Page 97 of What a Wolf Demands

Everyone in the New York group stopped.

Remy looked at Luc Thibeaux and winced.

Thibeaux’s face had been smug when he made the statement, his chin lifted as he addressed Max. Now, he seemed to shrink into himself a little, as if he realized he’d just made a huge mistake. Behind him, the other loup-garou shifted nervously. Dom noticed Paul Guyon among them and caught his eye.

Murderer. The bastard might not have drawn the knife across Bart’s throat, but he’d stood back while Thibeaux maimed and tortured him.

Guyon paled and jerked his gaze away.

Max strode through the New York contingent, his body moving with the wolf’s prowling grace. He walked right up to Thibeaux and stopped, his head angled down as he stared into the other male’s eyes.

To Thibeaux’s credit, he made an effort to hold Max’s gaze. He was an Alpha now. Looking away meant acknowledging Max was the more dominant wolf. The second he did that, the loup-garou would lose confidence in his ability to lead.

Max didn’t move or speak. He just stood there, his body like a solid block of muscle as he stared down the other wolf.

Thibeaux twitched, then lowered his gaze. He clenched his fists at his sides but kept his head down.

“Now,” Max said softly. “We can begin.”

The loup-garou let out a collective sigh, their shoulders slumping.

Remy crunched down on his sucker, the sound loud in the silent room.

Sophie poked him in the ribs and spoke under her breath. “Will you finish that already?”

He gave her a wounded look, rubbing the spot where she’d jabbed him. “It’s dinnertime. I’m starving.”

She ignored him.

Max signaled to Duncan, who gestured everyone forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated.”

Remy escorted Sophie and Lizette to the first row of chairs, while Max moved behind his desk and sat. The position put him at the head of the room, as if he were a judge presiding over a courtroom—which, as far as werewolf justice went, he was.

The loup-garou cast a few wary glances at the New York wolves, then moved as a group to the other side of the chairs.

Lily stood at Dom’s side, her shoulders stiff. He put a hand at the small of her back and leaned down, murmuring, “Go on up front, sweetheart. Duncan needs to be in close range to get a good read on you.” Trackers could pick up scents on the trail when their quarry was hundreds of miles away. When it came to scenting lies, however, they had a much more limited range. Unlike the scents left behind by shoes or paws, words left no scent signatures.

Duncan, who clearly overheard, gave Lily a kindly smile and gestured toward the chair nearest him. “Please, Ms. Agincourt, if you would.”

She jerked, then moved forward. Dom moved with her, staying on her side closest to Thibeaux and the rest of the loup-garou. He might not be able to shield her from a trial, but he could sure as hell shield her from their stares.

She settled in the chair Duncan had indicated. Dom took a seat beside her.

Duncan turned to Max, who raised his voice. “We’re here today to try Lily Colette Agincourt of the Louisiana Territory, who has been accused of the murder of Charles Fabien LaFont.”

Lily sat rigid, her body like stone.

Max spoke again. “Ms. Agincourt will be heard by Duncan Tavish, Tracker of the New York Territory. Duncan, you may begin.”

Beside Dom, Lily gasped.

He touched her knee, trying to send her as much reassurance as he could. He should have prepared her more. Werewolf trials held little fanfare. Unlike their human counterpart, they weren’t bogged down by procedure or a long presentation of evidence. Such things were unnecessary when a skilled Tracker could question the accused directly and determine if they were telling the truth.

Duncan opened his mouth.

“Wait just a second!” Thibeaux jumped to his feet.

Max turned his pale gaze on him, his jaw hard. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet Dom had to strain to hear it. “I hope you have something relevant to say, Thibeaux, to warrant such a disgraceful interruption.”

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