Ric grinned at her.
"While the Alpha can pull strength, even magic, from all the pack, the Marrok-and this is only the smallest part of what makes him scary-can pull from all of his Alphas. I don't think we have anything like that. But yeah, you don't have to listen when the big bad wolves want to boss you around. Omega doesn't mean weak."
Evidently he could be quiet, too, because he tilted his head toward the ceiling and thought for about ten minutes-long enough that Anna had time to think over what she had told him. She hadn't been acting like an Alpha with zen; she'd been acting like a submissive wolf... No, because even a submissive wolf didn't usually put her tail between her legs at the first sign of a dominant wolf, as she had been doing. She had killed a vampire. She had killed a witch so scary that she'd chased Asil out of his home and kept him on the run for two hundred years. Asil, the Moor, whose name was whispered with awe (or, sometimes snarled) wherever he went.
Grumpily, she picked up her book and stared at the page.
"Anna," he said, at last.
"Yes?"
"I would like to teach my pack this truth of yours. That I am not a child, a plaything they may find convenient. An uber-submissive wolf, yes? They must see me for the zen wolf that I am."
Zen wolf. That had a bigger punch than Omega.
"And how have you decided to do it?"
He smiled at her, his face lit with mischief. "I have an intention. Tonight there is to be a feast, yes? And after that, a hunt. Anyone not a submissive wolf may join in the hunt. That exclusion is for their protection, with so many dominants about. Anyone. I think that I should hunt."
Chapter EIGHT
CHARLES was most comfortable by himself or, if that wasn't possible, with his pack in the wild. Talking for hours in a crowded auditorium was not on any list of things he enjoyed-or things he was good at. At least no one had died. Yet.
The Germans had settled down as soon as the Italians' Omega had stalked off with offended dignity. The Italians, for their part, did a good job of concealing their glee and got down to business. Deals were hammered out.
By two in the afternoon, Charles and the Finnish delegates were finally bringing to fruition a complicated dance of issues further confused by translation problems. They claimed to have no one who spoke English. He didn't speak Finnish. So they translated through a Norwegian wolf who spoke Finnish and Spanish, and a Spaniard who spoke English. He suspected it was a ruse to give them time to think-and he had no objection.
He agreed to a no-interest loan for the Finns to use for positive publicity, fronted by the charitable arm of the Marrok's company. Though Charles himself would be in charge of the distribution and would expect results for the money-it was still a good deal.
The Finns weren't the only ones smiling as they finished up. Everyone had been following the negotiations closely, many of them even taking notes as they finally decided to believe that the Marrok had no intention of leaving them high and dry-and was willing to sign contracts, legal contracts that could now be taken to courts just like anyone else's: a benefit none of them had thought of until now. Gradually, as the day progressed, a spirit of cautious optimism had begun spreading through the wolves.
"We are agreed?" Charles asked the man who'd been acting as the Finnish lead.
As the translation worked its way through the language barriers, and the Finn began to nod, Jean Chastel stood up, and said, "No."
The Frenchman waited until the Finn, who had come to his feet in the middle of negotiations, slowly sat down before he continued. "We won't accept guilt money for this betrayal of all the treaties we've signed with the Marrok in which he agrees to keep his nose out of our business."
And damned if he didn't open up a slick briefcase and start piling up paper-and parchment that looked as though it might have been older than Chastel, and was ancient enough to smell of dust rather than lamb. "We do not need the Marrok's money. We are not under his 'protec tion.' He has no jurisdiction in our territories."
There was a grim triumph in Chastel's face. The French wolves-including Michel, bruises and all-looked stolidly supportive. They had no choice.
Quiet settled over the room, an uncomfortable quiet as they focused on Chastel. The Beast couldn't keep the Marrok from bringing the wolves into the open. But he could keep him from helping the European wolves cope-and in the end that might be disastrous for everyone.
Chastel ruled the European continent when he chose, and he'd just marked it as his territory, leaving Charles the choice of letting Chastel's claim stand or challenging him outright.
"Yes," said Dana in a motherly voice. "Thank you for that, monsieur. You have been heard." The fae smiled congenially at Chastel, then raised her eyes to the rest of the world. "On behalf of the Emerald City Pack, I have an invitation to all of you who have gathered in Seattle for this conference. As a part of our hospitality, we have organized a hunt tonight on the pack's own hunting grounds. There will be no blood-the Marrok asked me to extend his apologies. But since there is more than just one pack hunting, we felt that no blood would keep the threat of violence down..."
Charles might not be comfortable or particularly good at public speaking, but Dana was. When his father had asked her to moderate, Charles had worried because she didn't know wolves. His father had smiled. "She knows men," he'd said. And he had been right.
Everyone already had the information about the hunt. She was robbing Chastel of his limelight-and his power-and everyone knew it. Without her, Chastel could have taken the meeting over, leaving Charles... and maybe, just maybe, Arthur to face him down or back off and let him run with it.
And if they had challenged him and killed him, Dana would be honor-bound to destroy them. He wasn't sure she could manage it, not if he and Arthur were working together. But he didn't know that he and Arthur would be working together either; Arthur could be very difficult to predict.
And none of it would have worked if she hadn't already proven herself more powerful than Chastel before them all. The Frenchman let her take over because he was afraid to challenge her. And as she droned on with information everyone already had-Charles had e-mailed them all the details of the hunt a week ago-every wolf in the room understood what she was doing.
Chastel stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving his papers behind. Angus took a step to the side and blocked the door.
It was a foolhardy thing to do. If Chastel chose not to remember that Angus was under the Marrok's protection, Angus's life could be forfeit. And maybe, just maybe, he counted on it. If Chastel spilled blood first... But the Frenchman held his temper. Just.