Biffy launched himself at the vampire once more, and together they grappled, Lord Akeldama always just that split second faster and a whole lot craftier so that even with all the predatory advantages afforded by the werewolf state, Biffy could not break the vampire’s hold nor his will when both were set so firmly against him.
Alexia said, “I’ve been meaning to have this little chat with you, my lord. Some of your young gentlemen friends do seem to get overly clingy, don’t you find?”
The vampire puffed out a breath of amusement. His hair was coming loose from its ribbon, and he appeared to have lost his cravat pin.
“My darling pumpkin blossom, it is not my intent to engender such gripping affection, I assure you. It is purely by accident.”
“You are too charismatic for your own good.”
“You said it, my dabble-duck, not I.” Once more the vampire managed to use grip and speed to lever the wolf off of him and hurl the creature across the room, away from Alexia. Biffy landed full against the wall and slid down, taking several watercolors with him. He crashed to the floor, the paintings now lying amidst shards of glass and gilt frames. He shook himself and stumbled dizzily to his feet.
Alexia fired the parasol. Her dart struck home and the werewolf collapsed back. He seemed to wobble, losing control of bits of himself, but then, quicker than any vampire Alexia had ever shot, fought against the effects of the drug and regained his feet. She wondered if Madame Lefoux’s last batch of numbing agent was up to snuff or if it was simply less effective on werewolves.
Lord Akeldama flitted to one side, catching the wolf’s attention and directing his next charge away from Lady Maccon.
Alexia said, deciding on a new tactic, “If you think you could hold him steady, my lord, I might be able to manage a calming touch. You know, some lads these days simply require a female to administer discipline.”
“Of course, my plum, of course.”
Biffy hit Lord Akeldama broadside, and in the same movement, the vampire turned all affectionate, instead of tossing him away. Wrapping both his arms and legs about the wolf, Lord Akeldama used the beast’s own momentum to tumble them both to the lush carpet. In an amazing feat of wrestling, the vampire got one elbow about Biffy’s muzzle, his hand closing firmly over the nose. With his other arm, he locked down the forelegs. With his legs, Lord Akeldama secured Biffy’s hindquarters. It was a remarkable exhibition of agility and flexibility. Alexia was duly impressed, having wrestled a bit with her husband. Lord Akeldama was clearly very experienced in the matter of intimate tussling.
Alexia knew the vampire would not be able to pin the werewolf thus for very long. In the end, Biffy was stronger and would break free, but Lord Akeldama did have the beast momentarily confused.
She waddled up and, casting her own safety to the winds, leaned forward, not unexpectedly losing her balance. She landed fully atop both supernatural creatures, ensuring her bare hands were in contact with Biffy but turning both men mortal in her enthusiasm.
It was a very odd sensation, for in such a position, Alexia was uncomfortably aware of Biffy’s body changing from wolf to human. She could feel the slide of muscle and bone beneath her protruding belly as he shifted. It was eerily like the feel of her child kicking underneath her own skin.
Biffy howled with the pain of it, directly into Alexia’s ear. A howl that turned to a scream of agony, then a whimper of remembered suffering, and finally little snuffles of acute embarrassment. Then, as he came to the horrific realization of what he had almost done, he turned to his former master.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear. Oh dear.” It was a litany of distress. “My lord, are you well? Did I cause any permanent injury? Oh look at your trousers! Oh, mercy. I am so sorry.”
Lord Akeldama’s healing was paused midway so that the claw marks were still visible under the tattered ribbons of his silken britches.
“?’Tis but a scratch, my pet. Do not trouble yourself so.” He looked down at himself. “Well, several scratches, to be precise.”
At this juncture, Alexia was forced into a realization that rather shook the foundations of her universe: there are some circumstances that even the very best manners could not possibly rectify. This was one such situation. For there she lay, pregnant and out of balance, atop a pile consisting of one overdressed vampire and one underdressed werewolf.
“Biffy,” she said finally, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? I was under the impression you were otherwise contained this evening.” It was a valiant attempt, but even such talk as this could not mask the awkwardness.
Lord Akeldama attempted to unwind himself from Biffy and extract himself from Alexia without the aid of supernatural strength. When this was finally accomplished, he stood, dashed to the door to reassure his drones of his undamaged state, and sent one of them to fetch clothing.
Biffy and Alexia helped each other to rise.
“Are you unharmed, my lady?”
Alexia did a quick internal check. “It would appear so. Remarkably resilient, this baby of mine. I could use a bit of a sit-down, though.”
Biffy helped her to an ottoman—one of the few pieces of furniture in the room not overturned—her hand firmly clasped in his. They sat and stared off into space, grappling with how best to handle their predicament. Lord Maccon might be a blustering instrument of rudeness, but he did have his uses in dispersing awkward silences. Alexia handed Biffy a shawl, only slightly saliva-ridden. He set it gratefully in his lap.
She tried not to look, of course she did, but Biffy did have a rather nice physique. Not nearly so splendid as her husband’s, but not everyone could be built like a steam engine, and the young dandy had kept himself well in hand before metamorphosis, for all his frivolous pursuits.
“Biffy, were you secretly a Corinthian?” Alexia wondered out loud before she could stop herself.
Biffy blushed. “No, my lady, although I did enjoy fencing rather more than some of my compatriots might consider healthy.”
Lady Maccon nodded sagely.
Lord Akeldama returned, looking not a whit put out. His brief sojourn among his drones had resulted in hair and neck cloth back to crisp and pristine order and a new pair of satin trousers. How do they do it? wondered Alexia.
“Biffy, duckling, what a surprise your visiting little old me at this time of moon.” He handed his former drone a pair of sapphire-colored britches.
Biffy blushed, pulling them on with one hand. Alexia took polite interest in the opposite side of the room. “Yes, well, I wasn’t entirely in my right faculties, my lord, when I made the decision to, uh, call. I think I simply, well, instinctively”—he glanced at Lady Maccon from under his lashes—“headed home.”
Lord Akeldama nodded. “Yes, my dove, but you have missed the mark. Your home is next door. I know it’s easy to be confused.”
“Too easy. Especially in my altered state.”
They were speaking about Biffy’s werewolfness as one would an evening’s inebriation. Alexia looked back and forth between the two of them. Lord Akeldama had taken a seat opposite his former drone, his eyes heavy-lidded, his posture informal, revealing nothing.
Biffy, too, was beginning to assume his old dapperness, as though this were actually a social call. As though he were not half nak*d in a vampire’s drawing room. As though he had not just tried to kill them both.
Lady Maccon had always admired Lord Akeldama’s ability to remain patently unruffled by the world about him. It was as commendable as his never-ending efforts to ensure that his own small corner of London was filled with nothing but beauty and pleasant conversation. But sometimes, and she should never say such a thing openly, it smacked of cowardice. She wondered if the immortal’s avoidance of life’s ugliness was a matter of survival or bigotry. Lord Akeldama did so love to know all the gossip about the mundane world, but it was in the manner of a cat amusing himself among the butterflies without a need to interfere should their wings get torn off. They were only butterflies, after all.
Lady Maccon felt it behooved her, just this once, to point out the wounded wingless insect before him. Soullessness may confer practicality, but it did not always confer caution. “Gentlemen, you may place my abruptness at the door of my current condition, but I am not in the mood to tolerate idiosyncrasies. Circumstances have placed us all in an untenable position. No, Biffy, I do not mean your unclothed state—I mean your werewolf one.”
Both Lord Akeldama and Biffy looked at her, mouths slightly agape.
“The time has come to move onward. Both of you. Biffy, your choices were taken from you, and that is regrettable, but you are still an immortal—and not dead—which is more than most can say.” She turned her baleful look upon the vampire. “And you, my lord, must let go. This is not some contest you have lost. This is life, or afterlife, I suppose. For goodness’ sake, stop wallowing, both of you.”
Biffy looked duly chastised.
Lord Akeldama sputtered.
Lady Maccon tilted her head in such a way as to dare him to deny the truth in her words. He was certainly old enough to know himself; whether he cared to admit such a fault out loud remained to be seen.
The two men looked at each other, their faces tight.
It was Biffy who closed his eyes a long moment and then nodded briefly.
Lord Akeldama lifted one white hand and trailed two fingers down the side of his former drone’s face. “Ah, my boy. If it must be so.”
Lady Maccon could be merciful, so she moved the conversation on. “Biffy, how did you get out of Woolsey’s dungeon?”
Biffy shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t remember much when I’m a wolf. Someone must have unbolted the cell door.”
“Yes, but why? And who?” Alexia looked suspiciously at Lord Akeldama. Was he meddling?
The vampire shook his head. “Not me or mine, I assure you, blossom.”
A loud knock sounded at the door to the drawing room, all the warning they got before it burst open and two men came stomping in.
“Well,” said Alexia, “at least he knocked first. Perhaps he’s learning.”
The earl strode across the room and bent to kiss his wife’s cheek. “Wife, thought I would find you here. And young Biffy, too—how are you, pup?”
Lady Maccon looked to her husband’s Beta, gesturing at Biffy with her free hand. “The pack business that took you away?”
Professor Lyall nodded. “He led us a merry chase before we traced him here.” He tapped his nose, indicating the method of tracking.
“How’d he get out?”
Professor Lyall tilted his head, which was as good as he would get to admitting that he had no idea.
Alexia nudged her husband in Biffy’s direction. He shot her a brief glance out of resigned tawny eyes and then crouched down in front of the half-naked dandy. It was a very servile position for an Alpha. He lowered his voice to a soft growl, of the kind meant to be comforting. It’s terribly difficult for a werewolf to be comforting—especially an Alpha dealing with a reluctant pack member. The instinct is to subdue and discipline.
Alexia nodded at him encouragingly.