark.

"Yes, ok I see your point." Blake conceded wearily. “I admit, I didn't see that one coming.”

Asher snorted. That makes two of us. "So, what has the old man demanded now?"

Blake shook his head. "Nothing. I was just filling him in on everything we've learned so far."

“Let me guess? You told him about them.”

“I did. He wasn't impressed to discover the existence of two born rogues in our midst. Even less so to learn they're both still breathing. Remind me again,” Blake gave him a look. “Why is Fenrik still breathing?”

“Why is Meagan?” Asher countered with a sour look, then held up a hand in a pacifying gesture before his brother could retort. “I know, I'm sorry.” He rubbed his forehead with one hand wearily. “I'm tired, ignore me.”

Blake grunted. “You should sleep at night.”

“You know what I still haven't figured out?” Asher muttered, swirling the ice around in his glass. “How Fenrick withstood the madness, but Meagan couldn't. I always thought born rogues were immune to the feral pull.” He looked up. “You met them both, what did you make of them?”

“Besides an urge to rip their throats out? I think – " Blake paused, a furrow to his brow as he poured himself a drink. "I think it had more to do with their parentage, than their position. A born rogue feels no pull towards a pack, and neither does their wolf.

But Meagan’s father was an Alpha, and that blood ran through his veins from the moment he drew breath. As soon as he shifted, as soon as his wolf stirred... those two sides of him were at war with one another. Meagan wanted to belong in the pack. He wanted his blood-right. But I saw his wolf. It had no concept of submitting to anyone, and you could see him fighting against Syrus every step of the way.”

“Makes sense,” Asher muttered. So, Meagan could be the exception, not the norm. “You realise that means Fenrik is proof that a rogue society could exist outside of pack control.”

“I do. Which is why father thinks they're so dangerous.” Blake turned to Asher, a clear warning in his eyes. “I hope you know what you're doing handing him over like that.”

Asher held his gaze a moment, then returned to contemplating his drink. “I always do." He stretched lazily. "So, ready to go straight to all out war is he?"

"Not quite, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say he almost looked worried."

“And? He's just found out we could be heading for another Rouge War. Find me someone who wouldn't be worried.”

“Father,” Blake said bluntly. “At least, not to this extent. And it wasn't even about the rogues, anyway. He was his usual self until I mentioned the vampire. Then he paled and looked... I don't know how to describe it... Unnerved.”

Asher pursed his lips, only mildly interested. “He has no reason to hate them, does he?”

“No. I mean, he fought them in the Shadow Wars of course, but he was also instrumental in negotiating peace. Besides, it would be pretty damn hypocritical of him considering his own son's situation. But I've never seen him looked as worried as he did when I brought it up.”

“Maybe that's it then,” Asher shrugged. “He's afraid they might influence Tristan in some way if they find out about him. Not that it isn't inevitable at some point anyway. You can't blame the boy for wanting to know more about the other side of his heritage.”

Asher’s indifference only seemed to deepen his brother's exasperation. “Ash! The man's a rock. He wouldn't know fear if it hit him in the face. But I swear, when I mentioned the idea of sending a delegation to the vampire council, he looked almost scared.”

“Oh, calm down,” Asher reassured him, too distracted to concentrate on examining the conundrum that was their father. “He's a mystery, always has been. Even his secrets have secrets. If he decides he wants to share them with us, he will. If he doesn't, you'll have more luck getting a rock to bleed. Besides,” he relaxed further into the chair. “Don't you have more important things to worry about right now?”

“Yes, you're right.” Blake's frown deepened, and he dropped into a chair opposite his brother. “Kaden has his work cut out for him. Elmwood is not a stable pack right now, and they're right on my doorstep.”

Asher smothered a sigh of mingled amusement and mild exasperation. Duty. His brother was always about duty. “Do you think he can handle it?” he asked casually.

“He’s young, but he shows signs of promise.”

Asher let slip snort of disbelief. “The man killed his own father.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “You don’t approve?”

Asher shrugged. “It’s not the way I’d have done it. Change is never easy for a pack. You know as well as I do, it takes time and patience to instil real change. And suddenly, in the space of a couple of hours, their Alpha and Beta are dead, their Gamma incapacitated.” He hauled himself up to replenish his drink. “Meagan - a wolf a lot still see as the rightful heir - is missing, and Kaden – a wolf that was supposed to be dead – has taken control.”

“It was a lot at once,” Blake conceded.

“I’m just saying, a smoother transition and a public trial might have made life easier for him, that’s all. He might have control, but he doesn’t yet have loyalty.”

“He’ll figure it out,” Blake sighed. A look of concern crossed his face. “You’re not still using Riker as a source, are you?”

Asher paused. “No.”

“Good. Kaden could use at least one friend he can count on.” He turned to scrutinize his brother suspiciously. “You still have a source in Elmwood, don’t you?”

Asher chuckled. “My dear brother, don’t you know the first rule of leadership? Never reveal all your secrets. And anyway, forget Kaden. As touching as your concern for the plight of Elmwood is, that's not really what I meant by ‘other things to worry about'.”

Blake looked blank.

“Your new mate? A certain fiery redhead curled up amongst your sheets with her some what handicapped wolf?" His lips curled upwards. "How's that working out, anyway?”

Blake flushed. “None of your business.”

Asher’s smile widened. “Why, brother, you're positively bashful. I'm happy for you, I really am. It's about time you had something other than duty to obsess over.”

“So will you soon, if father has his way.”

“He won't,” Asher muttered sourly.

Blake downed his drink in one, then narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” Yet.

He was saved from further scrutiny when Blake fell suddenly still, listening to a communication Asher couldn't hear. “She's awake. And calling for me. You'll still be around later?”

“I might stay a couple more days. I doubt Sarah will want to leave before passing on at least one more dose of wisdom to your new Luna.”

Blake winced. “I wish she wouldn't.” His eyes glazed again, a small frown of worry creasing his brow.

“Go!” laughed Asher. “Before she wanders off in search of you. I'll be here, when you can tear yourself away again. And, Blake? Before you rush back to your duties, do try and remember... the honeymoon's the fun part."

"Shut up, Ash," he heard his brother reply as the study door closed softly behind him.

Alone once again, his joviality faltered, and faded away. Taking another sip of his whisky, he resumed staring broodily into the fire. Before long, his thoughts returned to the puzzle he'd been mulling over before his brother's untimely arrival.

Despite popular opinion, he didn't need a mate. He didn't want a mate. What he really needed, was a distraction. Someone to keep his busybody family occupied while he figured out his next move. A plan started to form in his mind.

It could work. If he found someone with absolutely no ties to his family, and no unpredictable ambitions to be the next Luna. Someone who had just enough to lose to play along, but hated him enough not to risk forming an inconvenient attachment.

A pair of soft, doe brown eyes flashed into his thoughts, full of unconcealed disdain.

Why not? he mused. She certainly hated him enough. She hated all werewolves from what little he knew of her, and she'd certainly have no qualms about jilting him when the time came. In fact, after their last meeting, she'd probably revel in the chance to humiliate him publicly. And he had the means to persuade her to play along. He watched the flames flicker.

Six months... that's all he needed. Six months to plan some sort of an escape from the vice-like trap he'd failed to see coming. He allowed a smile to form. Who knew? It might actually be fun. It would certainly be a challenge. Six months, then she'd get what she wanted, and he'd get what he wanted - freedom from his father's ridiculous plan.

What could possibly go wrong?

He leaned back and took another long drink, emptying the glass, his smile growing as his plan came together. "Alright then father. Let the game begin."