When Table Turns Novels & Stories

The maid asked Tabby who was watching the backs of her lover and sisters. “Yes, can you russel me some dill pickles and ice cream?” Tabby asked, to the surprise of the maid. “I’ll see what I can do, Misstress.” The maid said and left to retrieve Tabby’s request. Blake and the two sisters arrived at the dining room, where the House Leader’s Chair was arranged at the head of the round dining table. The elegant, long mahogany table used for guests had been replaced with a round elderberry wooden table. The chairs were of the same material but with leather seats and backs. This was the table of judgment.

A long wooden table carved from a single trunk runs through the center of the chamber, torches mounted along the curved walls casting flickering gold light across familiar faces. Elders and warriors seated across from us. Devon also settles midway down the table. He perks up when we enter, bowing his head respectfully to Rhett before glancing at me with a smile creasing on his face. “Luna.” “Beta,” I reply, offering a polite nod. And then we take our seats at the head of the table as Rhett signals for the meal to begin. “To Devon,” Williams declares, lifting his cup. “Our Beta finally returned.”

She looked at the table. At everyone. “She’s here though,” Sandy said. “In the table.” She put her hand flat on the wood. “Mummy told me. The table holds things.” Marcus pressed his lips together. Looked at Zara. Who was looking at the table with the expression she wore when something was too large for any other expression. “Yes,” Marcus said. “It does.” “So she’s here,” Sandy said. Settled. Back to her food. The table was quiet.

she said, pointing her finger at William. “Never mind, I’ll deal with you later, for now you could scram,” she said shooing William away. William gave a small ‘huh’, shook his head and was about to take a seat beside Johann. But Johann snapped his fingers and Thomas appeared into thin air. Uh oh. Somebody’s irritated. “Thomas lead the Aces to their table, they seem to forget the way.” He said as he held my hand and motioned me to the long table. Together with the girls our table was vacated.

Malcolm asked. "Everyone, both male and female, will be required to fight if push comes to shove, but our warriors will be the first line of defense." I pressed a button under my table, and the table flipped. All the books were gone in a flash, and they were replaced with a strategy table, complete with a huge map of our pack and its surroundings and little figurines that represented different things.

The table went from _she’s got this_ to _oh shit_ in about five seconds. We traded wins, back and forth. Every time I thought I had him, he’d land a shot that made the crowd roar. Every time he got ahead, I’d answer with two. People were leaning over the table, betting on the side, shouting tips. Some were on my side, some were on his, but all of them were watching like this was the main event. It came down to the last two cups. Mine. His. My hand was steady when I threw. Miss.

Then, he turned toward me and said, "Stanley, it looks like even Lady Luck isn't on your side." Alissa turned toward me too, her gaze conflicted. "Stan, admit defeat now, and I'm happy to consider your previous losses—" Nevertheless, I took one last look at her silently. After all, we would be absolute strangers after tomorrow. Thereafter, I quietly picked up the dice cup. Without making it too showy, I gave it a gentle shake, then slammed it down on the table. The dice cup was lifted, with everyone's attention focused on it. Almost everyone around the table seemed to be holding their breath.

Audrey allowed herself one last smirk, letting Nora see just how far she’d underestimated her. Nora’s eyes widened as she watched Audrey’s every move, realizing that the game had changed—only now, Audrey held all the cards. And as Audrey's finger hovered over her phone’s screen, she said, “Now, let’s see how you like it when the tables turn, Nora.”

*Chapter 89* The Table* *Word count: ∼1845~words* Day 561 began with a table. Not a stone slab for war councils. Not a log for dividing kills. A real table, built from joint timber, wide enough for twelve wolves to sit without elbowing each other. It sat in the neutral field between Red Fang and River Claw, under a canopy the council had raised in six days. Luna ran her hand over the wood. Still rough. Still smelling of sap and river water.

Instead our table has the specific atmosphere of a diplomatic summit that nobody prepared for adequately. Americus sits at the head like a general who has realized her battle plan requires revision but is committed to maintaining morale. Her sequined cardigan catches the fairy lights and throws small rainbows across the white tablecloth, which is the most cheerful thing happening at this table. I can see the effort in the set of her shoulders, the way she keeps glancing around like she is recalculating troop positions.