Chapter 20: The Gathering

I did not shift back.

I let the white come up through my skin in front of both packs and stood on four paws in the torchlight, taller than any wolf in that circle.

A sound went round the ring, low and ragged, the sound of sixty people breathing in.

Conrad stopped three paces from me with the knife raised.

"Feral," he said, to the crowd. "You see? It can't be reasoned with. Someone must put it down."

Nobody moved.

I padded forward, slow, and he backed a step.

I saw his fingers tighten on the handle.

He lunged.

The blade came down at my neck, silver and bright, and I turned my head and caught his wrist in my teeth.

He screamed.

The knife dropped to the dirt.

I shoved him down, set one paw on his chest, and pressed until he gasped.

I could have bitten through.

I held it there, because I wanted him to feel what I'd felt on the lobby tile.

"Yield," the elder with the grey crop called, quietly.

"Never." Conrad spat into the dust. "I'm the Alpha of Black Pine. She's nothing, a pet of the Hargrove man, who is dead."

"Am I?" said a voice from the trees.

Rhys walked out of the dark, in his grey coat, with his cane over his arm and not leaning on it.

His eyes were gold.

Some of the Hargrove wolves cried out.

An old man near the fire pit fell on his knees.

Conrad stared at him and his mouth fell open.

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