20
While the others spar around us and rain continues to fall, I walk over to Portia, deciding to use my time with her to exercise my Truthseer abilities—but it’s kind of a waste because I’m not sure Portia has ever told a lie in her life.
Sitting within a thick garden of daffodils, Portia Montgomery waves her hand to transform the grass between us into tall stalks of dove-white umbels that shield us from the rain. Water bounces off the soft petals, landing inches away from our bodies until we go from soaking wet to merely damp.
“Your power,” I start, while she wiggles her fingers into claws. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You wouldn’t,” she says quietly, staring at those claws.
“My father is Duke of Canada. He completed his Drowning during the spring equinox on the night of a solar eclipse and was granted an ability none had seen before. Earthcharmer.” She strokes a bud of grass with a soft smile, and it sprouts into lavender between her claws.
“That’s incredible.”
“It is. The court hoped it would pass on to his seven eldest sons and one day my father would bloom power on every continent.” Portia sighs, and her claw accidentally sheers the lavender from its stem. “Instead, it only passed on to me.”
Truths. All truths.
Portia plucks up the shorn lavender and offers it to me. “May I?”
I nod, not knowing exactly what she’s asking but willing to take the chance.
Portia hasn’t lied to me yet. She hasn’t threatened or maimed me.
Being around her is as comfortable as I’ve been since my time alone with Oona, and in a place like this, that means something.
With nimble fingers, she undoes my damp ponytail before braiding the sprig of lavender through a lock of my hair, then another on the opposite side.
A flower crown. I touch the delicate petals tentatively, and she watches with a hopeful expression, her Beta-yellow eyes shining even in the darkness of the storm.
Once, I would’ve returned the favor. I would’ve braided lavender into her hair too, and we would’ve admired how the dusky purple looked against her dark curls. I am not that person anymore, however. Now, when I try to smile at her, it looks more like a grimace.
“Is that a bad thing?” I press. “That it passed to you instead of your brothers?”
“Depends on who you ask.” She leans back on her hands, those pretty curls blowing in the wind. “My father would tell you that this is a gift bestowed on us to usher the Montgomerys into a larger position in the Wolf Prince’s future pack. None of my brothers were offered the same opportunity.”
“What would you tell me?”
She smiles again. Softly. Sweetly. Without a single fang in sight. “That I’d rather worry about the politics of our environment than that of our court.”
“Oh.” I furrow my brow. But werewolves can’t leave their court, can they? They can’t leave their pack? That’s what Sin told me earlier. There’s no way out. I open my mouth to reaffirm this, but Portia cuts me off with an apologetic expression.
“I’m not the only one different here.” She points to my gaze, a thread of ivy twining around her finger. “Our powers—whatever they may mean in the long run—set us apart. This court… It needs us.”
I hear what goes unsaid— whether we like it or not .
Portia offers me a small smile. “If you’re going to spar with us, you really should learn how to control your body—at least some of it.
Claws and fangs will be your best friends against that lot.
” She nods to the training yard, to the grunting and tussling bodies of our lithe peers.
Sin has lost his shirt in his battle against our instructor—row after row of those impressive muscles drenched and dripping—but Instructor Shepherd has yet to draw blood.
Sin dodges the instructor’s next attack with absurdly fast reflexes, ducking and kicking the instructor’s legs out from under him.
Instructor Shepherd hits the ground with a loud thud, and Sin offers him a hand to help him up, but Instructor Shepherd uses the opportunity to throw Sin onto the ground with him.
They wrestle for a few more minutes. Fists flying, and then claws.
“Should we be worried about them?”
“No. Instructor Shepherd has only injured his students a few times and never any lasting bodily harm,” Portia says, as though that’s comforting.
“We should be worried about you. We have Combat and Conquest three times a week. If you can’t figure out faster reflexes, forget the infirmary.
Evie and Eric’s inner circle will send you to the grave. ”
She takes my hand abruptly, drawing lines out from my palm to my fingertips.
“Your claws grow from this center bone. In a full transition, this bone will crumble and remold into a paw, but outside of that you can lengthen your claws from your fingers. Think of it like stardust in your veins. It molds you into exactly who the universe has created you to be. You only have to summon it forth.”
I snatch my hand back. “It wasn’t the universe that made me this way.”
“I—I know.” Portia sucks in a breath, and the flowers above us wilt enough that rain leaks through their petals and onto our heads. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Vanessa.”
Another truth.
I tuck any loose tendrils of hair behind my ears and retie my ponytail, careful to keep the braids and lavender in place. Then I lower my voice. “Evie and Eric… are they typically violent?”
Portia exhales a gentle laugh, though her eyes crease with nervousness as snowdrops bloom between us. “They are werewolf royalty, Vanessa. What do you think?”
Worrying my lip between my teeth, I let my gaze flick back to the other werewolves.
They keep a safe distance from Evie and her friends, almost forming a semicircular boundary around them.
As though everyone in this castle is aware of the Lees’ wrath—of their potential for malice.
Especially where I’m concerned. I wipe anxious palms on my thighs.
“We aren’t raised like you were… like mortals.
Humans ,” Portia elaborates. “In a Wolf Court, violence is power. It is a tool to be used, a ladder one climbs toward glory. Those in charge must be fiercer than the rest.” She runs dainty fingers over faster-blooming petals.
“We are all playing a game here, and Evelyn and Eric need to be the best.”
Something in her words feels urgent as her honesty coils tighter in my chest. I lean forward, my pulse beating ferociously in my ears. “Do—do you know who bit me, Portia? Do you know who killed my friend?”
“Perhaps that’s enough training with Portia for today.” Sin claps a hand over Portia’s shoulder, kneeling beside us in all his shirtless glory. “I’m happy to take over from here, Montgomery. Why don’t you see if Calix needs help with the weapons?”
Portia glances at me, blinking rapidly and sputtering. But I don’t know if it’s Sin’s presence that’s got her flustered or my questions. I have a bad feeling it’s the latter.
“I—I… that’s probably for the best,” Portia says. “Sorry, Vanessa. Good luck.”
She leaps to her feet, and the flowers wither with her departure. Water deluges us from the umbel petals. I gape at her hasty retreat before turning my scowl onto Sin, wiping the rain from my face. “What the hell was that for?”
“You’re in the midst of the newest generation of the world’s most powerful wolves, and you’re interrogating one with barely a whisper. I’m trying to save you from imminent death.”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes and move to stand, but Sin captures my wrist and keeps me seated on the ground.
The storm has let up, but only a little.
Not enough to stop my vision from blurring against the downpour or to dry off Sin’s body.
I try not to stare. Try, but fail. He might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.
The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, regardless of gender or age.
Built like an angel, God’s favorite warrior.
And, unfortunately, he knows it. “If you have any questions, I’m here anytime. Day or, preferably, night.” He winks, and my scowl deepens.
“This isn’t funny to me, Sin.”
“It’s not funny to me either.” He tilts his head, quickly throwing on a brand-new shirt while studying my gaze. Waiting for me to acknowledge that he’s just told the truth. That he’s always honest—until he’s not. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere more private.” He gestures to Evie and Nettie, who huddle together against the side of the fort.
They’re whispering, stances wide and stiff as if they’re arguing, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
Maybe Sin can. I climb to my feet and follow Sin past the portico—past a glaring Calix and grinning Portia—and back into the castle. No one else notices us.
Thank god.
When we make it inside, he takes my hand, twining his fingers through my own. I glance down at the touch. My breath hitches, and my skin flames.
I should shake him off. Pull away from him. We could be seen at any moment, but Sin isn’t soft like Portia or even sincere like Oona. He’s powerful. Strong. And when he’s touching me, it almost feels as if he cares. Really, truly cares about me.
Which is ridiculous. The dumbest thing I’ve ever thought, if not also the cruelest. Celeste is dead, and I’m here for vengeance.
I’m only using Sin. That’s it. I’m using him, and so I have to hold his hand, and—and he’s the only one I know for sure is innocent; he’s the only one who can really help me.
I have to follow him into a darkened room off the entry corridor filled with…
oddities. I have to lean against his brutally hard and viciously wet body to avoid the glowing trident that rests by the door.
A faint hum emanates from it, and it shivers with bluish energy.
“Careful,” Sin murmurs, drawing me away from it.
“Instructor Alvarez imbued it with lightning last year, and now it electrocutes anyone it touches.”