Killian’s words ring in my ears. What have I done for this pack? Endured it for twenty-seven years. Cooked their food. Cleaned their lodge. Washed their clothes. And in between I taught myself—and then the other lone females—how to make preserves, and keep bees, and dry herbs, and raise hens for eggs, and forage for mushrooms. I figured out how to drive and how to sell our goods at the human market, and then I figured out the internet. I made money. Money for phones and books and whatever we want. Money so that we don’t have to ask the males for anything, and we owe them nothing.
