It was Ryder’s older brother, Leif.
Chapter 3
Leif tilted his head, a snarl chiseled onto his face. He was draped in shadow and leather, his blonde bun shiny and slicked, no strand out of place, and his bright eyes were dark with bad intentions—like a twisted mirror of his dark-haired, smirking brother.
He stared directly at me with bloodthirsty purpose, the way a predator stakes out its prey.
I drew in a tight inhale, the air heavy, harsh on my lungs.
Maybe he’d signed a deal with the devil again, maybe this was revenge for escaping the first time, or maybe this was hatred for tempting his brother away from their ruthless syndicate—although, it’s not like I’d really succeeded at that. But from the way his gaze stayed fixed on my face when he dipped his starlit jaw, reached over that muscular shoulder, and pulled an arrow out of his quiver…
I knew he was here for me.
Did that mean…? I gulped, my throat burning with terror. Did that mean Ryder was here, too? My chest ached as if it’d already been punctured.
In one breath, I might see him. In one breath, he might shoot me.
It was that night at the Boardwalk all over again, Ryder’s betrayal familiar and stabbing.
My eyes darted around the clearing—around the beasts and humans fleeing, the clash of teeth and steel from those fighting.
The wolves were outnumbered. The shadows consumed everything. I ground my jaw, my head snapping away from a crumpled body. Clearly, the Night Stalkers were here for more than a fight.
They came here to kill.
“River!” A familiar voice rang out amongst the others—desperate, screaming. Shanley. I met her stare. She violently patted at the air. “GET DOWN!”
I ducked just in time, the sharp tip of an arrow whistling over my head. It landed behind me, skittering across the stone. My heart flittered wildly, crashing against my ribs.
Adrenaline gathered in my chest, then expanded outward like a balloon, pain and pressure building and shooting to the scars on my shoulder blades, my fingers, the rest of my limbs—in between it all, a feeling I couldn’t mistake for anything else: a faint pulse of magic.
Maybe if I just wished, if I focused hard enough, I could unleash it like I had that night at the Boardwalk, even without my mom’s necklace—the conduit for my powers.
I narrowed my eyes, tracing over the little view I had of the forest behind the crescent-shaped rock, desperate to find a source of water in the darkness.
I was usually good at this, parsing through the environment, everything made clearer by my angel senses.
But the chaos, the blood, the tears, the screams… It was like a fuzzy, red filter had been smeared over the world, and I couldn’t see through it.
Back flush against the podium, I craned my neck, managing to catch a glimpse of Chet—the people who’d been restraining him were now cold lumps on the floor. Everyone around him had fled. Teeth bared, he glared up at the stage.
Something was off. He hadn’t run away.
I followed his line of sight. Despite the carnage, Elder Ivan hadn’t moved from his throne.
Seeing him there provided no relief, no matter how badly I wanted to believe that the leader of the werewolves was about to go claws-out and fight off the attackers.
But he was too still, too calm. The more I studied him, the more unease prickled my skin.
He wasn’t snarling, he was… smiling. Like he was proud.
An icy chill washed down my spine, seeping into my bones.
He was in on this. They both were.
Chet was no surprise. I didn’t know Ivan. The stings of betrayal I was feeling were more about the secrets that’d been whispered, kept from their own kin. This was supposed to be a safe space for wolves.
Finis had spewed the bogus idea of bridging the realms before I banished her to hers: angels and demons and every species all “coexisting” together by whatever means necessary—violence—and with Chthonia, the devil’s realm, in charge, of course… I guess I didn’t realize how far, how deep the message had spread.
