Chapter 17: The Moon Cup

The next full moon came a month later, on a Saturday, and the whole pack gathered in the north meadow to see what the Alpha's mate would do.

A bonfire burned in the middle of the grass. The three elders sat on split logs to one side.

Ernest sat on the end of the same log, in a heavy wool coat, with his hands around a mug.

He raised it to me. I raised my chin.

Dane stood at my shoulder. He hadn't touched me since we left the truck, and I could feel exactly how far away his hand was.

"You'll know," he said under his breath. "Your nose will know before my ear does."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I'll hear the bearer, and you won't drink."

The cupbearer came across the grass with both hands around a carved wooden cup.

He was the steward's son, tall, nineteen, with a neck that went red when he looked at anyone.

He stopped in front of Dane and held it out.

Dane drank. It was only honey and water, and I could tell from where I stood.

He turned and held the cup to me.

"The Alpha's mate drinks second," the eldest elder called. "It is the old way."

I took the cup in both hands.

Honey, first. Then the smoke of the fire.

Under both, so faint that Colt had been right and a nose a month old might have missed it, was the sharp green smell that made my gums ache.

I didn't lift it.

I looked at the cupbearer, and he looked at his feet.

"Is there wolfsbane in this cup?" Dane asked him.

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