A Pack of Their Own novel · Chapter 7 of 32

Chapter 7: His Hand on the Knife

"Do it," I said.

My voice was a growl, thick and low. I hardly recognized it.

Roark did not move.

His hand stayed on the hunting knife, and I watched his knuckles go white.

"You told the whole table what your pack does," I said. "I'm a mixed blood. I just tore a tree out of the ground. Do what you swore to do."

"Winona."

"Do it fast, and don't let Nana see."

My wolf, or the bear, or whatever else lived in my chest now, wasn't afraid.

She was waiting. She was watching his hand, and she was ready to take his arm off, and I could not stop her.

That scared me far more than the knife.

"I'm not going to draw," Roark said.

"Then why is your hand there?"

"Because it's been there since I was twelve." He looked down at it. "It goes there when I'm afraid."

He took his hand off the hilt, unbuckled the belt, and dropped the knife and the sheath into the wet grass.

Then he stepped over the fence and walked toward me with both hands open.

"Stop," I said.

"No."

"My claws are out. I don't know what I'll do."

"I know you don't." He kept coming. "Look at me."

I looked.

He stopped an arm's length away. His chest was rising and falling fast and a vein jumped at his neck, and he was not afraid of me at all.

Keep reading free with an account. Start A Pack of Their Own from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.