Chapter 7: The Kitchen Bench

My father's summons came that evening as a single text.

*Dinner at the Alpha's house. Bring him.*

By then the video from the farm yard had been shared across three packs.

Tobias hitting a man who would not hit back had made my father look like exactly what he was.

He needed a family dinner to make it look like peace.

"We don't have to go," Bram said.

"I want to," I said. "I want the whole table looking at me."

He put on a clean shirt that was too small across the shoulders and said nothing else.

The Alpha's dining room was as long as the cabin and brightly lit.

Dahlia sat at my father's right hand in pale lavender, her cane hooked on the chair.

Elias Westmoor sat beside her, cutting her meat into small pieces.

A thin woman in a gray tunic sat across from them, and I knew her from the pack infirmary.

She was the Pack Healer.

"Your table is there," Mom said, and pointed.

It was a narrow bench by the kitchen door, where the cooks ate.

"That's for the laborer," she said. "You may sit with the family."

Bram's face did not change.

He walked to the bench and sat down.

I picked up my plate and followed him.

"Keeva," my father said.

"My seat is beside my mate," I said, and sat.

The room went quiet.

Tobias laughed through his nose.

"She's choosing the kitchen. Let her."

I buttered a roll.

Beside me, Bram stared at his plate and did not touch the bread.

"Eat," I said under my breath. "Please. I need one person at this dinner to eat."

He broke the roll in half.

"Healer," I said, in a clear, pleasant voice that reached the whole table. "How is Dahlia's treatment going?"

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