Half Claimed novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Three Alphas on the Porch

Alphas gather at Yvaine's door to scent her, she holds them off with guest-law and a kettle, and Lorne of Redwater formally petitions to finish her mark.

My cottage stands between the Archive and the kitchen garden, with a step worn hollow by three generations of archivists.

By dusk I had sat on that step for an hour with my knees pulled up and a pot of cold tea.

Odell sat beside me, eating toffee out of his pocket.

"He hasn't looked at a single thing since the Moot," Odell said. "He walked into the dairy door."

"Good."

"He told me to say he's sorry."

"He told you to say it, so he can say it to nobody."

"Yes. That's the Gap. He can't say it to you."

"Then he can write it down like a civilized person."

Odell grinned, crooked tooth and all.

"He also said to tell you to lock your door tonight," he said.

"I always lock my door."

"He said it twice. He looked ill."

I held the cold cup in both hands.

I felt a heartbeat that wasn't mine, far off and steady, in the trees at the end of the lane.

He was standing there in the dark, nine paces and a hundred more away.

I didn't look.

At the second bell, the lane filled with the sound of boots.

Three men walked up from the hall, slowly.

The first was an old Alpha with a limp.

The second was young and sneering and wore a rich man's gloves.

The third was the thick man in black leather.

He stopped at my gate and smiled, and the smile did not go further than his teeth.

"Cutter Torrance, of Blackwater," he said. "We weren't introduced this morning."

"I know who you are," I said. "You're the one who smiled."

"Is that a crime in Silverpine?"

"Only when it's the same smile twice."

Odell choked on his toffee.

Torrance's eyes slid over me and settled on my neck, and he breathed in.

"You smell of him," he said. "Strongly. That will fade by the moon, you know."

"A half mark fades without the answer. By the ninth night you'll be anyone's."

"Thank you for the schedule."

"I'd rather not wait," Torrance said. "Alphas who wait lose."

"Come out to the Stone with me tonight, and we'll have it done by morning."

The old Alpha shifted his weight.

The young one laughed.

Torrance put one boot on my gate.

Then he walked up the path, easily, and put the other one on the first board of my step.

He was a foot away.

He smelled of leather and woodsmoke and something under it that was cold.

I did not move.

Nobody tells you what your body does when it decides to be afraid and you decide not to be.

My hands went still on the cup.

"Alpha Torrance," I said. "This is a Silverpine house."

"A house is a house," Torrance said.

"The step is the threshold," I said.

"A guest who puts a foot on a daughter's threshold without her word insults the host."

"The Moot may strip his seat for it. I assume you read the guest-law before you came."

His smile slipped.

It was the first honest thing his face had done.

"You're a clerk," he said.

"I'm the one with the kettle."

I stood up and lifted the iron kettle off the sill, where it had been steaming since Odell put it on.

Then I tipped it over the board between his boots.

The water hit the wood and rolled over his leather and the steam rose in a white sheet.

He stepped back off my step so fast he nearly fell into the old Alpha.

The young one stopped laughing.

"It's a very old kettle," I said. "It doesn't know guest from enemy."

Odell was on his feet beside me, tall and thin, his hands open and loose.

"We'll have the Moot hear it," he said pleasantly, "if you'd like to explain that to the Moot."

Torrance looked at the lane.

Lamps had come on in the cottages, and wolves stood in doorways, watching.

Silverpine had been told a half-claimed woman was fair game.

It had not been told she would boil anyone.

"Another night," said Torrance.

"The moon's not for seven nights," I said. "Do come again."

The old Alpha went first.

The young one went second, and Torrance last, with the water still dripping from his heel.

I sat down because my knees had made the decision for me.

Odell sat beside me and put a toffee in my hand without a word.

Footsteps came up the lane again, lighter this time, and slow.

A fourth man stopped at the gate.

He did not touch it.

He was lean, in a wool sweater with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.

He had a shaved head and a close black beard going grey at the chin, and his brown eyes looked tired and kind.

He kept his hands where I could see them, open at his sides.

"I'm Lorne Corvin," he said. "Of Redwater."

"I won't come any nearer than the gate, Miss Colter, unless you tell me to."

"I'll ask you to listen to something, and then I'll go."

I looked at the lane.

Every door was open.

Every wolf in the lane could hear him.

"Say it," I said.

He nodded once.

Then he raised his voice, so the Gathering would remember how he said it.

"I, Lorne Corvin of Redwater, petition to finish this mark, if she will have it."

"She may say no, and I will carry the no home."

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