LEAH’S POV
The smooth, mocking voice drawls from high above us.
I freeze, snapping my head up toward the bleachers.
Regis Nightshade is sitting on the top row of the concrete stairs, his long legs stretched out, resting his boots on the seat below him. He is wearing his navy blazer casually unbuttoned, an apple in his right hand.
He tosses the apple up in the air, catches it, and takes a loud, crisp bite.
"Nightshade," Jakob growls, not taking his eyes off Uriel. "Stay out of this."
"Now why would I do that?" Regis purrs, sliding off the bleacher seat and stepping over the railing.
He drops down onto the synthetic turf, landing softly on the balls of his feet without making a sound. He straightens up, tossing the apple core into a nearby trash bin, his midnight-black hair messy ove
