“So we’ve seen,” Wade muttered into his coffee mug.
Patrick raised his coffee mug in Wade’s direction. “Cheers to that.”
“Cressida wasn’t part of the god pack when I was here. I know she arrived a few years ago, but from where? What’s her background?” Jono asked.
Bryson shook his head. “You know we never care about shit like that. She has the god strain of the werevirus running through her veins. That’s all that matters.”
“Maybe that’s your problem right there. You let almost anyone be pack without doing a background check,” Patrick said.
“Cressida isn’t an exception. You are.”
“I’m still pack. I’ve proven my loyalty to them just like all of us have. I’d take our pack over yours any day of the fucking week.”
The hint of jealousy that hit Jono’s nose came from Bryson, not Patrick. He shifted on his seat, settling his right hand on Patrick’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Patrick’s scent momentarily spiked with pleasure at the touch.
“If you aren’t happy, you can always leave,” Jono said.
Bryson laughed bitterly. “And what? Become an independent? That might’ve worked out for you in the end, but it’s not what I want.”
“And living in a pack run by a tyrant is?”
Bryson snapped his mouth shut, his silence ringing in Jono’s ears. No one spoke. The silence lasted long enough for the server to return with another co-worker, trays in hand and laden down with plates.
They were served breakfast, the amount of food completely covering the pushed together tables. The smell of proper bacon, not the thin strips of fatty nothing sold in the States, made Jono’s stomach growl. He dug into his full English, glad he’d ordered two.
Wade reached across the table for the butter, snatching up the dish before anyone else could get some. “Okay, I gotta ask. What is up with you Brits and beans?”
“Beans and toast are a staple,” Jono said mildly.
“Says you.”
“And the rest of this country.”
“You’re all wrong.”
“Eat your food and stop complaining,” Sage ordered as she cut into her omelet.
Jono managed to taste everything on his plate at least once before Bryson started talking again.
“Things weren’t so terrible before Cressida became alpha,” Bryson said.
Considering what she was, Jono could believe it. “And now?”
Bryson scraped his fork over his plate, pushing around his baked beans. “Now she’s the root of all our problems. And I could be killed for saying that.”
Jono stabbed at a piece of sausage and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Thinking of the big picture was something he’d only seriously been doing since last summer. It wasn’t something he’d had to do while living in London or after he’d moved to New York City. But knowing what Patrick had found out about Cressida and seeing the discord in the pack last night made Jono acutely aware of the poison seeping through the London god pack.
He could see how it would play out—the infighting in London causing fractures in all of the UK packs over time, if it hadn’t already. London was where all the packs looked toward for stability, and if the god pack there was broken, there would be a leadership void when it came to representing themselves to international packs.
A void demons would have no problem filling.
It was a mess Jono couldn’t clean up. He had his own problems back in New York, fighting over territory with Estelle and Youssef. London wasn’t his responsibility. What’s more, he didn’t know who he could trust within the London god pack to warn them about the demon in their midst.
He could see the moment Sage must have reached the same conclusion, because her face shut down and her scent went icy from tension rather than fear. Jono only got grim resignation from Patrick, which proved he’d probably hit on that problem before they even left the Farningham country house.
“We can’t help you,” Jono said after a moment.
Bryson shook his head and kept cutting up the omelet on his second plate. “Not asking you to. Our pack problems aren’t yours.”
