his direction. I didn’t move a fucking inch, never wavering from the confident stance I held. My Basilisk hissed wildly in my mind, flooding my gums with venom. My teeth ached to extend, but I pushed back my shift with all the strength I possessed.
“Well then…” I motioned to Stepanov, as if giving him permission. “Please proceed. You have me on pins and needles,” I bluffed with feigned sarcasm, though deep down I was quaking, but letting any of these powerful mythologicals see my fear would be the end of me.
Maldonado laughed in hollow amusement, his thick accent ringing off the hallowed walls of the church. The dim lighting flooded in through the tall windows, the stained glass throwing beautiful color down on our morose party, adding false brightness and cheer to the gathering.
For a moment, all Ishida and Stepanov did was stare at me as if waiting for me to crack, so I crossed my arms and stared back, refusing to be the first to break.
Ishida growled when one side of Stepanov’s mouth pulled up in a crooked, evil grin before he turned his attention back to the wide-eyed fox shifter. I hated myself for the relief I felt to be out from under their oppressive attention, knowing full well things were not going to go smoothly for the fox.
“Treason will not be tolerated.” Stepanov tsked, cocking his head as he condemned the sweating man of the cloth. “Rahal.” He snapped his fingers, and Councilman Rahal pushed to the foreground as the preacher keened and began to blubber his innocence, but he was no match for the Aqrabuamelu.
In a blur, Rahal shifted, the bulk of his body growing in size until he was in his alternate form. Half man, half scorpion, he towered above us all, the wooden pews splintering under his weight. Eight legs arched from his frame, reminding me of a giant spider, while two arms with pinchers sprouted from his hips. His hard exoskeleton was black near the body, bleeding to a deep burgundy at the spikes that lined each appendage. A long tail curved up and over his shoulder, the deadly, sharp tip poised and pointed straight at the begging fox.
“Please, I... I don’t know what you’re talking about, I—” His words and his air were cut off violently as Rahal growled and grabbed the man with one of his pinchers, crushing his stomach and lungs in the process. “Please!” the preacher wheezed.
I swallowed hard, biting my tongue and flooding my mouth with blood to restrain myself from making a move on Rahal and forcing him to release the man. The bitter taste of my venom coated my mouth, mixing with my blood, as some leaked from my partially shifted fangs.
“What crimes do you hold against the preacher, Stepanov?” my father interjected, sounding tired by the entire ordeal.
“You question another member of the Council?” Maldonado growled in his thick, Puerto Rican accent, and my vision went red. All I could see was his maw as he destroyed Damien’s dad, his teeth bloodied as they ripped into him and stole his life.
“Is treason not enough, Williams?” The Koschei spun and glared at my father, his pale face flushing an angry red at having been questioned. Blond hair spilled across his forehead, but though his complexion was light, his aura was as dark as the inky depths of midnight.
“Of course it’s enough,” my father placated. “I’m simply asking what he did that was treasonous.”
Ishida hissed, his eyes flashing with manic madness as he waved his arms in the air, motioning around the otherwise empty church. “Colluding with rebels. Giving them refuge. Refusing to report their presence. Take your pick. All are punishable by death.”
Shit. This couldn’t be happening. All rebel activity was supposed to be occurring off the island. Ever since Nix had taken down Councilman Khan, the Council had begun raiding villages and destroying anyone they saw as a threat—though they’d never admit that regular shifters, even en masse, were threatening to them in any way. They went around spouting off nonsense about cleansing their ranks, ridding the commune and the shifter world of the rebels who were spreading poisonous ideals to others in an attempt to break down the peace of the Council’s rule. Somehow, they spun their numerous killings into tales of heroism, going so far as to hold court most evenings in which they had servants reenact the torture and death of the rebels as a type of dinner theater for the mythologicals