“What?” Shanley hunched forward, resting her elbows on her bouncing knees. Hair had started to sprout from her ears. Oh, God. She was unraveling. This wasn’t good. “Respectfully—this is bullshit. Wolves are bound by honor and truth. How can you even entertain these lies?”
“Silence!” Ivan’s voice cracked off the massive rock formation like thunder. “You’ve had your time to speak.”
“Hardly,” Shanley grumbled. The Elder met her with a vicious stare.
Jesalynn cut in. “Regardless of who started it, we still have a very dangerous situation on our hands. A mortal has Turned, and the stories do not match up.”
“You’re right, Elder Jesalynn.” Chet smiled. It was disarming. “I’m the victim here. I was bitten. What reason would I have to lie?”
All the hair on the back of my neck prickled. Of course I knew Chet was lying but I didn’t get his motive. He’d absorbed all the strength and power he could ask for—he’d been granted a brand-new life. Shanley was trying to take the fall anyway. What was his play?
“Shanley has been part of this pack since she was a pup. Lying is not in her nature.” The Elder interlocked her fingers. “That said, I also know her loyalty is boundless and fierce.”
“I think it’s time we call up witnesses,” another Elder chimed in, his chin sharp and jutting, brows wiry and thick.
“Yes.” Jesalynn nodded in agreement. “The fledgling has made his statement.”
“Very well,” Ivan said.
Pangs of fear zapped my stomach.
“Who are we calling to the stand first?” Jesalynn asked.
Shanley stood, the breeze of her swift movement brushing my arm. “I’d like to invite my guest, River Harlow.”
The single other woman on the council took me in in one swift, speculative glance. “An outsider?”
“Ah.” Ivan clicked his tongue. “The Nephilim.”
Interesting tone there, but it wasn’t the first time someone spat the term at me like it was something to be ashamed of. I shrugged it off, choosing to focus on my breaths instead, keeping them even and deep.
Jesalynn pursed her lips. “Nephilim do not hold court here.”
“With all due respect, River’s more of a pack member than that mongrel is. She was there at the bonfire.” Shanley’s gaze turned glassy. “And on the receiving end of his antics.”
“These are Pack politics, not Empyrean.” Jesalynn tilted her chin, a tiny display of empathy. “Given the size of this gathering, I’m sure many others witnessed the altercation. Surely one of them is willing to take the stand?”
I gulped, a ball of fear lodging itself in my throat. Leaning back in my seat, I glanced down my row at Antonio, his head bowed.
“None of us had even heard of Chet before that night,” Shanley continued. “River has known him for years. If anyone can provide a true testament to his character, it’s her.”
“Regardless of their history, she does not hold the lycanthrope gene, therefore her words are inadmissible in this c?—”
“I’ll allow it.” Ivan waved his hand before resting it back under his chin.
Jesalynn swiveled in her seat. “On what grounds?”
“Amendment to article fifteen of the Werewolf Accords—added after the turf war with the vampires in the eighties.”
A silver-haired Elder whistled, muttering, “Bloody time for those involved.”
Jesalynn’s face froze, incredulous.
Ivan shrugged, almost nonchalant. His eyes darted to Chet, who was still standing at the podium, something relayed in that narrowed stare.
Turning to face forward, Jesalynn asked Chet directly, “And what is your relationship to this witness?”
He brushed a wavy strand out of his face. “River and I have a complicated history.”
