Chapter 9: The Bloodmoon Hall

Every window of the Bloodmoon pack house was lit at one in the morning.

Warrick had called the whole pack out of bed, and they stood in the great hall in coats and slippers and sweatpants.

My grandmother sat on a bench by the fire, with a guard on each side.

Her hands were folded in her lap, and she was glaring at the ceiling.

Warrick stood in front of the Alpha's chair with Vera at his elbow.

"This," he was saying, "is the reason I called you here."

He stopped when he saw me in the doorway.

I had walked in on my own two feet, between Ronan and Nash, and none of the guards at the door had dared to stop us.

"Alpha Hartley is a trespasser," Warrick said. "And Nash, you've forgotten whose Beta you are."

"I haven't forgotten," Nash said. "I just remembered whose pack."

A low sound ran through the hall.

I walked straight past Warrick to the bench, and the guards stood aside.

"Gram," I said. "Are you hurt?"

"They let me bring my knitting," said Hester sourly. "I've been counting stitches for an hour out of spite."

I put my hand on her shoulder.

Then I turned and faced the hall.

Two hundred pairs of eyes were on me.

I felt my wolf lift her head, and I didn't hold her down.

"My name is Roxanne Wendell," I said. "You know me. I worked in your clinic for four years, and I drew half your children's blood."

A few heads nodded.

"I want to tell you what I drank every morning."

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