Page 105 of Broken Wolf Heart
Flashbulbs.
Gasps.
Shouted questions.
Not aimed at him anymore but at us. Like a wave surging, the sea of reporters suddenly flocks up the steps toward us.
Grey’s grip on my hand goes steel-tight.
“He did not just do that,” Mia hisses.
“Shit,” Dutch mutters.
I look out over the heads of the crowd and find Vincenzo already watching me. Our eyes lock, and his flush of triumph morphs into something darker. Smug. Vengeful.
He knew exactly what he was doing, letting those accusations against him build and build. All so he’d have their fullattention when he accused me of murder—the only thing worse than the things we’d said about him.
The adrenaline from our near-win is still thrumming inside me, but now it turns to nausea. Acid claws at my throat.
Because, for a minute there, I’d started to believe victory without a war was possible. Now, I remember what I should have never forgotten: Fighting men like Vincenzo will never be without bloodshed.
Not in this city. Not in this life.
And I might be a fool to wish for it now.
“Start walking,” Grey says, his voice low and insistent beside me.
I do.
He’s right—we can’t afford to linger. Not when Vincenzo’s just painted a bloody target on our backs with perfect media optics. He doesn’t have to prove we did anything. He only has to suggest it.
Let the public do the rest.
Reporters follow us all the way to the limo waiting. They press in around me, shouting questions, snapping pictures, demanding answers. I keep my head down and ignore them, clinging to Grey’s hand like a lifeline.
With Mia and Andy offering cover from behind, we reach the limo and slide into the backseat. Dutch climbs in front with Crow, who drives. Across from me in the backseat, Mia and Andy are both already pulling out their phones as they talk about how to “start spinning the narrative.”
Grey rests a hand on my thigh, grounding me as the car pulls away from the church and back into the city traffic. I glance over to find him staring out the window, jaw tight, his other hand clenched in a fist against his leg. His wolf is close. I can feel it in the air between us, simmering just below the surface. The darkness is there too. I can feel it through our mate bond like a toxic cloud.
But he hasn’t let go of me.
Not once.
And even if everything else feels like it’s slipping, his touch doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
His eyes cut to mine. “For what?”
“For believing we could win so easily. For thinking, if I gave the right speech or exposed the right lie, we could come out of this without more blood on the floor.”
His gaze softens, and he shifts to face me more fully. “You were right to hope.”
I shake my head. “Hope’s a liability in this game.”
“No,” he says, fierce now. Andy and Mia both look up from their phones. “Hope is what keeps us from becoming them. I need you not to lose yours.”
The words land harder than I expect. My throat tightens, but I nod.
