Chapter 4: The Line

"I am home," I said. "I'm standing on neutral ground, and I'm exactly where I want to be."

Eamon took three more strides across the frosted grass before Fergus's voice stopped him.

"That's far enough."

Fergus had come down off the porch with his glasses folded in one hand.

He walked between us.

He stopped at the exact midpoint with his hands loose at his sides.

"This strip belongs to neither pack," he said.

"You can stand here, Blackmoor. You can't drag anyone off it, and you can't growl at my sentries."

Eamon's wolves stopped growling.

Eamon did not look away from me.

"You signed a treaty," he said. "Thirteen months ago, in front of your father's deathbed."

"I signed a rejection last night, in front of three hundred of your wolves."

"The Garland pack lives on my land because of that treaty."

"Then keep your word to them," I said. "That part was always yours to keep."

His jaw flexed.

Two trucks pulled up behind his pickup, and I recognized the Alphas who climbed out of them from the dais.

One was the broad woman from the east range who had stopped chewing.

The other was the gaunt man from the north who had said Goddess.

They had followed the noise.

Good.

I wanted witnesses.

"I have one term," I said, loud enough for the road. "I'll hear anything you have to say after you've said this."

Eamon's eyes narrowed.

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