His voice boomed over the noise, “Try to run and I’ll break your leg.”
“No kidding.” How cliché.
He turned his back, and she squatted. It wasn’t difficult to pee. Not with her pulse racing. She scanned the forest for an escape route. Sure she could run, but they’d hunt her down. If they all got high on the uber rally, she could hide until Team Greywolf came to the rescue. Like that would happen by morning. How could they get here that quick? “Okay. Done.”
“Good.”
A big alpha bumped into the guard. “Watch where you walk, fool,” he snarled with a Russian accent.
The guard lowered his head. “Apologies, sir.”
The alpha berated him. “If the runt runs in that direction, she can reach the bridge.”
Cricket followed his gaze. Thanks for spilling the beans, idiot.
“I understand, master, but even if she did, the bridge is up.”
“Gregarin,” yelled an attractive red head she-wolf. “We need to find a seat.”
Cricket watched the tall muscular were turn and leave. Was he the Siberian lycan? The one, who, like Slade, needed the stronger dose to make him forget? He met his female and gave her a long ravishing kiss. Geez, get a den.
The music died down. Another guard interrupted them. “Get her back on stage.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the guard returned her to the seat, he stepped behind her. She turned. “Thanks and sorry you got in trouble.” Not.
His brows twisted in concern, close to sadness. Did he know something bad was going to happen to her? “Don’t talk.”
Cricket shrugged. “Whatever.” She glanced at Slade and Agrippa sitting and holding hands, but thankfully no longer making out in public. He had been destined to mate with an alpha, but not a crazy one.
Suddenly, eerie silence overtook the recent loudness. Wolfstrom walked to the center of the stage. He wore a long red and purple robe.
Everyone bowed their heads. She did as well, having the feeling if any heads remained up they’d be swiftly removed from their shoulders.
“You may lift your heads, children of the moon.”
That’s a relief. Cricket looked toward Slade. He smiled at his father not in simple pleasure, but with eyes wide open in awe, worshiping a god. They all did.
Wolfstrom addressed his pack. “Welcome to our new beginning. Tonight, I crown a new king.” He turned to Slade. “Once Bain, my son and only heir proves his loyalty, I shall crown him King Bain of Patagonia and your alpha master.”
Was Wolfstrom sterile? What, if anything, happened to his mate? And how would Slade prove his loyalty?
The crowd murmured.
He held his hands up to quiet them. “I will, however, still be your supreme leader as Emperor Wolfstrom. Grand master of all packs around the globe.”
His declaration brought howls and cheers of triumphal joy. While distracted by Wolfstrom would they notice her leave? She looked around for the escape route the careless Russian alpha had mentioned. Useless since the bridge was up.
Wolfstrom walked with determination to the front of the stage and nodded to another alpha. Paintings and scenes of Ragnarok appeared on the screen, followed by humans being eaten by lycans. He ranted about man’s ruin of the earth with their petty wars and greed for resources and destruction of the forests and oceans. Then he switched to the topic of eugenics and the lycan’s superiority over the lowly human ape.
The packs cheered and howled as he lectured about Stallo’s true vision. Werewolf must replace mankind. Not that Stallo ever said that, but one could twist their werewolf ancestor’s ravings any way he or she wished.
An hour later, Emperor Wolfstrom announced a break before his surprise about Ragnarok and the grand finale of Prince Bain’s loyalty.
With no one to talk to, she turned to the burly guard. “So how will Prince Bain prove his loyalty?”
“Normally, when a new leader is chosen by Master Wolfstrom, he must kill a human and eat him or her while they are still alive. It’s up to our supreme leader if the prey is allowed to live.”