“Silence!” I knew it was Jesalynn from the multiple times she’d spoken. “Let her speak.”
The werewolves obeyed.
With some difficulty, I swallowed and continued. “Chet and I do have history. Months before the bonfire, at a party not too different, he assaulted me. That was the first time.”
“Liar!” Bug-eyed and spitting, Chet sprang out of his seat.
“Sit down, boy,” Jesalynn ordered.
He bared his teeth, straining against two poor souls ordered to grasp him by the arms and bring his ass to the bench, the only things holding him back from rushing the stage. From me.
I picked at the skin around my nails, the cuticles red and screaming. “And the last time he touched me without my consent was at the full moon party.”
“Objection!” Chet stood.
“It’s true. Before Shanley pulled him off me, he was threatening to—” Saliva rushed my mouth, that bitter taste of pure, unequivocal fear burning all the way down. “To do it again. After I got away, I wasn’t close enough to see what happened with Antonio. But if there’s anything I know about Chet, it’s that he throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get what he wants?—”
“This is clearly speculation,” Chet snarled. “Why is she still up there? Someone get this bitch off the stage!”
My raised voice bounced off the stone. “Chet, will you let me fucking speak?!”
Branches rustled at the far side of the clearing, drawing my gaze to where a silhouette darted between the redwood pillars. I blinked, and there was nothing but stars, fur, and trees.
Leashing the anger, I tried to refocus, my sweaty palms gripping at the stand.
“Nephilim,” Elder Ivan called, his voice sharp in warning, “we aren’t here to traffic in speculation. You are a witness, here to share what you witnessed.”
I nodded jerkily. “After he Turned,” I forged onwards, the details growing more vivid with every word, “he sought me out. He pinned me to the ground, waved his claws in my face, and brought his fangs closer and closer… And then Shanley came to my rescue—again.”
When I dared a glance over to Chet, he stilled in the grip of his companions, his nostrils wide and breath steaming out. A slow grin spread across his sharp features. Knowing. Deadly.
I should have chosen my next words more carefully, but I was so fucking tired of making myself smaller for him, and that smile ignited me with rage. “He wreaked havoc as a privileged, upper-class kid with all the time and money in the world. I can’t even imagine the destruction he will cause as a werewolf?—”
A glint of silver whirred past me, barely missing my cheek. My hand shot up instinctively.
I assumed it was Chet breaking free from the pack, his claws cutting the air, coming for me. But he… he was still there with that smug look on his face.
“Elder Blaise!” someone screamed, pointing at the wall of rock looming behind me.
I turned, my palm slamming over my mouth. Blaise, the silver-haired Elder, lay at the foot of their throne in a crumpled, facedown heap, dark liquid pooling beneath their emerald robes in a creeping puddle.
Jesalynn and another leader crouched beside them, exchanging frantic looks of disbelief. The tips of bloodied, battered feathers stuck out from Blaise’s side. An arrow.
Dread turned my insides leaden.
More screams, pure terror, infiltrated the amphitheater. I whipped back around.
I hadn’t been imagining it. Hundreds of beings snaked through the redwoods, all in dark hoods and leather jackets. A uniform fit for a thief or assassin. For a supernatural syndicate. For a Night Stalker.
My heart clenched as if a fist had taken hold of it.
Gaze roving the tree line, I squinted, trying to differentiate the night from the wraiths in the all-black outfits—trying to see through the flares of fur and flailing limbs, as the assembled burst from their seats, a rush of bodies all seeking the safety of the woods.
For once, I didn’t shrink. I didn’t hide. Even if every bone in my body was telling me to.
One intruder stood at the top of the steps, the others cascading around them like billowing wisps of shadow. They flicked off their hood.
The earth dipped under me.
