Chapter 19: The Gathering Stone

The Gathering Stone stood in a clearing above Ashgrove, a gray slab as long as a truck bed, with pine trees all around it.

Every wolf of the pack had come.

They stood three deep in a ring with torches, and their breath hung in the cold.

I walked into the middle in my father's old canvas jacket and took it off.

Under it I wore a black tank top, and my hands were bare.

Corbin stood at the edge of the ring with his burned neck wrapped in a scarf.

He had asked to stand beside me, and I had said no.

He had asked to be at the edge, and I had said yes.

The oldest elder stepped forward.

"Trial by hand," he said. "Bare hands, no change, no weapon. It ends when one of you yields or cannot stand. The Stone hears what is said on it."

The moon came over the ridge, and Brock stepped in.

He had taped his nose, and he had come without his jacket.

His forearms were as thick as my calves.

"You can quit now," he said. "I'll say you fought."

"Thank you."

"I mean it, Larissa. I don't want to hurt you."

"You tried to burn my house down."

"That was Dad."

"You held the can."

He came in fast.

I had known he would.

Brock had never once in his life tried to be clever.

I slipped his first swing and hit him under the ribs with my shoulder behind it.

He grunted and turned, and his second punch caught me in the cheek.

The world rang.

I tasted blood, and the crowd made a noise in its throat.

"Get up," somebody said, and I realized I was on one knee.

I got up.

His third punch I took on my forearm and felt the bone bend.

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