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Slade stood, and his fangs protruded. “Your Nazi werewolves were tainted with the blood of Griswold of Bedburg and broke our most sacred oath by aligning with evil humans.”
“Griswold had the right idea about killing inferior humans, but unfortunately, he failed to clean up his cannibalism. No table manners,” Wolfstrom said cryptically.
Cricket swallowed. The packs that aligned with the Nazi’s were direct descendants of the evil 16th century serial killer werewolf Griswold. The malevolent lycan, who slaughtered hundreds of humans for food, had boasted of having twenty offspring. His descendants exhibited Griswold’s cannibalistic behavior and were finally culled by the 18th century. Unfortunately, a few escaped and intermingled with packs. Recent DNA testing could identify them, but only if they did something worthy of suspicion, since with proper upbringing many believed they would grow to be well-adjusted lycans.
Slade snorted. “I suppose working with the Third Reich benefited Griswold’s get.”
“My grandfather, Dr. Gunter Wolfstrom made a mistake in judgment by working for humans as if they were our masters. We are the superior species.”
“Yet, you seem to work with humans at the moment.” Slade smirked.
“This time they understand we are the masters.”
“So if you have packs, why are you kidnapping foreign werewolves?” Slade asked.
Wolfstrom walked over to his private well-stocked bar. “Drink?”
“No, thank you, but perhaps my companion is thirsty.”
Wolfstrom narrowed his eyes at Cricket as if it galled him to acknowledge her existence. “You, I find most intriguing. A runt who survived the change.”
“That’s me all right, your majesty.” She kept her eyes downcast.
Wolfstrom opened a cabinet and handed her a bottle of water. “I imagine you are more human than wolf.”
“That’s one theory, sir.”
“As you know, we don’t bring in omegas, but I must say, I’m grateful Henrik chose not to kill you. If you can survive the change, what other possibilities about your biology will we learn?”
Slade growled. “Let her go, and I’ll do whatever you want.”
Wolfstrom chuckled. “Release a member of the LIA? You must think me mad.”
“Use the amnesia drug Henrik used on me. Let her forget the last week.”
Cricket gaped at Slade. Was he really willing to sacrifice himself to save her? Not to mention volunteering her to lose a very important memory vital to the LIA. We need to talk, hero.
Wolfstrom turned to Slade. “So you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Did you think we eliminated the omegas because of their lower status?”
Slade narrowed his eyes. “I assumed omegas were murdered since they didn’t fit in with your master race of lycans.”
Wolfstrom glared at him. “We executed omegas because our amnesia drug does not work on them or humans.” He smiled at Cricket. “Nor does it work on her. Too human.” Then he returned his attention to Slade. “However, the drug didn’t work on you, at least not long term. Too wolf.”
Slade cocked his head. “Huh?”
“That’s right, Prince Slade. If a werewolf is genetically more human, as in the case of omegas and Cricket, or too wolf as in the case of you and your long gone Yukon pack, our synthesized drug doesn’t hold.” He poured himself a brandy. “Don’t worry. Henrik is working on a better drug for alphas with too much wolf.”
“And what is your specialty, Dr. Wolfstrom?” asked Slade.
“My experiments are far more complex.”
Cricked bristled. His grandpa, Herr Gunter Wolfstrom, had experimented on humans and werewolves, hoping to create the perfect biological weapon. He had worked on ticks. Rumors were he created Lyme disease released in the U.S. from Plum Island. If they didn’t escape, and soon, she imagined she’d end up as his personal guinea pig. Whatever Wolfstrom’s agenda, she must find out and inform the LIA. But how to escape the fortress? Before they updated Slade’s brain.
Wolfstrom winked at her. “What a stroke of luck you have a degree in biology.”
