Hearing a door creak open at the other side of the room, Gwen turned to see a beefy, official-looking male. He ran his eyes over them all as he said, “The council is ready.”
With Zander practically fused to her side, Gwen crossed to the door and walked into a partially wood-paneled room. As courtrooms went, it had the basics down. A gallery, a walkway that ran between the pews, a simple chair that seemed to pass as a witness stand, and even a wooden bar with a gate that divided the gallery from the council’s space. But there were no desks for the plaintiffs and defendants. No lecterns, no jury box, no state flags. Four men sat at a raised bench, facing them. They weren’t wearing black judge robes, but they each had that judge-type frown going on.
At the beefy wolf’s urging, Gwen and Zander strode down the gleaming, polished floor to the front of the gallery. Instead of sitting, though, Zander stopped and urged the others to slide into the left-side pew-style bench. Once they were seated, Zander and Gwen joined them, which placed her at the end of the row.
“Is the left side of the gallery for applicants or something?” she asked him quietly.
“No. The party that arrives first is taken through the front entrance and asked to sit on the left. The other party will then come in through the back and sit on the right.” Zander gestured to a door on the other side of the room. “The Moores and their supporters will enter through there.”
Not liking the smells of lacquered wood and citrus cleaner, Zander kissed her shoulder and took a long, savoring breath—letting her luscious scent override them. She brought him a peace that couldn’t be equaled. Right then, though, he wasn’t feeling peaceful. Unease and anticipation hummed through him, leaving him edgy. He tried hiding it, though. He knew she was nervous and didn’t want to make it worse for her. But it was hard, especially while his pacing wolf was urging him to get her out of the building and take her someplace safe.
“I’m thinking they’ll bring Colt. Probably the families of Rowan and Mack too.” Gwen suspected that Ezra would want the boys to back Brandt’s story. She just hoped that the council didn’t put much stock in their versions of events.
As everyone waited for the other party to arrive, the council members chatted quietly among themselves. Not the most patient person when she was nervous, Gwen found herself repeatedly grinding her teeth. Her muscles were so tight with tension that they actually ached. Every little noise grated on her nerves—the ticking of the clock, the rustling of papers, the whooshing of the air conditioning, and the creaking of wood as people shifted on the benches.
Zander pulled her closer, but it only annoyed her. He made absolutely no effort to give her any room. In fact, as he sat with his head up, chest out, gut sucked in, and legs spread, he took up the space around him as if he belonged there. More to the point, he took up her space. She already felt smothered by the tension in the atmosphere. She jabbed his arm with her elbow. “Move over.”
He nuzzled her. “Why?”
“Because I need a little space.”
“You need to know someone’s here for you. That you’re not alone and someone has your back. That’s me.” Truth be told, Zander needed the contact as much as she did.
“Stop saying nice stuff or I can’t stay mad.” She glanced down the bench to check on her family. Yvonne gripped her purse tightly, offering Gwen a strained smile, as Marlon eyed each council member. An anxious Julie was leaning against a rigid Chase, whose mouth was tight with annoyance. Yeah, she was annoyed herself. The Moores seemed to be deliberately making them wait—probably to convey a message that they didn’t find the hearing important.
It was a further ten minutes—literally one minute before the hearing was due to start—that the door on their far right opened and the other party filed out, led by Ezra. Aside from a snarling Brandt, the others cast smirks at Gwen. Ezra and his supporters all settled on the benches at the front of the gallery’s right side.
Ezra placed himself on the edge of the bench, meaning he was almost within touching distance of Gwen. He shot her a smug smile. Well, he wouldn’t be so pleased when he realized she was there to damn his precious and exceedingly stupid son.
The gray-haired council member cleared his throat. “I am Parker Brant.” After introducing the other members, he rested his gaze on Gwen. “According to what I have read, you witnessed a shifter, Andie Windsor, being attacked and are here to tell your version of events—a version that massively conflicts with that of the accused.” His eyes then cut to Brandt. “Before we go any further, I must ask if you still wish to plead your innocence.”
Brandt lifted his chin, looking like a petulant kid. “I did nothing wrong.” The thing was . . . he probably didn’t think he had done anything wrong.
Parker turned back to Gwen. “We would like to hear from you first, Miss Miller. Please come forward.”
It went against everything in Zander to let her walk away. He wanted to scoop her up and take her home. Instead, he lightly squeezed her shoulder and spoke into her ear. “You’ll be fine, baby.”
Gwen nodded, blowing out a breath. On legs that were surprisingly steady, she moved through the gate and crossed to the chair at the right side of the panel. Feeling all eyes on her made her skin itch. She shifted on the uncomfortably hard seat.
“Please tell us what happened that night,” said Parker.
She took a deep, preparatory breath. “I heard laughing. Loud, boisterous laughing. Straight away, I knew someone was either on our land or nearby. It wouldn’t be the first time that teenagers had gathered there to get drunk or smoke cannabis. I grabbed my shotgun, and I followed the sounds. Soon, I heard the cries, the horrible sounds of metal hitting bone. I hurried, and then I saw them. Andie was on the ground, her face all messed up and her clothes dirty. She was trying to crawl away from someone—he kept hitting her with a metal pole while his friends laughed and urged him on. I shot at the ground near their feet to make them run off. Then I helped Andie back to my house and called the sheriff to report the incident.”
“Can you identify this male that you saw assault Andie Windsor?”
“Yes.” Gwen glared at the asshole in question. “His name is Brandt Moore.”
Curses and abrasive mutters came from Moore’s group. Only Ezra and Colt seemed unsurprised that she’d reneged on her deal. They’d probably half expected it, given that Brandt had turned up at her house again.
Emilio studied her carefully. “This is the same account that you gave to Sheriff Johnson the night it happened, but you recently altered your statement.”
Gwen straightened her shoulders. “It was made clear to me that it was the only way I would keep my family safe. I didn’t see the harm in giving a different statement to the sheriff—he hasn’t exactly had any official involvement in the case, so I doubted he’d care.”