“Hello, Gaspard,” Jono replied, eyeing the blond Frenchman and his companion. “Mireille. I appreciate the courtesy.”
“I would expect the alpha of the New York City god pack to sound American. You don’t,” Mireille Chastain said. Tall and slim, stylishly dressed, she was quintessentially Parisian and would have been welcomed anywhere if her eyes weren’t the same shade as Jono’s behind her Dior sunglasses.
“Ex-pat. New York City is my home now, and has been for years.”
Mireille puffed on her cigarette and blew smoke out her nose. “Interesting. You smell like truth, but you’ll forgive us if we don’t quite believe you. The London god pack has been, how do you say,troublesomelately. We would not put it past them to send you here with lies on your tongue.”
She spoke quietly, but Jono could hear her just fine. The rest of her pack were enforcing distance between their alphas and the tourists to keep the conversation as private as possible in such open space.
“If you’re talking about Cressida, she’s dead,” Jono said.
Mireille’s hand stilled, cigarette hovering in front of her lips. Gaspard’s hand tightened ever so slightly on her shoulder, staring at them through his sunglasses.
“She was a hunter with a demon riding her soul, sent to infiltrate the London god pack and damage it from the inside out. Finley executed her,” Sage said calmly before anyone could lunge at them. “Call him if you doubt us.”
“Rami,” Gaspard said, the order in his dire’s name and nothing else.
A lean man of Middle Eastern descent slipped away from the bench, already tapping away at his mobile. Jono didn’t bother listening in on whatever conversation the man would have.
“Why should we believe you had nothing to do with such a terrible breach in protocol?” Mireille said.
“Because we have our own territory back in New York. We didn’t want Finley’s, and we don’t want yours. We’re only here to ask for pass-through rights, nothing more,” Jono said.
“I find it odd you’re the only one of your pack who is present.” Mireille eyed Sage contemplatively. “My dire said yours was a woman, but humans aren’t pack.”
“I’m human enough,” Sage demurred, not removing her necklace.
“I trust Sage with my pack and my life. She’s my dire, so treat her as such,” Jono said.
Gaspard smiled thinly. “I always knew America did things backward.”
Jono said nothing to that, content to wait out the silence that settled over everyone. Rami came back a couple of minutes later, face expressionless as he leaned over the bench to whisper his report in rapid French to Gaspard and Mireille. Jono didn’t understand it, but the way the alphas went absolutely still had him tensing, readying for a fight.
Before anyone could make a move, Gaspard and Mireille’s heads snapped to the side, along with everyone else’s in their pack. Jono followed their stares, squinting against the sun. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then the breeze shifted and he was suddenly bowled over with the acrid, fiery scent of a dragon.
A figure darted through the crowd below, taking the steps up to them two at a time and racing down the path. Wade must have eaten the gelato and the crêpe, but he was still working his way through the bag of croissants and bread judging by the half-eaten croissant in his hand when he came running up. The red felt beret sat askew on his head, but he hadn’t lost it yet.
“Jono! These areso good. Why don’t they taste like this in New York?” Wade asked as he approached, flaky crumbs standing out on his shirt.
While Jono couldn’t see Wade’s aura, his scent was unique and triggered Jono’s instincts the way few things did these days, even with Fenrir howling through his soul. Dragons were the sort of apex predators that made werecreatures want to turn tail and run. The werecreatures around them might not know what Wade was, but the Paris god pack knew he was athreat.
Except Jono had walked in on Wade sprawled out on their sofa at home too many times to count, covered in crumbs and snack wrappers as he heckled at sports on the television or played video games. He and Patrick had argued with the teen over school, homework, and remembering to stay safe. Wade was ridiculous and loud andpack, and Jono would never be scared of the fledgling.
“Because the French do croissants better. You’re a mess, Wade. Finish that one, then save the rest for later,” Jono said.
Wade stuffed the rest of the croissant into his mouth, chewing rapidly as he stared down the Paris god pack. “Hi. I’m with them.”
Mireille’s voice came out slightly strangled. “What is he?”
Jono smirked. “Pack.”
Gaspard never took his eyes off Wade, recognizing the biggest threat in the park despite Wade’s teenage form. “Rami tells me his London contact corroborates your news. Cressida is dead.”
“Does this guy think I ate her?” Wade asked. He made a disgusted noise before pointedly pulling out apain au chocolatfrom his bag and ripping off the corner with sharp teeth. “I didn’t eat her.”
Mireille dropped her cigarette to the ground and ran the sole of her strappy sandal over it to crush it out. “This is not a conversation we should have here.”
Jono could’ve told them that when they requested the initial meeting, but it wasn’t his place to tell another god pack how to go about their business. “We just want pass-through rights.”
