Page 55
Preston laughs. “The Old Laws? You’re invoking the Old Laws?”
“I claim her as my mate.”
Absolute silence.
Kaia’s eyes find mine across the room. Wide. Shocked. Something else I can’t read. We never discussed this, never talked about what it means, what it makes us. But the Old Laws are specific, absolute, and right now they’re the only thing standing between her and exile.
“The Old Laws supersede council authority.” Moira speaks carefully, each word measured. “If he’s claimed her as mate, we have no jurisdiction.”
“You can’t be serious.” Preston surges to his feet. Chair clatters backward. “He’s a monster. A daemon. You’re going to let him—”
“The Old Laws are clear. They predate the council, predate the town, predate most of us sitting at this table.”
Marcus’s voice rumbles like distant thunder.
“This is insane. You’re choosing a daemon over the safety of the town?”
Preston’s face is flushed, his composure cracking down the middle. “My father spent forty years on this council, bowing to the Old Laws, letting the Hollow dictate our future. And what did it get him? A town stuck in the past, afraid to grow, afraid to evolve.” His voice drops, bitter. “He died believing the old ways would save us. I won’t make the same mistake.”
“We’re honoring laws that kept our people safe long before we needed councils and meetings. Laws written in blood and magic when the world was young.”
Moira’s voice is steel.
Preston’s glamour flickers.
His eyes go full black. Deeper than mine, like staring into a void that goes down forever. His skin turns translucent, veins visible beneath like dark rivers, and something moves under the surface that isn’t blood.
Then the glamour snaps back. But everyone saw it.
Rowan recoils. Chair scraping backward. “You’ve been feeding on the Hollow’s barrier.”
“That’s impossible. The barrier would kill anything that tried to—”
Marcus stares at Preston like he’s seeing him for the first time.
“The barrier is outdated.” Preston’s voice has changed. Colder. More resonant. Like there’s an echo underneath. “This town needs progress, not ancient superstitions.”
“What have you done?”
The question tears out of me before I can stop it.
Preston turns. His smile is terrible.
“I’m working with outside developers. Real developers, with real money and real plans for this town’s future. The Hollow is wasted space. Valuable land sitting empty because people are too afraid of old stories.”
“The Hollow isn’t empty.” Rowan’s voice shakes. “You know what’s in there.”
“Exactly. Power. Raw, untapped power. We drain the swamp, pave it for condos, and harness what’s underneath. Controlled. Profitable. Useful.”
“You’ll kill us all.”
Moira’s whisper carries across the table.
“The old world is dying. Either evolve or get out of the way.”
Preston looks around the table at each of them in turn.
Marcus and Moira exchange glances. Some unspoken communication passing between them.
