Oddly enough, Enoch seemed to understand, if his sharp look at Lucien was any indication, while Blaise responded with a determined “Oui, Alpha.”
Seeing the confusion—and frustration—of his other Betas, Lucien, still twirling my hair, explained, “As nonnative English speakers, Blaise and I sometimes have days where we need to hear our native tongue to understand anything.”
I glanced at Lucien, suspicious. His face didn’t give anything away, and when I glanced at the Betas, it seemed like they bought it. But to me, it sounded like a load of bull.
Especially since I understood one word from what Lucien had just said.
L’Impératif.
The Imperative.
Enoch had mentioned the Imperative before. I remembered it was when he spoke to Lucien in the hospital. It didn’t seem like it had anything to do with the pack, or werewolves in general.
So what the hell had Lucien just ordered Blaise to do?
“Now that we cleared that up,” Lucien said, “let’s return to the subject at hand. The Syndicate—”
A hand suddenly slammed on the table. My eyes snapped to Oz, who was on his feet, face red with fury. He tried to talk, to mouth whatever he wanted to say, and growled deep in his chest when he couldn’t.
Lucien stared at him lazily and said, “Anaïs, bring him a pen and paper.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Anais said at once, shooting to her feet.
When she passed by Thayer, he murmured quietly to her, “To think you’d give me attitude when you’re a mere lapdog.”
This time, it was she who glared at him, and my brother who shot her a satisfied smirk.
I wondered what the hell was going on between these two. They had only met yesterday, after all. When did they have the time to grow such a deep dislike of each other?
Maybe, like love at first sight, there was also hate?
When Anais approached Oz with the pen and paper, he snatched it out of her hands and wrote in thick, big letters that he lifted the paperto show us:If the Syndicate itself wants you dead, then it wasn’t Mack’s fault!
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. “As Mack’s childhood best friend, you knew him better than anyone else, Oz,” he said now, giving his Beta a pitying look. “You know how he felt about me from the moment I set foot in this pack six months ago.”
That was news to me, and I couldn’t hide my shock. Lucien had only been an Alpha for six months? But he acted, and sounded, as if he’d been at it much longer. In fact, with all his talk about the different leadership options for an Alpha to rule their pack, he sounded far more experienced.
Oz wrote another thing on the paper and showed it to us.Fae can use mind control. I know Mack betrayed you, and the pack, but I refuse to believe he actively sought out the Syndicate on his own. That’s not who he was!
“Oz.” Lucien’s voice lowered, a warning undertone to his words. “The Fae might be able to control the mind, but you forgot a crucial detail.” Anger colored his voice. “Under section 2(b), clause 9, in the Otherborne Enmity Agreement, the Sable Syndicate would never actively look for, or initiate interaction with, werewolves.”
Whatever that meant, it didn’t seem to appease Oz.
And Lucien’s patience seemed to have reached its limits, as his face filled with rage. “It seems you have a short memory, Oz, so let me refresh it.”
Oz bared his teeth, but Lucien ignored it and continued. “Remember how I was given an anonymous tip about the rogue werewolves?”
When Oz didn’t respond, Lucien suddenly snapped, “Yes, or no?”
With bared teeth, Oz reluctantly nodded.
“Good,” Lucien growled, his hand fisting in my hair suddenly, making my heartbeat grow loud enough I feared everyone could hear it. “Now, you know the mailbox near my office, right? The one where pack members can send their complaints and requests anonymously, right?”
Despite his remaining reluctance, Oz knew better than to argue and gave a single sharp nod.
“Good, so you’re not completely clueless, then,” Lucien mocked as his hand slowly released my hair. I would’ve sighed in relief had his hand not moved to the nape of my neck in a hold that felt confusingly possessive. “I found that note there. The only ones who can put a note in the box are pack members.”
A growl filled the room, coming from Oz, who wrote with an angry flourish of his arm,Stop treating me like a fucking toddler.
