Chapter 6: Terms

Eamon was already running for the truck when I said, "Wait."

He turned with the door half open.

His wolves were shifting in their boots, and the two visiting Alphas were checking their phones.

Fergus's sentries had gone still along the white stones, watching me.

Ten rogues were at the fence, and I was about to spend a minute on talk.

"I'll raise the south stone," I said. "I'll do it now, with you standing there. But you will hear three terms first."

"Ismay." His voice was strained. "There's no time."

"Then you'd better be quick agreeing."

The east-range Alpha made a noise that might have been a laugh.

Fergus, at my shoulder, said very softly, "You're setting terms for a man whose fence is on fire."

"Particularly then."

"I find that I am enjoying this enormously."

"Don't."

I stepped into the road.

I was a head shorter than Eamon, and he was a hundred and fifty pounds heavier, and I had never felt taller.

"One," I said. "Linus Garland and two other Garland-row elders take seats on the Blackmoor council by sundown, with full voice and vote."

"Done."

"Two. Dacia is out of the Luna's rooms by sundown, her things carried out by her own hands."

"She keeps no key to the steward's office."

His eyes flicked.

"Done," he said, quieter.

"Three."

I held up three fingers, and my pale scarred palm showed in the cold light.

"When I put my hand on that stone, you stand on the fence yourself. Not a Beta. Not a guard."

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