Chapter 193: Chapter 193 The Trial 2
Author
The next morning found Selina sitting motionless in her holding cell, staring at the reinforced silver-lined walls.
The metal burned her skin if she got too close, a constant reminder of her captivity. Her eerie calm was freaking Anthony out more than screaming would have.
He’d driven two hours to get here before the hearing, and now he was second-guessing the trip.
The visiting room smelled like disinfectant and desperation.
"Selina , listen to me." His voice bounced off the concrete walls. "Even if the pack tribunal goes against us today, we can appeal to the High Council. Dad’s already hired the best werewolf attorney in the region."
Selina’s laugh was soft and empty, like the sound a dying wolf makes in the wild. "Save your money."
Anthony gripped the metal chair so hard his knuckles went white.
"Don’t talk like that. Your wolf just needs time to heal. Once this is over, you’ll find your strength again."
"Anthony." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but he heard every word with his enhanced hearing. "When this all falls apart today, you’ll still protect me, won’t you? Pack loyalty runs deeper than Council justice."
His wolf whined softly at the conflict between family bonds and pack law.
He nodded slowly. "Always. We share blood and moon blessing. That bond never breaks."
Selina’s smile could have frozen fire. "Good. At least someone gives a damn."
Elara
I pulled on oversized sunglasses and a baseball cap, going for full incognito mode. Dominic and I slipped through the back entrance of the Werewolf Council courthouse, a stone building that reeked of decades of territorial disputes and pack politics.
The courtroom was packed with wolves from at least six different packs.
I could smell the mix of territorial scents, nervous sweat, and barely contained aggression.
An Amber Pack elite facing serious charges was the kind of drama that drew werewolves from three states over.
The gallery was divided into unofficial sections.
The Amber Pack members sat on the left, looking grim.
Other packs clustered together on the right, whispering behind their hands like this was the supernatural equivalent of a celebrity trial.
I caught fragments of whispered conversations drifting through the gallery.
Most were speculating about whether Selina would shift during sentencing. Some wolves lost control when cornered.
"Twenty bucks says she tries to run," someone muttered behind me.
"Nah, she’s too smart for that. But watch her brother—he looks ready to do something stupid," came the reply.
I scanned the crowd and noticed who wasn’t there.
Nadia had made herself scarce, probably to avoid the shame scent that would cling to her for months after this.
Smart move. In wolf society, guilt by association was very real.
When the silver collared bailiff brought Selina in, her platinum hair pulled back severely, every wolf in the room felt the shift in energy.
Her scent was wrong somehow, like a wolf who’d been broken at the soul level.
Her eyes found mine for a split second. Recognition. Fury. Then she looked away, but not before Dominic’s grip tightened on my hand.
"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured against my ear. "She can’t touch you."
The presiding Elder, a silver-haired woman who looked like she could stare down the devil himself, banged her gavel.
The room went dead silent.
"The Council calls this tribunal to order. The case of The Werewolf Council versus Selina Vance, docket number WC-2024-847."
"Prosecutor, present your case."
A razor-sharp Council attorney rose, her voice slicing through the silence like surgical steel. "Your Honor, the defendant stands accused of systematic psychological warfare spanning seven years, targeting at-risk minors across multiple pack territories."
She moved through her files with the precision of a surgeon. "We have testimony from twelve victims, ages fourteen to eighteen at the time of abuse. Physical evidence including medical records, psychological evaluations, and documented communications."
"The youngest victim was barely fourteen when the abuse began. We have documented evidence of deliberate isolation tactics, emotional manipulation, and physical assault designed to break these children’s spirits."
My gut twisted into knots. I’d always known Selina was poison, but hearing it laid out in clinical terms hit like a sledgehammer.
"One victim, Sarah Green , ended her own life at sixteen. Her suicide note explicitly named the defendant’s sustained campaign of terror."
The prosecutor’s voice never cracked, but I watched her jaw turn to granite. "Another victim, Michael Torres, suffers from crippling PTSD and can’t maintain basic pack bonds or hold down a job."
You could have heard a dust mote hit the floor. Even the reporters had frozen mid-scribble.
"The prosecution seeks the full hammer—fifteen years federal prison, followed by lifetime banishment from every recognized pack territory on this continent."
Selina kept her head down the whole time. But her shoulders were shaking with anger, not shame.
Dominic’s thumb traced slow circles on my palm, grounding me when I felt like I might float away.
I squeezed back, grateful for his solid presence beside me.
I wasn’t the scared, broken girl Selina had tried to destroy anymore. I had power now.
