Page 47 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Kyntha placed a hand over her chest. “I only fear that easing her burden now would teach her the wrong lesson—that enough whimpers can bend the will of the alphas.”

No one spoke, either to agree or counter her argument.

Then Darion nodded once. “You are right, my love. And I thank you for offering your wise perspective.”

The words hollowed Fern out, and he rose to his feet.

“I see no excessive cruelty was committed. The Ashpaw remains, and her continued failures will be added to her sentence.”

The whimper was involuntary. She’d failed… at failing. It didn’t make any sense.

Jules stepped forward before anyone could stop him.

“The only one who’s failed here is you!”

The hall froze. No one dared to blink, and even the fires seemed to still.

Then Darion moved so quickly, Fern barely saw the first strike. His fist connected with Jules’ jaw with a sickening crack, sending the beta sprawling across the stone.

Gasps erupted through the room. Jules tried to push himself up, but Darion was on him before he could rise.

“You forget yourself.”

A kick to the ribs, and Jules folded with a choked sound.

“You challenge my judgment before the clan—”

Another blow, and blood splattered across the floor.

“—for her?”

Fern screamed.

The sound tore free before she could stop it, raw and ripping her throat.

Every head turned, and Darion looked up, chest heaving.

Their eyes met, and something unreadable passed across his face, but it was gone before she could make sense of it.

“Take him out of my sight,” he snarled.

Two wolfkin dragged Jules away, his limp body leaving smears of red across the stone.

Darion straightened, adjusting his sleeves as though nothing unusual had occurred. He turned back towards the table and grabbed the obsidian, slamming it so hard on the table that a small chip flew off and landed somewhere in the cracks of the floor.

“The matter is settled.”

Then he looked directly at Fern. “And should the Ashpaw inspire further disruption, the consequences will be hers to bear.”

* * *

Fern waited until the room was empty again, Jules’s blood wiped up like someone had merely spilled their drink.

Then, slowly, she made her way to the head table, and, with great care and attention paid to the way her chest ached, she got down on her hands and knees.

Patting the floor gently, she paused when she found it, lifting up the small, shiny black fragment.

She slipped it into her pocket, and then resumed her sweeping.