Page 78 of The Ashpaw: Part One

She shook her head.

“Neither do I.” He turned to look at the head table over his shoulder, and Fern dared a peek as well.

Now all the alphas were watching.

Harland growled.

“And I mean to find out.”

* * *

The dining hall had emptied of Lurvekh over an hour ago, and the Solvekh had finished their cleaning.

For a brief moment, she wondered if Darion had been too distracted to remember her punishment. At the end of the dinner, she’d heard a scream, and looked up to see it was merely Kyntha being thrown over his shoulder as he left, the wolfkin laughing and cheering them on.

He would probably be busy all night, the thought still twisting her stomach uncomfortably.

But then a guard walked into the room and straight for her, and she cursed herself for daring to hope that even bedding Kyntha wouldn’t keep him from making sure Fern was suffering.

“It’s time, Ashpaw.”

Her vision sparkled around the periphery, and her skin felt cold.

“Can… Can I bring my broom?”

The guard looked at her, taken aback and mouth open for a moment before responding. “Um… were you planning on throwing it on somebody?”

Now it was Fern’s turn to be surprised. “I can’t say that I was, but now that you mention it…”

She met his eyes for a moment, a hint of mirth crinkling the corners, and then he nodded. “Very well. Follow me.”

They’d only just made it to the first staircase when Eidan intercepted him.

“I have her from here.”

Confusion eclipsed the guard’s features, and before he could respond, Eidan’s large hand wrapped around her arm and he pulled her up as they climbed.

“I take it I still need to sleep… there,” she said.

He grunted softly. “Darion would not budge, and the rest of the alphas… it’s complicated,” he said. “I’m trying, believe me. But until then, I have something that might help.”

She wondered what could possibly help, and he frustratingly refused to elaborate until they reached the final landing.

“Turn around.”

Fern blinked slowly, trying to think about anything other than how winded she was from the climb and how high she must be.

“What will you do?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his face to meet hers. “Just trust me.”

She didn’t have a chance to answer before he turned her around himself, and she heard the rustling of fabric.

“Ah, you mean to push me down the stairs. A broken neck is a quick mercy, thank you.”

He chuckled. “And deprive myself of the prettiest clan jester we’ve ever seen?”

Then from over her head, he lowered a wide strip of soft, thick fabric. She panicked and grabbed his wrists. “What—”