Chapter 10: That's Not the Deal

The cook found me in the pantry that night with my forehead against a flour sack.

"Eat," she said, and put a bowl of stew into my hands.

She was a broad woman with scarred forearms who never once called me anything but "girl."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're going to be sick if you don't. I know the look."

I ate, standing up.

Anselm came in a moment later with a limp that was worse than usual and a bottle of plum brandy he had no business carrying.

"Garrow," the cook said. "Out of my pantry."

"It's the Alpha's pantry."

"It's mine. Sit down or go."

He sat on an upturned crate and poured three cups.

The cook took hers, snorted, and went out to stir something that didn't need stirring.

Anselm watched the door close.

"She likes you," he said.

"She feeds me because she thinks I'm too thin."

"That's how she likes you."

I turned my cup in my hands. The brandy smelled of summer.

"One moon," I said.

"One moon."

"Can it really be done? A pregnancy sealed in a moon?"

"If you're already with child, yes. If not." He rubbed his beard. "It's not an easy thing, even when everyone wants it."

I took a long sip.

"I'm going to tell you something," I said, "and you can tell the Alpha, and I won't care."

"Go on."

"The terms. When I took the oath, I said nothing would happen in his bed unless I walked to it."

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