Page 117 of Tides of Fate

Finn leads the pack into their row, Rowan and Luca following close behind. Jay holds Nix’s left hand now, while Grayson remains steady at his right. Gideon stops in the aisle and gestures for Leo to go ahead of him so they can take their places, but Leo resists.

He wonders if Gideon might cause a scene as it’s in his nature to bookendthe pack for protection, always vigilant. But after a tense stare-down, Gideon sits beside Jay with a huff, his protective instincts begrudgingly yielding to Leo’s quiet insistence.

Leo intends to be ‘in the way’ should Gideon’s instincts get the better of him. It’s easy to imagine the incensed alpha dragging Leo over the gate.

Just as Nix takes his seat, the side door to the left of the judges’ bench opens.

The tension shifts as a suited man enters, briefcase in one hand, files in the other.

And behind him, led by a guard, is Dawson Hayes.

He isn’t handcuffed, nor is he cowed.

Head held high, as soon as he enters, his eyes go toward Nix…wait, not Nix… but Jay. Hayes couldn’t care less about Nix Rena. It’s Leo’s Alpha who has Hayes’s attention.

Leo shudders when Hayes smiles wider and licks his swollen purple lips. It’s truly grotesque—the sheer evil slithers across the distance, a preternatural offense that takes the tension in the room to an even higher plateau.

Rowan tenses at Nix’s torturer’s obsessive attention on their Alpha, his subsonic growl causing Luca to whimper. But Nix is staring straight ahead, and Jay appears to ignore him completely—that is, if you discount his rigid shoulders and the claws of his left dug into the wood at the edge of his chair.

Guiding his client into his seat, the defense attorney whispers a warning that causes Hayes to subside into his chair and finally look away.

Leo wants to whisper to Gideon about it, but Gideon only has eyes for Hayes.

He tries to figure out what Gideon is looking for—Hayes has had his nose broken in the last twenty-four hours, and both eyes are purplish-black. He also has a cast on his lower right arm, and when he’d entered, he’d had a familiar limp.

Leo recognizes that kind of limp, but at least Leo gothisvoluntarily—and with pleasure. “What did you do?”

Gideon plasters the biggest, most sinister smile across his face and, loud enough for everyone in the courtroom to hear, says, “Me? Not a thing. But I’ll tell you this—there’s no way that shit stain got everything he deserved. Not by a long shot.”

Leo isn’t sure, but he thinks he hears his moms hum in agreement from behind him.

Hayes tries to stand as if he’s going to approach them, despite his lawyer’s restraining hand on his arm, but the door on the other side of the room opens.

The three judges are imposing in their court garb, their air of authority unmistakable. Two are in their mid-forties, and the one who will lead the proceedings, Judge Patel, is much, much older.

While Jones and Sanderson are unknown, Leo remembers Judge Patel from cases where his father has been on the other side of the courtroom. She’s considered a Were Constitutional genius, and Antonio once told him they study her in law school. The alpha is the equivalent of a judicial rockstar and, despite her advanced age—or maybe because of it—she “takes no shit” (Leo’s father’s words).

Leo can only guess that’s become even more true.

As far as his father knows, there’s never been a single judicial review in her entire career—a rarity, given the formal nature of Were courtroom culture. Even with her unpredictable reputation, she knows the law.

Leo sees his father relax a bit—last-minute replacements have been known to happen.

“Alright, sit,” Judge Patel says. “This is my show, and I am warning all of you that we will not tolerate any shenanigans, showboating, or monologuing. You’ve already set Judge Jones a-flutter with this schedule change, Mr. Lang, and that puts me off. Judge Sanderson will make sure none of you are expelled because I’m annoyed.”

Gideon coughs to cover his laugh at the idea that Judge Jones could bea-flutter—he’s at least 6’5” and looks like he could bench-press an entire football team. The man in question doesn’t react to Judge Patel’s remarks, most likely because he’s used to them from their long-standing colleague.

“Defendant, please rise and state your name for the court,” Judge Patel says, not even looking up from her perusal of the case documents.

Nix jerks when Hayes stands suddenly, preening under the attention, even if it’s the wrong kind. “Dawson Ulysses Haversham Hayes.”

“You are DUH Hayes?” Judge Patel asks, and she says itduh, notD.U.H.

Leo huffs under his breath, and he’s not the only one holding back a laugh at Hayes’s expense.

“Order,” Judge Jones intones, with a word to his colleague out of the side of his mouth. As Leo expected, Jones isbeen-there-done-that-have-the-t-shirt-to-prove-itpersonified.

Judge Patel ignores her colleague and looks over her half-glasses, down her patrician nose. “Dawson Ulysses Haversham Hayes, you have submitted a plea of guilty for the aggravated assault of the human Phoenix Rena. Is this correct?”

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