Page 4 of The Girl in the Forest

I walked toward the front alone. As one, the wolves stood and offered a formal chin dip, honoring the Alpha of Sentinel Falls, and the mood seemed more attentive than agitated.

But for meetings such as this one, the pack followed ancient tradition. I grimaced, mounting the steps to the dais, listening to each scraping thud of my boots. A carved wooden chair waited like a throne on a balding bear pelt. The chair was hellishly uncomfortable, while the pelt stank of mothballs and curdled milk.

Fallon controlled her smile. Mace smirked. I glared at the table beside the gods-awful chair. A ceremonial square of yellowed white silk covered the surface. Small black dots decorated the material—the markings of a faery flag, according to pack lore, dating back centuries. We had no proof the flag came from the faeries, although, during a fight between two rival elders, one corner of the silk had been torn away and disintegrated in a puff of smoke and flame. But what caused Mace’s smirk wasn’t the flag. It was the relic sitting on the faery flag—a curved, yellowed drinking horn.

Wolf tradition required the pack to remain standing while the Alpha drank a full measure of wine, proving his manhood. But since the wine was always warm and sour from the horn, I’d changed the ritual. Sentinel Falls had three alphas. That meant both my seconds took part in the wine drinking.

Fallon went first. She held the horn to her lips, sucked in a breath, and tipped her head back. Then Mace drank, his throat twitching as he swallowed. I took the horn and drained it, holding the empty vessel above my head.

The cheering both warmed and grated on my nerves. I pushed the irritation aside. The pack would remain standing until I gave permission to sit, and even though the day was heating, with the sun beating down—I wanted them standing while I stared at the elders filling the front row.

Mosbach, his white hair slicked back, had dressed in black. The others wore similar clothes. Good, I thought. Perhaps they realized the gravity of the situation. Soon they would learn more, and how at least one of them had failed.

I studied the overflow crowd. When I found the children with their parents, the young ones Levi had saved—I nodded to them.

To the side of the dais, the old wolves waited in the shade cast by the fluttering canopy. I nodded again, acknowledging the pack members who deserved the Alpha’s regard. But I would have honored them even if tradition hadn’t demanded it.

Thin blankets covered the legs of those unable to stand, but those who stood did so with an unbending defiance of age. All had faced the invaders. Even the three men—and two women—who were too old to shift. They’d used the weapons at hand: broken poles, knives, gardening tools. Pride marked their faces, something I hadn’t seen in years.

Noa had done that. She’d given them what I never could. She was a healer, as I was. But she brought a gentleness I didn’t have. She’d offered them hope. Proved strength didn’t always depend upon the wolf, and whoever planned the seating sent that calculated visual message. A reminder of what Noa had given to the pack. Even Halwyn’s wheelchair sat in the middle of the row, a folded blanket on the seat. His memory protected.

I gestured to the empty chair.

“We honor Halwyn.” My voice boomed loud enough to reach those at the back of the crowd. “He met the fight to protect a friend too frail to move.”

Every wolf in the gathering pressed two fingers to their lips, then against their pack marks.

“We honor those who died, within this pack and without. The nymphs Nia and Ashina. The witch.” My gaze slid to the elders. “Her name was Autumn Paige, a girl of sixteen. It seems cruel to condemn one so young, who was herself used by the Alpen to spell the attackers.”

Mosbach’s eyes narrowed. I kept my attention on the group behind him, members from his mountain settlement who stood stone-faced and rigid.

Let them worry.

I motioned for the wolves to sit while I settled on the thread-bare maroon cushion and waited for Mace and Fallon to sit in similar chairs, less ornate but just as uncomfortable. Mace was on my right. Fallon was on my left.

Chairs creaked. Feet scuffed, and a few children protested amid shushing from their parents. Even those standing at the far end of the meadow, in the shade from the trees, shifted their positions into relaxed postures, all of them waiting.

“The repairs on Sentinel Falls are in progress,” I said. “Azul is recovering. I’ve ordered stronger wards and increased the patrols. Other precautions remain secret. The priority is rebuilding. For those of you in the settlements—if you sustained losses, talk to your elders. They’ll relay the information to those who can help.”

“We appreciate your effort,” an elder said, clearing his throat gruffly. “But our families are more important than things, and they are safe, thank the gods.”

Owen Griffith. I respected him. He was husband to Miranda Kirk, the woman Noa helped in Sentinel Falls. There was a brother, Albert—his wolf was silent. I saw them both, Miranda and Albert, sitting behind Owen. She gave me a careful smile as she patted Albert’s hand.

Perhaps Noa had more allies at this meeting than I thought.

Owen held my gaze, and I nodded to him.

“If I may speak, Alpha?” he asked, rising to his feet. “My mate would like to offer testimony regarding the events on the day of the Gathering.”

“Most of us were there, Owen.” The disgruntled comment came from another elder—Hanley Albion. Hanley was white-haired, boney, more of a figurehead elder. Due to age, Hanley’s son, Pawley, carried out the official duties. But as Hanley prodded the ground with the cane Leo insisted he use, I wondered whether his interruption came from irritability—or an attempt to hide something.

More likely, it came from sitting on a hard wooden chair in the sun. He wasn’t hiding anything. The elder who hid the traitor was someone else, unless the traitor was an elder, or someone outside the pack. A person we would never suspect.

But Miranda Kirk was now standing, reminding me so much of Hattie, preparing to lecture me, that I almost made the mistake of smiling.

“Please, Miranda.” I tipped my head toward her. “Step forward. I wish to hear what you have to say.”

Gripping Albert’s hand, she wove around others seated in her row, stepping past bent knees and shuffled chairs, apologizing until they both stood centered in the aisle. Albert stared at their clasped hands. He had the same intensity I’d witnessed with Oscar, when the silence of his wolf had been at its worst.

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