But Seth doesn’t step away. His grip on Bree shifts, and I catch the smallest curve of his lips. Not regret. Not even cruelty.
Satisfaction.
My stomach drops. This isn’t coercion. This isn’t him being controlled or threatened.
He wants to be here.
Fuck.
Thane moves first.
A snarl rips from his throat as he lunges forward, fangs flashing, silver eyes blazing with fury. For a moment he looks exactly like what he is—a predator unleashed, dangerous and deadly.
Phil raises one lazy hand.
Thane hits an invisible barrier and flies backward, slamming into the ground ten feet away. The impact drives the air from his lungs ina harsh gasp. He tries to get up, muscles straining, but the magic holding him down is absolute.
“Stay,” Phil says conversationally, like he’s talking to a disobedient dog.
The humiliation on Thane’s face is devastating. This is someone who’s spent centuries as an apex predator, reduced to struggling helplessly in the dirt.
Stellan doesn’t lunge. He calculates.
“You always did enjoy easy prey,” he says, voice cutting through the tension easily. “Tell me, does it make you feel powerful? Terrorizing children and broken Feeders?”
Phil doesn’t even glance at him. Just continues holding Bree’s gaze while Seth keeps her trapped.
The dismissal hits Stellan and I watch his perfect composure crack, just for a moment. Something cold and sharp flickers in his expression.
Fear.
Real fear.
Because if Phil can ignore Stellan—who commands respect through pure presence alone—then none of us matter to him at all.
Zira steps forward, raising her voice above the crowd’s horrified murmurs.
“He’s one man!” she shouts, fierce and desperate. “He doesn’t own us!”
For a heartbeat, it almost works. Murmurs ripple through the gathered Feeders. A few shift forward, remembering their courage.
Phil’s eyes land on Zira, and his smile turns lazy. Amused.
“Little leech,” he says, voice dripping with disdain. “Still trying to play revolutionary?”
The crowd recoils. The brief spark of defiance dies as quickly as it came.
Mairen and Torn step forward, flanking Bree protectively. Their son Kellan moves with them, young face set with determination.
“Don’t,” someone hisses from the crowd. “Don’t make it worse.”
Hands grab at them, pulling them back. Neighbors who sought sanctuary together now choosing safety over solidarity.
“Please,” Mairen whispers as she’s dragged away from Bree’s side. “She’s just a girl.”
But the fear is too strong. One by one, the people who came here seeking protection choose to protect themselves instead.
I know what’s coming now. I wish I didn’t.
