Chapter 16: Kneel

Jago read it over my shoulder.

He didn't say anything for a moment.

"Seven weeks," he said. "That's your heat."

"Her heat. The one she bought."

The messages kept coming. Congratulations, Luna! Hearts. Little wolf faces. A pup's drawing of a cradle.

My four girls hadn't posted a word. Neither had Paul.

Neither had Duncan.

I put the phone face down on the trestle table.

"Fish," said Jago's aunt firmly, and put more on my plate.

The old Luna rang at nine.

"Seen it, pet?"

"I've seen it."

"Our summer alliance lunch is a week today. Every allied Alpha, every Luna, at my table. Duncan's bringing her to be presented."

"Pregnant."

"So she says." A sniff down the line. "You'll sit at my right hand, as my guest. And bring that Cornish boy. I want to see him in a clean shirt."

It was a long week.

The rum went out in boxes. The bank wrote back about a loan and said they'd think about it.

I put my memory stick in my bra every morning and took it out every night.

On the Thursday we drove north in the MG, Jago folded into the passenger seat with his knees round his ears.

"This car is a crime against tall men."

"Get your own car."

"I've got a van. It hasn't started since Easter."

Coldwater laid its lunch on the lawn above the beach, under a white awning, with jugs of elderflower and the sea flashing behind.

Eleven allied packs came. Every Alpha I'd sat beside at the ball.

They all saw me walk in on the old Luna's arm.

The Coldwater Alpha's Luna came to meet us. She was a calm, brisk woman in pearls and good shoes, with a farmer's handshake.

"Mischa. You look ten years younger. Who's this?"

"Jago Trevail."

"Ah. The rum." She shook his hand too. "My husband's been rationing it."

The Range Rover came up the drive at one.

Duncan got out first. He'd shaved, but he still moved like a man with a stitch.

Bethany climbed out after him in a pink sundress, one hand spread over her flat stomach.

Her perfume reached the awning before she did. Sweet and heavy, enough for ten women.

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