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The lead operative glanced back at her and grinned. “You know the one. It’s where they always have you guys for the premiere. It’s up ahead another block.”
That was when I noticed the noise. A steady, humming roar of hundreds, maybe thousands of voices.
“Do you hear that?” I whispered to Crew and Eli.
They nodded, and Eli frowned in confusion. “Is it a riot or something? It sounds like lots of people.”
“Not a riot,” one of the operatives said with a malicious grin. “It’s justice.”
He said no more, leaving us to figure out what that meant. When we rounded the corner, some of what he said became clear. It definitely wasn’t a riot. Thousands of people stood inthe main city square of Fangmore City around a massive stage, similar to the one we’d all been on the night of the premiere. The difference was this one wasn’t quite as tall, and it had obviously been slapped together at the last minute. Instead of immaculate wood, stainless steel, lights, and crystal fixtures, this looked more like a giant hangman’s tower from a hundred years ago. Plain two-by-fours and plywood had been hammered together to make a half-assed stage.
“What the hell is this?” August asked. “What are they watching?”
The crowd was nothing like what I’d seen at the premiere, either. These people weren’t the lowly plain folk who were simple fans of a TV show. No, they were all families from the upper-level packs. It was ridiculous that they were all huddled away here, rubbing elbows while their packs were out fighting each other. Another fucking sham that proved the highest levels of pack society were so corrupt, they could do something like this. The First Pack had been ordering attacks on the Second Pack’s factions while both pack leaders were hanging out here, sipping fucking wine together. They didn’t give a damn that innocent people were dying. Why would they care when their mansions and yachts would all be fine and dandy once it all blew over?
I heard the familiar drone of those hovering cameras that had plagued us on Bloodstone Island. If I’d had a rock, I’d have thrown it at one of them.
“You call this justice?” Kira said. “What does that mean? What is all this for?”
An operative pointed at the stage. “This is where the acolytes who fucked everything up are going to be cross-examined before they’re executed.”
Kira looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Cross-examined? By whom?”
“Callista Oborin,” the soldier said with a grin. “She’s using her psychic powers to determine who among them is guilty and who’s innocent of intentionally messing up the bloodwork. It’s like you said on the show, we all knew it was messed up. We just didn’t have the guts to drag these sorry shits out and expose them. Man, I wouldn’t want to be those guys.”
“So, she’s the judge and jury?” Kira bit out. Neither of us had any love lost for Callista after the way she’d pushed Kira at the mega-fans event.
“Yup. If they’re the slightest bit guilty, then everyone gets the pleasure of watching the scumbags getting killed off on live television. Those pieces of shit will get what’s coming to them for ruining people’s lives and their chances at true love.”
“This is such bullshit,” Kira muttered, anger dripping from every word.
It was disgusting. We’d learned enough to be pretty sure the acolytes had nothing to do with the faked fated mated pairings. Or if they did, it was because Heline herself had ordered it. These people were being psychically tortured and would be murdered for a lie.
Something tickled the back of my mind a ball of fiery emotion. So strong that I stopped walking for a moment to collect myself. Rage. Bitter and violent anger. Uncontrollable. A small gasp escaped my throat as I realized what it was.
“Kira, no!” I called out a moment too late.
Her hot-headed nature had won out at the worst possible time. She shoved the guard next to her aside, and the man tripped and fell into the next closest operative. Kira bolted toward the crowd of shifters.
The men shouted and called after her, but she was too fast, too driven. She plunged into the crowd and pushed forward, elbowing her way toward the stairs leading to the stage.
“What the hell is she doing?” Eli demanded.
“Something stupid,” I said through gritted teeth, and shouldered my own guard away.
The operatives, already confused by Kira’s flight, struggled to get their bearings I rushed into the crowd after her. There was no way I would let her do another dangerous thing without me by her side.
The upper-pack shifters murmured their annoyance as Kira and I pushed forward. Curses and pissed-off mutterings slowly shifted to chittering exclamations as person after person began to recognize us. Once the word spread, the crowd parted, allowing us free access to the stairs. Behind us, I could still hear our escorts arguing with each other.
“You really know how to make an already dangerous plan more dangerous. You know that, right?” I said to her, taking her hand in mine.
“Danger is relative, Wyatt. Besides, I can’t stand for this.”
With that, we took to the stairs, ascending to find four acolytes tied to crosses, their hands and feet bound with leather straps. The four men were covered in sweat, thrashing and moaning as Callista Oborin stood before them, glaring. This was not the subtle, gentle probing she’d tried with me during our interview. This was torture. She was shoving into these men’s minds, uncovering every secret they had in the most brutal way possible. It made me sick to see it.
Magical cameras, summoned by some producer offstage, swooped low to get a good look at Kira and me. The murmurs of the crowd had replaced the awful cheering and jeers that had been egging Callista on. Tearing her attention from the four men, she whirled around at the interruption. Her supermodel face was twisted in a sneer of sadistic glee, showing the true person beneath the famous glamor. A monster. When she saw us, her countenance of rage and brutality vanished, replaced with abject confusion and shock.
“Wyatt? Kira? You…uh…you’re alive?”
