A Pack of Their Own novel · Chapter 6 of 32

Chapter 6: The Heir on the Porch

Nana Bess fed us all at one long table, and nobody at it would sit next to Roark.

There were thirty people crowded onto the benches. They were big, loud, plain-spoken, and every one of them smelled a little like me.

I had never sat at a table where nobody was left out.

A boy of nine had put a roll on my plate before I sat down. An old woman across from me kept pushing the butter closer.

Roark ate with his shoulders squared and his eyes on his plate.

"Ironwood," Grandpa said, from the head of the table. "State your business, boy."

"I followed my mate," Roark said.

A murmur went down the benches.

"I'm not here to hurt anybody. But you should know who I am." He set his fork down. "I'm the heir to my father's pack, and I've sworn his law."

"And what's that law?"

"Any mixed-blood wolf gets put down on sight. It's been Ironwood's law since the Ash Winter."

The table went silent.

I put down my roll.

Grandpa's face had not changed at all, which was worse than if he had shouted.

"So you came to the home of a clan of mixed bloods," he said, "to sit at our table and tell us you would kill us."

"I came to tell you I won't."

"You haven't met one yet, have you?"

Roark looked at him, and then very slowly he looked at me.

I looked back at him and tried not to breathe.

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