When it’s Jericho’s turn, Bronson’s gaze lingers. Jericho holds out a hand, but Bronson pulls him in for a hug. “Thank you. Just thank you for trying—” His voice cuts off, thick with emotion.
Jericho pulls away quickly, not sure how to reply.
Murmured whispers follow us through the house, and smiles fade.
“What’s he doing here?” someone sneers, their bitter tone directed at Jericho.
“That’s the vampire, isn’t it?” another says, followed by a low growl from a younger wolf.
My hackles rise. I haven’t been to as many gatherings as the others, so many of these people are still strangers. Can we trust them?
We each grab some drinks and visit with friends. Grant, Sage, and Neal catch up with their work colleagues, while my mom chats with some female alphas. Ivy and I mingle with shifters our age. I haven’t seen most of them since I graduated from high school, and their stories of living in the city or traveling abroad make my heart ache.
That was supposed to be my life.
The tension in the air tightens as more and more guests seem to notice Jericho, but I have to give him credit—Jericho doesn’t rise to it. His expression stays calm and unreadable, even though I know he can hear every word. Evan probably can too, as the guests are not being discreet.
They’re dressed simply—Jericho in a dark jacket with his dark hair brushing the edge of his shoulders. Evan is in black jeans and a black button-down. They’d borrowed the clothes from Neal, wanting to dress appropriately for such a sensitive event. As for the shifters, we’re all dressed in light gray, loose-fitting clothes. Traditional attire for shifter memorials.
My mom leans into whisper to Forest, “Is there going to be a problem?” Her attention is on the groups staring at Jericho.
“I hope not. Bronson knew he was coming. Insisted on it, even.”
“But did the other packs know? Or do they know what Jericho did?”
Forest clenches his teeth. “My guess is no. Or if they do, they aren’t happy about it.”
Grant leans in. “Look closer, guys.”
I turn, trying to see it through the second-in-command’s eyes. And that’s when I realize over half of the Cedar Ridge pack is not only surrounding us, but they’re surrounding Jericho and Evan too. Protecting us. The men probably don’t even realize it, not knowing who any of the people are.
“Think Bronson asked them to do that?” I say.
“Couldn’t tell you.”
Either way, it surprises me.
Finally, Bronson steps toward the center of the patio. He stands beneath the string of lights, his breath visible in the cold night air. When he speaks, his voice carries easily across the yard and through the house.
“Thank you for coming. It would have meant the world to Genny and Justice—and to my mate, Gerina—to know how many of you loved them.” He pauses, steadying himself. “Genny lived a long, full life. As most of you know, she’d been ill for some time, which is rare for a shifter. The truth is, even if she’d survived that night, she likely would not have survived until Christmas.” His jaw flexes, grief and acceptance both visible. “But my son…”
His voicecracks.
“Justice was too young to die. Too wild. Too alive. The loss of him will ache in me for the rest of my days. But I will always carry pride, too. Pride that my boy went down fighting. Pride that he died protecting one of our own.”
A murmur rolls through the crowd in quiet agreement.
Bronson’s eyes lift, searching the faces before him, then landing on Jericho. “Some of you have questions about who we let in tonight. About why a vampire stands among us.”
The silence tightens like a bowstring.
“Jericho is here because he tried to turn Justice,” Bronson says.
Shock rings through the room from the visiting packs, and Jericho quickly becomes fixated on the cup in his hand, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden attention.
“He fought off the vampires who hurt him. Killed one of them. Then did everything he could to save Justice. Even giving him the choice to be turned.” Bronson turns, making sure everyone is listening. “Justice chose that, in the end. And though it didn’t work, I will never forget that Jericho tried. I’m asking you to do the same.”
Bronson keeps going. “We used to trust vampires. Used to run with them, hunt with them. Some of us even shared our homes with them. I ask that you remember that now more than ever. Not all of them are monsters. Alexander Foxx and Ripley Cutthroat, the rest of them—thoseare monsters. But this one?” He nods toward Jericho. “This one is one of us. And I think my son would have considered you a friend if he had the chance.”
