My Pack Cut Me Off, So I Reported to the Lycan King novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: The Writ

I stood in the middle of the lobby with my mother's hand on my sleeve.

"A writ," I said. "What writ?"

"I can't say any more here," she whispered. "It's his to tell. Ask him."

"Hester," my father said, low and hard.

"No, Gregory." She didn't look at him. "A year of it. I'm done."

"Mom, wait." My voice shook. "Brant told me you sold me. He said you took a river."

Her face went gray.

"He said that to you?"

"In this lobby. An hour ago."

"It's true," she said.

The word landed hard, and I took a step back.

"Your father signed the paper on your sixteenth birthday," she said. "Blood Ridge gave us the river rights, the whole upper bank, for a match. I didn't know until it was done. I fought him for a month, and I lost."

"And you baked the cake."

"I baked the cake." Her voice broke. "I have hated that cake every day for six years."

"Did you ever tell him so?"

"Every night for a year," she said. "He couldn't answer. That is the whole of it."

My second brother cleared his throat.

"Brin," he said. His voice was rough. "The night you left. The north sentry smoked on purpose. Dad told him to. He told every post to look the other way for exactly one night."

I turned and stared at him.

"You knew I was going."

"We were told you might," he said. "The year ended at midnight. Dad said you'd go when you went, and we weren't to stop you."

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