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He must be mad.
“The bitch loved a human, but Alrik insisted we mate.”
“Even if you didn’t love her, you broke the most sacred of oaths.”
“I loved her, but her heart belonged to the inferior ape. Besides, she did not share my view on lycan superiority and refused to join me.” He smiled. “I had considered administrating the amnesia drug. Watching her fuck the ape, changed my mind.”
“So, she knew you were aligned with an oath breaker.”
“Like my brother, she thought we could continue to live with humans. Humans are like locusts bent on destroying the planet.”
“You had your shrink murdered?”
“And yours as well. Henrik is a master swordsman. On my orders.”
Slade glared at him. “They will be avenged.” No wonder, Dr. Warner let Henrik in, thinking he was his former orderly. No alpha would fear a so-called omega.
An attractive blonde alpha woman grinned at Slade, her long canines white as new fallen snow and sharp as a katana sword. “I’m Agrippa.”
Slade bowed. “Madam.”
Raulf chuckled. “I think the two of you would make a perfect match.”
Agrippa sat next to him. Her ass brushed against his side. “Indeed, we would.”
Buxom with a shapely figure, she nonetheless smelled corrupt. No chemistry. Where Cricket smelled of wild honey and rose petals, Agrippa stank of weeds imbued with pesticides. Slade narrowed his eyes. I know her. He’d seen her photo. One of the missing mental patients. Dr. Warner’s alpha patient who suffered from morphopsychosis and deemed too dangerous to return to her pack. Heavily medicated. “You are Sandra Lupus?”
She gave him a questioning look. “No, no, my handsome male, my name is Agrippa.”
Her memory was gone, but what about her psychiatric issues? “Agrippa what?”
“Just Agrippa.”
“Here at Wolf’s Lair we don’t have surnames,” said Raulf.
An omega brought them a pitcher of beer and poured each a mug. Slade drank, and then scowled at Raulf. “So bring brain erased werewolves to isolated Patagonia.” He snorted. “What the fuck for?”
“We bring forth the age of Ragnarok.”
The other alphas at the table grunted and raised their beer jugs. “Ragnarok!”
Slade’s hackles rose. No fucking way! Centuries ago, a pack of rogue oath breakers pledged to give rise to Ragnarok, a re-adaptation of the Norse apocalypse. They intended to rid the world of mankind and take over the planet. A British werewolf, Harold Wolfskin, poisoned the waters in England with cholera in hopes of destroying a huge portion of the human population. His mission to eventually spread disease. Depleted, humans would declare lycans as their lords. European packs killed the oath breaker and most of his pack, stopping him from releasing the next wave of disease, thousands of plague-ridden rats into several cities. Later, his kin joined The Third Reich, but with their own goals to wipe out all humans.
Slade narrowed his eyes at Raulf. “A splinter group of the Nazi Werewolf soldiers attempted Ragnarok, but failed.”
“You are correct. Our predecessors failed, but no longer.”
Slade tightened his jaw. What plague did they think they could unleash on humans? Times were different. Today’s high technology, instant global communication, and organized tasks forces, not to mention lycans occasionally aiding humans, how did they think they could wipe out humanity? “You’re all fucking oath breakers. Why bring me in?”
“You, Prince Slade, can be a great asset to us.”
“How is that?”
“You are of the royal line. You can be one of our elite leaders.”
The other alphas at the table stopped eating and stared at Slade. By the scent of their anal glands, not in admiration, but scorn. Perhaps they felt unfairly passed up to accommodate royal blood. Such sediments were common amongst normal werewolves back home. Even Rylee had not been a fan of the royal lines. Slade smirked at the male and female lycans. “What about them?”
“They will serve and perhaps someday marry one of our offspring.”
