The summit was over, and the courtyard of the Pinewood Pack had filled with light and soft music.
It was a vast, elegant space, the kind of grounds only one of the oldest Lycan bloodlines could boast, and tonight it was crowded with Kings, Alphas, Betas and Lunas circling one another with drinks in hand, all of them networking, weighing and measuring.
The dinner party marked the end of it, and for the first time in longer than anyone cared to count, the Lycan Kings had actually agreed on something. Set their differences aside and formed a united front against the Shadow King.
The werewolves, though. That, they had not agreed on.
Most of them were still deeply sceptical about fighting shoulder to shoulder with werewolves, and Derek could hardly blame them, not with the memory of the last Great War still sitting like a stone in the collective gut of their kind. Betrayal has a long half-life.
