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If he’s got this same kind of thing going on with other werewolves, that sucks.
“I intrigue you? Because I invoked the right?”
He scoffs and gestures toward the door the thrall just exited. “Of course not. Why would that intrigue me?”
I move in his direction but falter when he adds, “After all, I invoked the right, as well.”
CHAPTER 12
He follows that bombshell with, “I hope you like venison.”
I stumble into the dining room, where a large table is set for two at one end.
“It’s very fresh,” he goes on. “I hunted it myself during the full moon.”
I can’t get past his earlier statement. “You did it?”
“Well, you know. The only things to do during the full moon are fuck, fight, or hunt.” He pulls a chair out for me and I sit obediently, out of habit.
“I’m not talking about the deer!” I lean toward him as he sits and for some reason, I lower my voice like we’re in danger of being overheard. “You invoked the Right of Accord? Your pack has a Right of Accord?”
He nods and lifts his hand to signal the staff for the first course. As the thralls place bowls of pale cream soup in front of us, Nathan elaborates. “All packs operate under the same law, given to us by Lycaon the Younger. Didn’t they teach that in school?”
I shake my head. “I assumed pack law was just the law of our individual pack.”
“Hmm.” He considers for a moment. “Greater London teaches our children differently than Toronto does.”
Our children. That’s an interesting phrase. “Do you have children?”
“No. I’ve never had a mate.” He unfolds his napkin and smooths it over his lap.
I do the same. “And does that have anything to do with invoking the right?”
He considers. “No. I don’t think it did. And there were times I was glad to be free of those obligations.”
The unfairness astounds me. As a male in the pack, he doesn’t have to worry that life might pass him by. There will always be females lining up for a successful mate. And he will always have the choice to refuse a pact, whereas I’m pretty much stuck.
The soup is delicious. Cream, mushrooms, wild rice, and I detect a hint of leek. It’s great soup and I’m probably going to throw it up from crying too hard at the unfairness of my life.
“It must be nice,” I say, my hand trembling with rage as I lift another spoonful.
“What must?”
I swallow. “Being free from the obligations of family. I’m sure there are members of our pack who would rather concentrate on themselves and their own interests, rather than simply create fresh werewolves.”
He laughs at that. “I’m sorry. It was your phrasing, not your concern. I’m beginning to sense that you aren’t looking forward to Lupercalia?”
I might as well be honest. “I’m not. In fact, I’m not sure if I’m going to…”
I can’t say it.
But then he says, “Go on,” in his deep, commanding voice and I want to say it. I want to tell him my most personal secret.
“I’m not sure if I’m going to transform.”
There.
He frowns and sets his spoon down. Reaching for his water glass, he says, “You would leave the pack forever?”
When I think about it, it makes me sick. All alone again, but this time with no wire transfers or credit cards. Just fear and work and loneliness, unable to make meaningful connections with humans because I’m not one of them.
“I don’t want to,” I admit. “When I think about never seeing my sisters again, or my friends, my heart aches. But the thought of being with Ashton, having his children, living as his quiet, obedient—”
Nathan laughs again, and immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. But I can’t see you being quiet and obedient to any man.”
“I’m glad you’re so amused by my predicament.” This is my life. Why can’t anyone understand how trapped I feel?
“I’m not amused.” He takes a sip of wine. “I’m interested to see how you’re going to get out of this.”
I just stare at him.
He shrugs and goes on. “You’re not marrying Ashton Daniels.”
“My parents, Ashton, and Aston’s parents all disagree with you.” I have to remind myself that I’m speaking to a king. There has to be a limit to what kind of sass I can throw around.
Maddeningly, all he says is, “Do you disagree with me?”
“There’s a neat little piece of paper, a contract notarized by the royal office, that disagrees with you.” I take my own sip of wine, hoping he’ll chalk my furiously hot face up to the alcohol we’ve imbibed.
“Not my royal office,” he says off-hand. “And Victor was corrupt. Who knows how deep that corruption went? For all we know that mating pact might be nothing more than a piece of paper.”
“I—” What is he suggesting? Is it something I should even hope for? “Do you mean it might not be valid?”
