The Rogues Who Went Rogue
Chapter 33

On Tate's private jet, he sat next to Margaret. The twenty policemen and thirty lycan warriors around them chatted casually with one another like they weren't about to face a pack of rogues. Then again, the months of training under the queen's and the defense

minister's direct supervision had built not only their strength and skill set, but also confidence in their abilities.

Only Phelton was wary. When he heard that the king and queen had authorized extracting the rogue pack, he didn't think twice before volunteering to come to keep his eye on Margaret. After what she and her wolves almost did to Lucianne last time, Phelton kept his guard up. No one knew if they were walking into a trap.

The queen may be forgiving and open to the fact that creatures could change for the better but Phelton wasn't. He had a solemn duty to protect her and the rest of the royal family as a warrior and minister. It really bothered him that Tate didn't seem the least bit suspicious or skeptical about Margaret. She was the leader of a rogue pack. There was every reason to be suspicious. Then again, that was his bonded mate.

Margaret had cuffs on as a precaution, and Tate's animal whimpered at the sight of their mate being bound. There wasn't anything that he could do since the authorities wanted to make sure that Margaret wouldn't try to escape or attempt to mind-link her people to trap the authorities upon their arrival.

Margaret was at a window seat but the view didn't interest her. Her eyes were fixed on the armrest but her mind was miles away. She wondered who she was asked to work with, and whether it was a group that her pack had already met.

"Hey," Tate's voice brought her out of her thoughts when he asked, "You okay?"

"Yes, thank you," Margaret's polite reply came in a mere whisper, without her meeting his gaze. Tate took comfort in the fact that she responded this time without being forced. At least she wasn't shutting him out anymore.

He wanted to get to know her. But her reluctance to look at him made Tate feel that it may still be too early for that. The Alpha cracked his head for a topic that she would be more open to talk about, and he casually asked, "About Stella...apart from photography, what does she like?"

That question worked like a charm. Margaret's eyes snapped to him and she asked, "She likes what?"

Tate's eyebrows raised before he explained, "Photography. You know, taking pho-"

"No, I know what photography is. I mean," the creases on her forehead got more visible when she asked, "Since when did she enjoy that?"

"Uh.......don't know?" Tate didn't have a better answer, and when Margaret's eyes dimmed, he added, "But I could ask her the next time I see her. Or you could. Or we could ask her together."

Margaret smirked lightly as she started staring into space again, and Tate was groaning internally. How could they be mates when he didn't even know what to say to her?! Tate was convinced that this was karma getting back at him for sleeping around with random she-wolves in his earlier years as Alpha.

He watched her, and couldn't help but admire her stunning side profile. Despite her eyebags and the few strands of grey hairs, her feminine features would make heads turn in any pack. He wanted to talk to her. He didn't care if they had an empty conversation. He just wanted to talk to her.

As he continued cracking his head, Margaret suddenly spoke in a voice that held some guilt and sadness, "I'm a failure as a mother."

Tate was shocked by her choice of words, and he felt a crack in his heart at the sight of Margaret's downcasted eyes. In dismay, he pleaded, "Margaret, don't say that. Stella's a good kid. You raised her well."

Margaret scoffed in disbelief before she said, "If she were good, she wouldn't have run off with her friends like that, right after I've specifically told her not to," After sighing in frustration, she proceeded to say, "Stella used to be good. She used to do as I say. Then, one day, she turned thirteen and poof! It's like the genes of obedience had been flushed out of her system, and all that came out of that teenager after that were nothing but questions which she doesn't need answers to." "Like what?" Tate asked, now sucked into his mate's voice and her world.

Margaret picked the item on the top of her head, "Her all-time favorite question is, does she have a family, apart from myself. I told her that she didn't, but there's something in this teenager's brain that will process anything a parent says before it goes 'Mom is definitely lying"." "Were you?"

"NO!" Margaret exclaimed at a volume that made Tate flinch a little in his seat, and the noisy crowd fell silent at her sudden high-pitched voice. The rogue leader closed her eyes and flustered in embarrassment as she muttered, "Oh, Goddess." Tate smiled awkwardly at everyone before he said, "We're good, guys. Just...go back to whatever you were doing. Sorry about that."

The indistinct chatters started again, but most of their postures straightened, and their eyes were darting in Margaret's way more often than before now. Some of them stole glances at her because of her beauty, others were just being careful as they reminded themselves of how lethal Lucianne was on the training and battleground even when she was the smallest wolf in the room. Margaret didn't seem to be as skillful, but that didn't mean that she wasn't dangerous. After a few quiet moments, Margaret murmured, "Sorry."

Tate's lips curled up into a soft smile as his hand closed in on hers on the armrest when he assured her, "Hey, don't worry about it. I'm glad we're talking."

She saw how close their hands were, and her wolf was pushing her to close the remaining distance but her human was still scared despite not showing it, so all she did was offer Tate a small smile and confessed, "I'm glad we're talking, too. You're a good listener." That statement made his wolf coo in happiness. They were finally getting somewhere with their mate. But what Margaret just said was also devastating, about him being a good listener. Life as a rogue wasn't just hard, it was lonely. Fear equated weakness. Inner frustrations and turmoils were fought alone. Margaret probably had no one to hear her out, so Tate and Lucianne bore the brunt of all her bottled-up anger and frustration in the interrogation room on that first day.

Come to think of it, Stella didn't have anyone to talk to either. But the solitude affected her differently though. Whenever Tate started a conversation with the teenager on their way to and from the police station, he never seemed to have to do or say anything after asking one question.

Stella would babble about sceneries, angles, lighting, and sometimes even share stories about her childhood, how she was allowed to skip firewood duty if it was her birthday, or how she killed her first snail with salt when she was four before feeling bad after the animal died from her efforts and praying to the Goddess to send the dead snail to heaven.

"Thank you...for taking care of her," Margaret said gratefully.

"You don't have to thank me. I did it for purely selfish reasons," Tate admitted.

Her confused orbs met his affectionate ones when Tate explained, "I want to take care of her, look out for her, and so does my wolf."

"Mm," Margaret muttered meekly as she returned his smile, and started diving into her own thoughts again. It was so strange to her that her daughter's birth father didn't care if Stella existed, and was more than willing to cast Margaret out even with the possibility of her bearing his child.

Now, Tate, who hardly knew her or Stella, was protecting her daughter like she was his own. She saw the willingness in his eyes and heard the sincerity in his husky voice. It wasn't done as an act of duty, or a way to make her fall in love with him. He looked after Stella because he wanted to. Period. The thought thawed her cold heart and soothed her damaged soul, and it made her question everything she knew about love and mates.

Her past-mate was nothing like Tate.