He Rejected Me Out Loud and Kept Other Women, So I Never Answered novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: The Harvest Feast

Rhiannon's POV

The Harvest Feast filled the fish-house loft to the rafters.

Both packs had come, the Reach and the mainland pack from the sound, six hundred wolves in their good coats, with long tables down the length of the floor and lanterns hung from the beams.

The smell of roast oysters and woodsmoke and wet wool lay over everything.

I sat at the far end with the deck crew, with a plate I was not eating from.

Three weeks had gone by since the boathouse.

I had gone back to the Gaff twice and sat on the same stool.

Both nights the oilskin was not on its hook.

I had told myself I was relieved.

My father sat at the family table beside my mother with a glass at his elbow, and he had not looked at me once.

Across the room, at the head table beneath the old cod nets, Doran Gaskill sat on the oak bench in his father's coat.

He had not looked at me either.

I knew exactly where he was every second.

Ambrose sat at his right, in a clean gray jacket, pouring wine for the council chair.

The meal went on for an hour.

Then the chair rapped his glass with a spoon, and the long room went quiet.

"The council has a motion before it," the chair said. "Moved by the beta, Ambrose Gaskill, and seconded."

Ambrose stood.

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