Ava was working at the cords binding her wrists with renewed urgency. She hadn't dared use the knife with Maski standing so close to her. Now he was out on stage, and events were building to a climax – yet still, she wasn't free.
She'd sat through Aramin's big build-up to Maski's entrance, grinding her teeth to hear him described as a visionary, a leader, and a man of science who would bring down the old order and build a new werewolf empire in its place. She'd shuddered to hear the rousing applause that greeted his presence on the stage.
When it finally died down, he began to speak. He was shrewd; he did not criticize the purebloods' established way of life, the traditions that shaped their existence. He presented a vision, an ideal: a werewolf utopia on a scale that none before had ever dreamed possible. Prowling the stage, thundering his promises, he made it sound as tantalizingly attainable as the next kill.