The elder council chamber was a circular room in the manor's east wing, old stone, high ceilings, five carved chairs arranged in a semicircle facing the Alpha's seat.

I arrived exactly on time.

The five elders were already seated.

Elder Hammond occupied the center chair, a heavyset man in his sixties with a silver beard, the particular brand of authority that comes from having never been seriously questioned.

Flanking him were Elders Thatcher and Webb, both old guard, both watching me with carefully neutral expressions.

Elder Donahue, the undecided one, sat stiffly in his chair.

Elder Cora, the only woman on the council, caught my eye and gave an almost...