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SIXTY-NINE | ELIZABETH

There was a beat of horrible, brittle silence. We were frozen in place: Rowan with narrowed, accusing eyes; Skye with a wild, desperate gaze, his lips parted; and me, torn between the two of them, scared to even breath.

Then Skye reached up an awkward hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and I inhaled a tiny, shallow breath. The tension broke, and Skye let out a nervous bark of laughter.

“I mean, we need your help, Rowan. And that of your Grandmother, too. You’ll find out soon enough, and we need you to trust us.” He sounded as though he was listing off reasons to tell her – and, I had to admit, all of them were good, sound reasons for him to share his secret – but it also sounded as though he was stalling.

Beneath the table, I squeezed his knee gently. He sighed.

“I’m a werewolf.”

Rowan shook her head in disbelief, looking betw

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