“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Lyall decided to take that as a weird kind of compliment. “No, Channing, one was left as a deposit, and then the other two followed as compound interest.”
“I find that’s all too often the case with women and children.”
“Channing, I don’t know why, but I believed that twenty years would improve your personality.”
“God’s teeth, man, I don’t know why you believed that either. I’m going to bed – keep the brats away from me.”
Lyall rolled his eyes and took to his own bed as well. It was a nice bed in a sweet room. His own beloved, if eccentric, pack was once more around him, and his Alpha was one door over. My Alpha. He found himself smiling in a manner he was certain must appear foolish. Fortunately, there was absolutely no one to see.
The smile turned wicked (in a manner Lyall would never allow outside the privacy of his own bedroom). There was something thrilling in the prospect of knowing Channing would have to cope with screaming babies. Thrilling in a different way came the memory of that small body curled against Biffy’s chest. There was also a certain warmth and knowledge that between them, he and his Alpha, had managed to cope elegantly with a crisis, small and wiggly though it may be.
What a homecoming.
With any luck, thought Lyall as he drifted off, Robin’s rightful parents will have been found by the time the sun sets and the pack is up and about once more.
Of course, that didn’t happen. In fact, it got worse. Because when the werewolves came down to breakfast the next evening, it was to find that yet another child had been left on their doorstep.
*
If Robin gave Mrs Whybrew and the clavigers any trouble during the daylight hours, no one reported it. The werewolves slept snug in their beds undisturbed.
Biffy awoke feeling more rested than he had since first assuming Alpha. This could, no doubt, be attributed to Lyall’s presence in the room adjoining. To have his Beta home – so capable and so calm. He had handled all of last night’s excitement with good-humored efficiency. I am a lucky Alpha.
Contemplating Lyall’s curled and sleeping form, so close, warm and soft and smelling of spices and foreign lands, was less restful. The sleep fled Biffy’s brain, and in its place came yearning. To crawl in next to that warmth. To rub against the softness of his skin, to rub away those foreign smells. To mark him and claim him, for pack, of course, but also as lover. To make him not just my Beta. But mine.
Probably not a good thought to start the night with.
Biffy rang for his claviger to help him dress.
James took slightly longer than usual to arrive and was in a decided tizzy.
“Out with it, dear boy, you’re practically vibrating.”
“We’ve had another one, my lord!” James buttoned up Biffy’s shirt-front with nimble fingers.
“Another what, James?”
“Sorry, sir. Another baby on the doorstep.”
“You’re having me on.”
“No, sir, it’d be in very poor taste if I were, and I should try to be more original about it.”
“Well, that’s something. No, not the blue waistcoat, not with a brown suit. Are you mad?”
“Your pardon, sir. Not thinking right, sir.”
“I should say not.” Biffy cut no slack on the matter of waistcoats. Or better said, all slack was already cut, because his waistcoats fit perfectly and were never subject to debate or jocularity.
James selected a gold paisley instead, which wasn’t exactly what Biffy would have chosen but was good enough and he didn’t want to upset the boy further.
“A girl child this time, sir. Mrs Whybrew says this one’s older, on solid food but not yet of an age to speak much by way of information. Although she seems to have the capacity for mummy and daddy – Mrs Whybrew and the coat rack are receiving mummy, and the pack, clavigers, and that mermaid sculpture behind the card table are under the auspices of daddy.”
Biffy shuddered delicately. “Not the mermaid Ulric insists reminds him of his misspent youth?”
James’s eyes twinkled. “The very one, sir.”
Biffy regularly threatened to accidentally stumble into that mermaid. It was quite hideous, being of that porcelain variety favored by grandmothers, with too many shelves to fill. Her tail faded to insipid blue and her skin was rather wan and splotchy. The mermaid herself wore an expression of profound discomfort, and everyone (except Ulric) was under the impression she ought to be put out of her misery.
Biffy sighed. It’s not that I mind living in a household full of strapping men, but I could wish werewolfism conferred alongside more aesthetic understanding and less wet-fur smell. “So, the hunt for the parents of these infants is once more on? Is it possible the new one is related to Robin?”
“Mrs Whybrew says she thinks not. The ages are too close to permit such.” James looked pained, as if the very idea of the calculations behind this assessment troubled him.
“Very well. I’d best go down. Just a simple knot tonight, James. With all this fuss around the house, I very much doubt I’ll be going out on the town this evening.”
James looked relieved. He was new to Biffy and not, thus far, a standout. He’d been given various complicated knots to study but hadn’t yet mastered any. Biffy had given serious consideration to the hiring of a proper valet, but werewolves were supposed to employ clavigers as personal gentlemen, and James was trying. Unfortunately, it meant Biffy’s cravat, more often than not, looked as if it were trying too. He’d had to re-tie his at the club more than once.
Biffy wondered if there was a school for valets he could send James off to for a brush-up. He was a good, even-tempered lad, for all he trod the boards, but his knot work... quite, quite lacking.
Biffy slid into his coat. James gave a critical eye to his lapels.
I suppose I can’t be too harsh on the chap. He is almost as new to being a claviger as I am to being an Alpha.
Biffy patted James on the shoulder. “Good lad, thank you.”
James blushed and dipped his head.
Easy as that, is it? Poor fellow, have I been a horrible grump these past few months?
“You can head off about your business. You have a performance tonight, I believe?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Carry on.”
“Thank you, sir.” And James was off.
Biffy followed him with a little more dignity. He paused in the hallway outside Lyall’s door. Then, because he wished to stop second-guessing himself, knocked sharply.
Lyall opened the door himself.
“Alpha?” He appeared to be in mid-toilette and was knotting his own cravat, if the loose material around his neck and the absence of a claviger were anything to go by.
“Ah, good, professor. A moment of your time?”
“Of course, Alpha, if you don’t mind me...” He waved at his neck.
“I could call a claviger for you. I’m sure there is one to spare.”
“No, no, I prefer to see to myself.”
Biffy smiled. Of course he did. “Well, perhaps I might help?”
Lyall blushed at the offer. It wasn’t proper, of course, but everyone knew Biffy was particular about neckwear.
“I’d be honored,” said Lyall, because they both knew it was all he could say.
Biffy stepped in and moved towards him.
This might have been a miscalculation. It brought them too close together. Biffy’s fingers, ordinarily so nimble about a cravat, came over fat and fumbling. Lyall’s scent was still peppered with spices and heated sand, although there was starting to be more of the memory of him there, underneath. The scent of the real Lyall. Lost lovers. Old Betas. Salt and sweet and caring.
Biffy breathed a little less deeply, because he desperately wanted to do the opposite.
Lyall, for his part, remained perfectly motionless under his Alpha’s touch.