Chapter 18: The Council

The council sat in the breakfast hall, where I had said the refusal words.

The long tables were pushed back into a horseshoe, and two hundred wolves stood around the walls in the grey light.

I carried my daughter in a sling against my chest.

Roz carried hers the same way, and had put her parka over the top.

Roz's loud baby already had opinions about it.

Conall walked on my left, and Devon on Roz's right.

Nobody spoke to us as we crossed the floor.

The old elder sat at the head of the horseshoe in a carved chair that was too big for her.

Orson stood at her right hand in his quilted vest.

Vera sat on a bench at her left, in her cream cardigan, with her hand on her stomach.

She looked at me and her eyes filled, and I thought: she is very good at this.

"Silver Ridge," the elder said, and tapped her cane on the boards. "There is a claim before the council, and it has two halves."

"Let the widow speak first," said Orson.

"She will, when I say."

The elder turned her head.

"Orson McIntyre. Say your claim."

"Two children were born to my youngest son's widow on the night of the pass road wreck," said Orson.

"Silver-haired, the old line. I am their grandfather and Alpha."

"I ask the council to confirm them as my son's heirs."

"And these two women?"

"Are two bereaved mothers who took a night's grief for a truth," he said.

"I have the greatest sympathy. I also have the surgeon's report."

"It states that their children did not live."

He held up a sheet of paper.

"Pass it down," said the elder.

A wolf carried it along the horseshoe, hand to hand.

Every face that read it turned to look at me with pity.

I let them.

"Teagan Hartley," the elder said. "Say yours."

Keep reading free with an account. Start The Day We Lost Our Pups, We Left Our Alphas from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.