Page 63 of Shadow's Edge (Night Prowler 1)
“We are going to require some proof of this,” LeBlanc insisted again, his fingers pressed against the polished surface of the mahogany tabletop, his eyes a sharp, frozen green. “And we are going to require it now.”
The drawing room was silent except for the faint echo of the orchestra drifting in from the other end of the manor and the irregular breathing of agitated men. It was much darker here than in the rest of the house, and cooler. There were no windows to let in the light during the day, no fireplace to blaze against the chill of the evening.
They were seated in chairs pulled hastily from every corner of the room, a rough circle of nineteen with three of the four Alphas at one long table like judges on the bench.
Jenna stood alone before them, her skin pale and luminescent against the carnelian gown and the blue and charcoal shadows surrounding her. Here in the dim, close confines of the drawing room, she glowed like a morning star.
But her eyes, Leander thought, watching her carefully. Her glittering eyes collected the dim light and sent it flying back at them all like the flash of knives in a cave.
For the past twenty minutes, Jenna had feinted and danced around their questions, seeming to enjoy the growing tension and frustration of the men seated before her. Aside from Leander, she was the only one standing.
She had refused LeBlanc’s direction to take a seat with a simple, succinct no.
She seemed to have absolutely no idea of the danger she was putting herself in. He had seen Ikati imprisoned and punished for far, far less than this brazen display of disrespect.
“Are you?” Jenna mused. She raised her eyebrows, a shadow of disdain curving her lips.
“Yes,” LeBlanc said, adamant, sitting forward. He pressed his palms on the table now and began to rise to his feet. “You simply must Shift in front of the Assembly. We cannot just take your word for it—”
“And what about the word of the Alpha of Sommerley, Lord McLoughlin?” Jenna interrupted. Her disdain for the man flattened her lips, thickening the air between them. She let her gaze drift to where Leander stood against the far wall of the drawing room. He leaned, arms crossed, tense and silent, in the shadows cast from a large breakfront, shadows that would hide his expression—and his eyes.
“Won’t you take his word as proof? Are you calling him a liar?”
Leander heard LeBlanc grind his teeth together and smiled in grim satisfaction to himself. She was clever. Whatever LeBlanc’s answer, he either conceded defeat or admitted treason. The Law didn’t allow for Alphas to openly challenge each other without provoking a fight to the death.
Another voice interrupted, and the room turned to him. Viscount Weymouth.
“No one is impugning Lord McLoughlin here, Lady Jenna—he has vouched for your ability, as well as your motives. But the Law demands proof, and your continued objection puts you in quite a precarious position. We are living in dangerous times...we must know your loyalties and learn your Gifts, if you have any, especially since it will be so easy for you to provide any kind of proof. You are either Ikati or you are not. You are either with us or against us.”
Murmurs of assent were heard around the room. Leander saw nodding heads and smug looks of congratulation passed from face to face.
With a flush of anger that brought the blood to his face, Leander curled his hands into tight fists. Morgan was right. These men were nothing more than posturing idiots, enamored by the sound of their own voices, too complacent with unchallenged control and authority to have any empathy or humility left. They ruled only for themselves, for their own pleasure and comfort and egos.
For the first time in his life, Leander felt that perhaps it was time for a change.
“The Law,” Jenna repeated, mocking. “Right. You can never escape the death grip of your perfect, shining, barbaric Law.”
She stared at them all with eyes of frost...then her gaze found Leander across the room.
All at once the calculated nonchalance seemed to drain away from her face, leaving it open and naked, as if the layers of an onion had been peeled back to reveal its tender core. Her eyes shone clear and bright, her smile faded to the barest, melancholy lift of her lips. Her voice, when it came, hovered just above a whisper.
“I almost feel sorry for you. You don’t know what you’re missing. You don’t know how amazing it is to be...free.”
A giggle from another dark corner of the room. Leander knew at once it was Morgan, though he didn’t turn to look.
“Leander has told the Assembly that you Shifted before your birthday, Lady Jenna,” someone said sharply, ignoring the muffled laugh from Morgan.
Leander cut his gaze to the heavily accented voice.
Durga, the Baron Bhojak, Alpha from Nepal.
He sat in front of Jenna, in the center of the table, his hands folded across the swell of his belly, legs splayed out in front of him, his posture that of someone bored entirely by the proceedings. But Leander knew better. Durga had earned himself a reputation for running his colony with an iron fist. He was old-school, a hard-liner, a purist. The Law above all.
“Did he?” she murmured, still looking at Leander with those glittering eyes. It sent a tremor straight through his core. You don’t know what you’re missing...
“Yes. This is...unusual. Highly unusual. Incredible, actually.” Durga brushed an invisible piece of lint from the lapel of his black suit jacket and kept his gaze lowered as he continued. “I do not recall, at least in my lifetime, a single instance of a half-Blood Ikati Shifting before their twenty-fifth birthday.”
There was an open challenge in his voice. Leander watched as she moved her gaze to Durga and tilted her head to the side, considering him in silence.
