Page 37 of What a Wolf Demands

She rested her chin in her hand, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality. “You have to admit it’s a great story. I mean, what if it’s true? What if your ancestor really did help raise the founders of Rome?”

With anyone else, he would have dismissed the legend as nonsense and gone on his way. But she’d said her dad loved history—had smiled when she talked about it. So he sat back in his chair and said, “It definitely makes for a compelling story. One thing you have to remember, though, is how devious and cutthroat Italian medieval families were. The great houses were always competing for power, and they all wanted to be linked to some great legend. The reality is most were founded by a banker or some bastard offspring of the pope.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What about the Prados? Are you linked to the pope?”

“I highly doubt it.” Although, it would have been kind of ironic. As an institution, the church had spent centuries hounding witches, both real and imaginary. There was a sort of poetic justice in thinking the witch hunters had been chasing after the wrong supernatural race all along.

“No,” he added. “Most likely we sprang from the financial industry. Telepaths have always gravitated toward wealth. According to my grandfather, it was our way of gaining security against wolves with the typical Gifts of speed and strength. In past centuries, humans held all the money and power. At some point, an enterprising Telepath must have realized it and decided to join them. We were among the first wolves to creep from the forests into human cities. The great European packs got their start in Italy when Telepaths began mingling with humans.”

“That’s fascinating,” she said, her tone hushed. “You changed the werewolves’ entire culture.”

He noted her phrasing—the way she referred to werewolves as separate from herself. She probably didn’t even realize it. As a latent, it was ingrained in her to think like an outsider. It might even be a defense mechanism against the possibility of rejection.

“It’s okay to be different,” he said. “In the New York Territory, diversity is a strength, not a weakness.”

She straightened. Her smile faded, replaced with something that looked like bitterness. “I’m afraid that’s not a sentiment the wolves in Bon Rêve share.”

Great. In his attempt to buoy her confidence, he’d shattered their fragile truce by reminding her of the division between them.

And Remy wondered why he loathed conversation.

Dom gritted his teeth. “There’s a difference between how a territory treats its wolves and how it handles fugitives.”

“I’m only a fugitive because I’m running for my life.”

“You took a male’s life.” He tapped the table. “That’s why you’re a fugitive.”

A heavy silence descended, and tension gathered. The food he’d eaten sat like lead in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep. Instead, he’d raised the one topic guaranteed to get her hackles up.

In a blink, her demeanor shifted. The polite, almost reticent attitude fell away. In its place snapped the woman who’d led him on a frantic chase through a back alley, then slugged him in the jaw with a surprisingly effective right hook.

She folded her arms, somehow managing to look regal despite the fluffy white robe. “You claim your territory is this paradise where everyone lives in harmony. Yet you insist on dragging me back to Bon Rêve to die simply because I’m a latent. Don’t you think that’s a double standard?”

“As I said—”

“Fugitive. I know.”

He bit back a snarl. “Don’t interrupt me, Ms. Agincourt.”

She pressed a flat palm against her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, Beta. My bad for breaching protocol. Facing a death sentence will do that to a person.”

“As I’ve told you, I’ll see to it you’re given a fair trial.”

“And I’ve told you it doesn’t matter what kind of horse and pony show the loup-garou put on. Luc Thibeaux and his friends will make sure I never see the sunrise.”

He pushed back his chair and stood. “We settled this discussion in the car.”

She jumped to her feet, color blazing in her cheeks. She stood straight as an arrow, her slender body vibrating with anger. “Maybe you did. For me, it’s far from settled.”

If he hadn’t spent the past few hours with her, he might have been shocked. Few wolves, latent or no, dared to challenge him. As unusual as it was, what was even more baffling was his wolf’s response.

Well, lack of it.

With anyone else, the beast would have rushed to the surface, bristling over the disrespect—as well as the implication that he wouldn’t honor his word. But the wolf was silent.

As if Lily Agincourt somehow got a pass.

No matter. His wolf might be MIA, but he certainly wasn’t. And there was no point continuing an argument he’d already won. His hands were tied. Max’s position was already precarious. The European packs had fallen into chaos two centuries ago because one or two Alphas attempted to set themselves up as rulers over the others. Every wolf knew the story. Latent or no, Lily had to know it, too. The wolves who fled to the New World had escaped with their lives, but werewolf society had never really recovered.

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