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Ze’ev isn’t on the stage, but Arwan is whispering to Godric in the corner as they keep an eye on me from a safe distance.
A shiver works up my spine as to what could possibly be illuminating Arwan’s irises like that.
Do not fucking agree because you’re a hornball, I think with all my might as I glower back at him.
He winks at me, sending butterflies flipping through my stomach.
Arwan is wearing silver chains decorating his lean frame, showing off his muscular arms as each strand fights against his movements. He seems particularly smug about whatever he’s settled with Godric as the pack master crosses his arms. Arwan does the same, sending his chains pinching around his arms.
I don’t miss the subtle reference to the golden chain that’s embedded in my skin. I’m wearing one of the candidate dresses in sheer white with little chains of my own draped over me like fine lace. They pleasantly tinkle as I move.
Godric, however, isn’t polished like the royals. He wears loose-fitting pants and an open white shirt that shows off his scars and tattoos. His new pack crest rests on his chest, and I stare at it, wondering what it would be like to undo all this, to participate in the games and win, and mate all three of the males.
But that can’t happen.
My tangled emotions freeze as a powerful new player enters the room and shadows darken the edges of the ceiling.
King Njord’s presence makes a hush roll over the crowd. He surveys the pack and the series of sponsors lined up on the stage, then glances at the row of candidates, where I’m standing.
Sparks tingle over my skin as if tiny needles are testing me, and now I know what it is.
It’s him.
There’s an energy signature that envelops the entire isle, and King Njord is the origin of it. He has his fingers locked into every spirit that crosses into his kingdom, and nothing happens without his say-so. He’s that persistent cough after a cold, the ache in the back of my throat, and a sickness that makes me queasy every time I think I’ve shaken it. I rarely was sick because of growing up in the Magic Sector, but it would happen on occasion.
King Njord is everywhere.
He knows exactly what I’ve been up to.
He’s been watching.
Which means all of this has been a game to him the entire time.
When his dead, colorless eyes flash to me, I drop my gaze only because it feels like he can somehow crawl inside me and see my dark secrets when he does that.
“He’s creepy as hell,” Sofia whispers, only to earn an elbow jab from one of the other girls.
“And he can probably hear you,” she chides.
We all fall silent as an announcer takes over the room with a booming voice.
“Monsters and madams, Nomination Night shall commence!”
A cheer erupts at the announcer’s declaration, his voice amplified throughout the area as cameras and lights emerge from nowhere.
I stare at them, stunned.
“Looks like the show is about to begin,” Sofia whispers as she takes my hand. She doesn’t tremble. She’s a ball of steel as she keeps her gaze locked on her sponsor.
He’s watching her, too.
We’ve come a long way from those scared little girls cowering in the bottom of a slave vessel. Sofia has changed.
And as I take in Arwan’s and Godric’s eyes on me, I know that I’ve changed, too.
“Let the Nominations begin!” the announcer says, and a camera sweeps over us. Usually, a shifter has one of the heavy pieces of equipment on his shoulder, but Nomination Night must come with an upgrade because now the cameras are flying through the air, presumably powered by magic.
Or him, I decide as I frown at King Njord, who grins. His teeth are rotten, and he seems like a corpse barely able to take a breath as he surveys the crowd. His spiked crown spears through his scraggly hair, and his ringed fingers twist as if he’s directing the invisible strings that work his puppets.
