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“Who let the woman have the mic?”
But I also notice it is only the males closest to the omegas in the back.
Presumably, only the ones I’d just called out have a problem being called out.
But wolves don’t stand by and let others suffer. So let ‘em yell and shake their fist. I don’t give a good goddamn.
Jaxson rushes to the front of the platform. “Packs, packs! Let’s talk about this rationally and respectfully.”
“Why?” a furious and loud wolf calls out from the back. “You brought these strangers here to preach youragenda. It’s only right you should hear us out.”
A round of cheering “yeahs” resounds around him.
“Not harming omegas isn’t a fucking agenda, Donald!” Jaxson snarls back.
Behind me, Jonah squeezes my shoulder and leans close to my ear. “I’m really proud of you, Willa. You’ve got more guts in your little finger than I do in my whole body.”
“Thank you,” I say and pat his hand. But I don’t relish in that spark of validation.
Because something is off.
Jonah’s skin feels pocked beneath my hand, like he’s broken out in goosebumps suddenly.
“What's wrong?” I ask.
Drago’s low growl rattles through me like a bass drum. I turn to find him crouched, tracking the tree line and sky for threats.
I glance at Rafe, something I’d been actively trying not to do. But he too, is searching the distance for something.
My hackles raise as well, but I don’t know why. I can’t see or scent anything.
The woods go still. Eerily quiet.
Until the silence is pierced with the screaming of wolves.
Chapter23
Swan Song
It happens so fast,we don’t have time to hide or find cover in the tree line.
Claudia barely gets her cloaking spell up before an arc of arterial blood splashes across the platform.
Rafe and Jonah huddle close, their backs to me, still searching for the threat no one has seen yet. Just the blood and broken bodies it leaves behind.
From between them, I see a pair of tree trunk-sized legs walking steadily toward the carnage instead of away.
Tree-trunk legs like…
“Drago!” I hiss his name, hoping he hears me, desperate for him to come back to me. But he doesn’t turn. He makes no sign he heard me at all.
“Show yourself, vile scourge!” he screams into the night.
What is he doing? “Drago, please! Come back. I need you here.” More screams drown out my plaintive cries, and a familiar presence filters into my mind.
He’s made for this, Willa.Rafe’s deep, steady voice echoes in my head. But I can’t take solace in that. Not when Drago’s out there trying to be GI Joe wolf or something.
What’s that supposed to mean? Just because he’s big, he should fight every monster out there?
