Before I can panic about it, Kane puts his hand on my lower back and steers me down the makeshift aisle in the middle of the room toward a chair set at the far end of it. Unlike the other foldable chairs, this one faces the audience.

My breath hitches.

“It’s okay,” Kane whispers to me. “Like you said to Nero, we’re friends here.”

I draw in a deep breath, ignoring my growing queasiness. When we’re nearly to my seat, an adolescent girl steps away from the nearby wall and approaches me.

My brows come together as I take in her familiar features before recognition sets in.

“Cara?” I say tentatively.

She nods, and suddenly we’re hugging, and I can feel her shaking in my arms as she sobs a little against me.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

I hug her tighter and nod. I don’t really know what to say except, “I couldn’t leave you.” Not to those supernaturals.

Eventually, she pulls away to take me in.

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” I admit, my eyes roving over her face.

The last time I laid eyes on her, she’d been mostly unconscious. To see her now, healthy and whole, is…indescribable.

She reaches out and wipes away wetness from my cheek. That’s when I realize I’m crying. Her touch is a familiar sort of gesture, one you’d do with someone you’re close to. I feel the barest hint then of what it means to be pack. The affection, the care, the bonds between members, bonds that have nothing to do with spells but instead with love and loyalty.

“I had to meet you,” she says. “I didn’t…” Her throat works. “I didn’t remember much from that night. I thought I dreamed you up.” She gives my forearms a squeeze, then backs away. With a final smile, Cara retreats to the nearby wall.

Kane is still there, waiting a short distance away. When I catch his eye, he nods to the seat set out for me. I glance at it, then blow out a breath, my heart beginning to pick up again. It doesn’t help my nerves that everyone can hear it.

Reluctantly, I sit down and let my eyes wander across the full room. The air around the lycans shimmers a little like a heat wave, and I feel my own instincts screaming at me that I’m in a den of predators.

Kane sits down in an empty chair in the first row across from me, next to several older men and women.

One of those older individuals—a ruggedly handsome man with caramel-colored skin who looks to be somewhere in his late forties—now speaks.

“Selene Bowers, welcome to the Marin Pack.”

I nod, smiling tightly.

“I’m Vincent Vilanova, alpha and leader of the Marin Pack, and I have heard quite a lot about you since you rescued Cara a couple of weeks ago.”

I give another tight smile, trying to smother my instincts, which still fully believe I’m surrounded by wolves, not people.

“I assume Kane filled you in on why you’re here.”

My gaze darts to my former crush, and I nod again.

“Good, good,” Vincent says, glancing at the crowd. “I’ve spoken at length with my pack, but I will fill everyone in again so that we’re all on the same page,” he says, turning more fully to face the room. “Selene Bowers is a witch attending Henbane Coven. Kane Halloway attended Peel Academy with her a couple years ago, and the two were friends.”

Um, more like he starred in all my teenage fantasies while (I assumed) he had no idea I existed.

But whatever. We were friends.

“A couple of weeks ago, Selene saved Cara Gutierrez from a binding ceremony that would’ve given another supernatural complete power over Cara’s free will. Such things are called forced bonds.”

My gaze slides to Cara just as the girl dips her head and stares at her feet.

“Kamal, who found Selene and Cara just inside our boundary line, said that Cara was unconscious and smelled of toxins, and Selene was bloody and badly injured.”

I chew the inside of my lip and try not to fidget as I feel the room collectively scrutinize me. It’s one thing to have lived through that night, another to hear it laid bare before an audience.

“We’ve all seen other indications that something sinister is happening on coven land. Lots of late-night movement, sightings of a seemingly living creature that doesn’t have a pulse or carry a scent.”

I start at that description. Could he be talking about that clay creature I destroyed that night?

“And of course the murders—murders that Selene here was considered a prime suspect in up until a few days ago.”

I feel my cheeks heat. I thought being praised in front of a crowd was uncomfortable; turns out that’s nothing compared to having to sit here while my dirty laundry is aired out to an avid audience.

Vincent continues. “Evidence indicates Selene was framed, which means the true killer is still out there, likely still hunting witches. This is all happening in our backyard. It’s important to me—to many of us—that those supernaturals who put their lives at risk to protect our pack mates are extended our protection, especially at a time like this, when their own kind are under threat.”

The Marin Pack alpha turns to me, and I think this might be it—Vincent will announce the pack’s friendship and the meeting will be over. I might even be able to scurry back to Henbane before curfew.

Instead, he says, “Selene, we would love to hear what you have to share about the night you saved Cara. Would you be willing to tell us about what happened?”

Right. Shit. Sitting up here and staring out at the crowd, I nearly forgot that this was the main thing they wanted to hear about from me.

“Of course.” I take a deep breath, collecting my thoughts, but Vincent holds up a finger.

“One moment, Selene.” He steps over to the massive, unlit fireplace behind me and grabs a vial resting on the mantel. A moment later, he shows it to me.

My stomach drops the moment I see the shimmery green liquid.

“This is a truth potion,” Vincent says, telling me what I already know. “Would you be willing to drink this before answering our questions?”

I hesitate.

They don’t trust witches, I tell myself, but they want to pledge their loyalty to me. I simply have to prove I’m worthy of it. But if I drink the potion, I will be compelled to tell the truth. I don’t have too many secrets, but Memnon’s warning still echoes in my head.

Don’t share what we’ve been talking about with anyone else.

I bite my inner cheek and nod. “I’ll drink it,” I say, taking the potion from the pack alpha.

I’ll just have to watch what I say.

Removing the cork, I bring the vial to my lips and tip it back.

It tastes like shit. Well, shit and rotten apples. I think someone attempted to flavor it as an afterthought, but they clearly sucked at it.

Almost immediately, I feel the press of magic; it coats my tongue like syrup, and as it makes its way down my throat, I feel it tug on my vocal cords. I grimace as the aftertaste lingers on my tongue.

Vincent steps forward and takes the empty container from me. I see him flinch a little as he catches a whiff of the stuff.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Louder, he says, “Can you tell us everything you remember about the night you saved Cara?”

I squeeze my hands together and take a deep breath. “It began because I needed a job…”

I tell the lycanthropes the entire story as best as I can. And the truth serum must be strong, because even though they only asked about the night itself, I fill them in on everything—my memory loss, how I was approached by Kasey, and why I needed the money so bad.

I mention the clay creature that brought Cara in and the dark rites that I interrupted when I broke the circle and snatched the shifter away. I go into the minutiae of our escape through the persecution tunnels and out across the forest. I even admit my worry that I killed someone in the cross fire.