Page 69

"We're in this together," I repeat, but it sounds hollow now.

"Of course we are." Another too-bright smile. "Now go save Chicago, Morvane. That's what you do best."

"I'm serious, Rene. I'll be back soon." I step close enough to force her to feel the importance of the words. Reaching into my pocket, I take out a small leather cord holding a smooth, pale moonstone—a relic passed down through my line for generations—and set it into her palm. "This carries my wolf's energy. It’s a protection amulet, so keep it on you. Lynn's sending two of her best to watch the perimeter while we're gone, but if anything trips the wards or if you need me, this will act as a beacon. I'll know before the alert even finishes sounding."

She gives a tight nod and clutches the amulet against her breastbone, but I tread restlessly all the way out the door, hating the distance growing with every step. An hour later, that protective anxiety is forced to the background as I stand in front of the imposing glass and steel of the council building, my phone buzzing with confirmations from allies across the city. But all I can think about is how Serenity looked at me like she was memorizing my face.

Kellan insisted on coming despite the fact that stair-climbing forces his white knuckles around the railing, the pain-numbing magic wearing thin. "You need someone watching your back in that viper pit," he'd argued, and the loyalty runs deep enough in our bloodline that I know better than to fight it. We enter the building. The elevator doors slide open into the room, exposing a nightmare dressed as a press conference. Cameras line the council chamber, their lenses trained on a podium where Director Cliffe stands beside a man I recognize with gut-churning clarity—Gideon Night. The steel-eyed bastard who orchestrated my pack's destruction wears a perfectly tailored suit and the expression of someone delivering justice to the masses.

"What the hell is this?" Kellan mutters beside me.

Before I can answer, Cliffe spots us and gestures toward two chairs positioned directly in the camera's sight line. "Mr. Morvane, and the younger Mr. Morvane. Please, join us."

Every instinct screams trap, but backing down now would look like guilt. I force my shoulders to relax as we cross the room, ignoring the huddle of reporters leaning forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the supernatural press," Gideon's address projects perfectly across the chamber, "we're here today to address the tragic execution of Elder Morwen, Tariq Vickens, and Councilwoman Furo and the escalating crisis threatening Chicago's paranormal community."

A reporter with vampire-pale skin raises her hand. "Is it true that Serenity Crowe has been linked to every major magical incident in the past month?"

"Ms. Crowe has been present at several crime scenes, yes." Gideon's tone suggests reluctant honesty. "Her unique magical signature has been detected at locations where civilians have been injured or killed."

"That's because she's been investigating the attacks," I interrupt, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "Not causing them."

"Mr. Morvane." Gideon turns those cold eyes on me, and I see satisfaction flickering behind the professional mask. "Your professional relationship with Ms. Crowe is well documented. Perhaps your judgment has been... compromised?"

"My judgment is fine." I lean back in the chair, projecting calm while every instinct in me fights against being caged. "What's compromised is this council's ability to protect its own citizens."

A shifter reporter from the Tribune jumps in. "Mr. Morvane, witnesses report Ms. Crowe unleashed devastating magical attacks during the nightclub incident. How do you explain that level of destruction?"

"And what about the live execution of three supernatural leaders?" another reporter shouts. "Malachai Vey demanded Serenity Crowe's surrender. Is her refusal to turn herself in putting the entire community at risk?"

"She was defending herself against assassins who'd already killed multiple people, and she is the only one actively fighting this threat." I meet the camera directly, and my eyes reflect the studio lights. "Would you prefer she let them finish the job and tear the city apart?"

"The question," Gideon interjects smoothly, "is whether someone with that level of uncontrolled power should be walking free among civilians."

"Uncontrolled?" I stand, and the temperature in the room drops several degrees as my heightened senses push closer to the surface. "The only thing uncontrolled here is a council that's more interested in scapegoating than solving problems."

Cliffe raises a placating hand. "Mr. Morvane, please⁠—"

"No." I step toward the podium, and cameras swivel to follow. "You want to talk about threats to Chicago? Let's discuss the underground coven that's been kidnapping paranormals for ritual sacrifice. Let's talk about the council members who've been feeding information to terrorists."

Gideon's face hardens almost imperceptibly. "Those are serious accusations⁠—"

"They're facts." I take out my phone and scroll to the evidence photos. "Serenity Crowe has risked her life repeatedly to expose the real threat while this council sat on its hands."

"Even if that were true," the vampire reporter presses, "how do we know Ms. Crowe isn't connected to the coven herself? The Crowe bloodline has always been⁠—"

"Finish that sentence." The threat vibrates in the air, a raw growl that makes several reporters flinch. "Go ahead and tell everyone what you really think about witch bloodlines."

Kellan touches my arm in warning, but I'm past caring about diplomacy.

"Serenity Crowe has done more to protect this city than your entire council combined. While you've been playing politics, she's been stopping massacres. If you want to waste time persecuting the one person actually solving the problem, that says everything about where your priorities lie."

The chamber erupts as reporters shout questions and council members whisper behind cupped hands, while camera operators continually jockey for better angles. But I'm watching Gideon. The satisfaction behind his smug expression radiates clearly now. He wanted this specific outcome. The bastard manipulated the situation to get me on camera defending Serenity publicly while he painted her as the threat. Every word I spoke played directly into his narrative.

"No more questions," I bark into the microphone, the alpha authority in my voice overriding the noise before I step away from the podium.

Kellan catches my arm as we push through the lingering press scrum toward the exit. "That went well," he mutters, his sarcasm razor-thin.