Wrong Girl, Right Alpha novel · Chapter 4 of 48

Chapter 4: The Luna's Chair

The Luna's chair sat at the head of the long table, to the right of the Alpha's, and I had carried plates past it for six years.

It had arms, a high carved back, and a red cushion that Celia Hallett had embroidered herself.

At seven the next morning, eighty wolves stopped chewing when I walked into the dining hall.

I wore my own gray sweater and my best jeans, and Tilly walked beside me with her chin up and her braid swinging.

"If anybody says one word," she said, "I'm going to bite them."

"You can't bite them."

"I can bite them a little."

Faces lined the whole length of the hall.

Some looked sorry for me, and some looked curious.

Some had been at the Rite, and I could see them seeing it again.

Ronan was already seated, with a plate of eggs in front of him that he hadn't touched.

When he saw me, he stood.

Nobody else had stood for me in my life.

Then the rest of the hall remembered what to do, and eighty chairs scraped back.

My face went hot.

Ronan pulled out the red chair.

I sat, and as I did, he laid his palm flat against the center of my back.

It was a light touch, there and gone, through a sweater.

But the burn from the mark ran straight down my spine to the place where his hand had been.

"Eat," he said, so low only I heard it. "Whatever they say."

He sat down beside me, and the hall sat down with him.

The noise came back all at once, plates and low talk and chairs.

Celia sat across the table with her tea.

"There she is," she said warmly. "How is the neck, dear? Is the dressing dry?"

"It's fine. Thank you for the soup."

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