There’s a pulse at the back of my head, something that sometimes shows up right before something intense happens.
Suddenly the microphone is passed to someone in the back, and a question is asked.
"Why has Malden Pharmaceuticals started getting involved in military matters, and what is your stance on NFH’s actions?"
My whole body tightens. I know it’s coming, and I keep my 5-sec skill active the entire time.
Blue starts answering, but after just a couple of sentences, I see it.
A vision.
A man in the back jumps up, shouting, "Down with True Mates!"
He throws two balloons toward the panel, one filled with colored pigment, the other with paint mixed with water.
In my vision, I see them bursting over the panelists, over Blue, color exploding into the air.
I decide I’m not letting that happen.
Next to me, leaning against the wall, there’s a large event billboard displaying the event name and a list of panelists.
The moment the man lifts his arm, I lean across Blue’s chair, grab him, and hoist him up in one swift motion, pivoting and sliding him behind the board just as the balloons hit the table and burst over the panelists.
Blue stays completely untouched, not a single drop lands on him, even though plenty of it hits me.
I turn and see the man pushing through the crowd, trying to escape. Oh, I’m not letting that happen.
With a growl befitting a full-blooded, pissed-off alpha, I jump onto the table, stepping through the colored powder, and activate my skill to its full capacity, calculating the exact path I need to take to cut the attacker off. The only effective option is moving across the tops of the seats, right by people’s heads, so that’s exactly what I do.
I leap from one seat back to another, drawing startled cries from people as my feet land right beside their heads and shoulders.
And I reach him.
With one sharp, brutal movement, I twist his body and slam him to the ground, wrenching his arm back hard enough to draw an impossibly piercing scream from him.
Wow. I barely recognize myself.
Not long ago, I was on the other side, one of them, protesting at events like this, and now…
If Marcel could see me, he’d lose it.
The guy keeps screaming. His shoulder must be dislocated. Fortunately, venue security rushes in and takes over restraining him, so I can finally let go and stand up.
My eyes meet those of the people around me, many agitated, many aggressive, some frightened by the unexpected commotion, but I ignore them with haughty indifference.
Instead, I turn toward Blue, who is stepping out from behind the board.
He’s looking straight at me now. Across the room, our eyes meet.
There’s a peculiar energy passing between us.
I leave the man with venue security and push my way through the crowd back toward Blue.
Every other panelist is covered head to toe in paint and powder, swearing like crazy.
Only Blue is untouched, and I feel a strange kind of pride because of it.
The host looks furious, trying to say something while nervously tapping the microphone, but it’s clearly been splashed and shorted out.
