Changed by Fire (Phoenix Rising #6) - Harper Wylde Page 0,36

invited to attend, their wine flowing as freely as the blood they spilled each week.

If there was something, anything, I could do to prevent another massacre from happening, I’d gladly do it, even if it increased their scrutiny of me. I’d already told Ciarán I was ready to leave, I’d just add that it wasn’t safe for me to continue with this charade any longer and get the fuck out.

“Rebels?” It was dangerous to question three members of the Council, but if there was any way to sow doubt regarding their accusations, I had to try. “I don’t see anyone else here but us.” My arms splayed wide as I looked around the empty, half destroyed church, my voice the only sound—other than the harsh breathing of the preacher—echoing off the tall ceilings.

“You have much to learn, boy.” If anyone could sound blithe while still scolding someone, it was Maldonado. Before I knew it, he was next to me. His strong hand clasped the back of my neck and he dragged me forward, weaving around Rahal’s legs as the Aqrabuamelu hauled the preacher outside, the blood dripping from the fox’s crushed body staining the white snow crimson. The way Rahal’s legs clicked incessantly on the wooden floor as he left the building sent chills down my spine. If people thought basilisks were unsettling, they should really get a look at that scorpion asshole.

“Is manhandling my son truly necessary?” my father hissed, as he followed after us, and I knew his Basilisk was right under his skin, as was mine. I’d been holding my alter back this whole time, and now that I was in Maldonado’s grasp, it was all I could do to keep my fangs from fully descending in a partial shift. One bite. One fucking little bite and I would have Maldonado writhing on his ass.

The temptation was so fierce that I gnashed my teeth together to keep my incisors from lengthening any further. This movement was bigger than me and my need for revenge. Besides, Stepanov would kill me before his friend even hit the floor.

“Relax, Drake,” Stepanov advised, addressing my father by his first name. “The boy asked. We’re merely showing him and answering his question.”

Shrugging off Maldonado’s hold, I followed him to the pulpit where he kicked back a hastily thrown rug and sneered at the clear outline of a rectangular door cut from the floorboards. I wanted to growl as he yanked it open. Stepanov stood over the opening with vile smugness plastered across his features.

I barely reacted as the sound of a gunshot echoed off the walls of the church, my ears ringing from the proximity of the blast. Stepanov snarled in pain, and I glanced up, wide-eyed, to see the ragged hole ripped through the center of his robe, blood already seeping out to make the scarlet color darker.

Fury transformed Maldonado’s face from scary to downright terrifying, and he began to shift before racing down the steep, rough cut stairs into the dank basement below. Shouts filled the cellar as I rushed down after him just in time to see him strike down the shifter who’d fired the shot. The gun clattered to the floor as Maldonado ripped into the rebel, his blood running in rivulets along the concrete before the Councilman discarded his limp body like an old ragdoll.

Ishida hummed a happy tune behind me, uncaring of the carnage he’d just witnessed as he grabbed hold of another rebel and hauled him up the stairs. Maldonado and I followed, each clutching our own prisoner, the corpse left behind without a thought.

“See, I told you. A gathering of rebels,” Ishida told Stepanov, his voice wavering as the man he held struggled to get free of his grasp.

“Get your hands off of me!” The shifter Maldonado held fought, his blond hair falling across his forehead as he tried to lean forward and pry himself out of the Manananggal’s grasp.

I briefly wondered why the one in my hands stood rigid, refusing to fight for freedom when my grip was less than intense. Was he scared from watching his friend die a violent death, or was he simply proud of the side he stood on in this impending war, willing to go down for the rebellion rather than live under the tyranny of the Council?

“You thought you could kill me?” Stepanov sneered, ripping open his robe to display his rapidly healing skin, his body knitting itself back together before our eyes. “I am death, you