Biffy coiled the length of cloth about Lyall’s neck, twice – a deft twist here, a fold there, ending with one clean simple stab of a very plain cravat pin. He stayed close one more moment, fiddling a little longer with the shape of the knot and tucking the fall. Because he wasn’t ready to stop.
Lyall’s very stillness was a memory itself, of a nested presence that had once held him still, too, for a time. Held him together and whole, when the world was shattering around them both.
He stepped back, too much all at once. I cannot abuse my power as his Alpha. We cannot be what we were. Lyall had given him no indication that a renewal of advances would be welcome. Their communication over the years had been sporadic and polite. He had not the courage to try and no incentive to hope. Another part of his past that he must let go.
“It seems we have another stray?”
Lyall let out a tiny, shaky breath.
Oh, no, thought Biffy, he is not indifferent. Now what do I do?
He thought to step back in towards the slighter man. Just one more touch. His cheek, perhaps?
But Lyall turned away in pursuit of his jacket.
His waistcoat was so plain it was almost an insult to his station, although not quite. His jacket was only slightly more appropriate. But Biffy knew it was Lyall’s way, to stay in the background, to make no fuss with manners, or opinions, or dress. Always oddly attractive, that cultivated invisibility. As if Biffy were the only one capable of really noticing Lyall. Because Biffy had always been aware of him, whenever Lyall was near. Which was why he was there now, alone with his Beta. Too alone for his own needs to permit, really.
I must be careful in future. I fear I over-stress the Beta-Alpha relationship. I make it mean too much. Because I want it to mean more than it does.
“Another baby was left on the doorstep?” Lyall guessed.
Of course, Lyall would apprehend the truth without need for an explanation. Nevertheless, Biffy relayed what James had said.
“Well, at least we have Mrs Whybrew.”
“Small mercies.”
“This can’t be allowed to continue.”
“No, I agree.”
“Your plan, Alpha?”
“I was thinking of pulling everyone I could in for the evening and setting us all to a concerted effort at tracking down any parents. Perhaps you might consider taking wolf form and putting that most excellent nose of yours to good use?”
“You want me to do some tracking?”
“If you aren’t averse.”
“No, Alpha, I think that is an excellent idea. Perhaps first I should talk with the clavigers, reintroduce myself, before they depart for the evening? That way, I can set a plan for further investigation during daylight hours tomorrow, in case we cannot solve this before morning.”
This is why Lyall is such a good Beta. Always prepared to offer support but also suggestions.
Biffy allowed himself a full, warm smile of gratitude.
“Perfect.”
Lyall dipped his head in a blush.
Biffy felt a heady rush at the power of that. Something so simple as one word of praise to build allegiance. “Shall we head down to face the nappies, as it were?”
“Lead on, Alpha, do.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Decorating for Christmas
The drawing room was only slightly less chaotic than it had been the evening before. Apparently, the pack had no intention of keeping their new additions confined to the safe anonymity of the upstairs nursery.
Despite the fact that, under ordinary circumstances, everyone ought to be at breakfast, the pack were all in the drawing room with Mrs Whybrew and the (now three) babies. Quite apart from everything else, this was startling because werewolves, as a rule, never missed a meal.
Well, to be fair, Channing was eating with the clavigers. But no one thought it was a good idea to invite him along at the best of times. To anything. For any reason. Let alone a room full of infants.
Lyall went to speak with said clavigers, while Biffy went to supervise the rest of the pack.
Hemming and Rafe were on the floor, playing with an infant apiece.
Their newest addition was of the walking variety of child, if the odd I’m-about-to-fall waddle was anything to go by. She, and Biffy had to take it on faith that she was a she because there were no other indicators, could move remarkably fast for someone who clearly hadn’t been doing it for very long. The toddler’s mode of locomotion had Biffy legitimately worried over the efficaciousness of bipedal motion in future generations.
Quinn was chasing after her, his quizzical brow lined even more than usual. Apparently, he was terrified that she would fall (a legitimate concern with gravity around), or bump into something (which, given the state of one of Biffy’s Wedgwood urns, had already occurred).
Biffy looked with mixed feelings upon the urn. It had once been a Westmoreland opal milk glass fluted vase with flower details, imported at great expense and with much fanfare by a certain blond vampire for Biffy’s fortieth birthday. It was, however, more to Lord Akeldama’s taste than his own. But one did not reject a gift from a vampire – quite apart from anything else, such trinkets were often priceless. Well, no use crying over spilled milk glass. Ha-ha.
Biffy stuck his head back out into the hallway and yelled for the butler.
Rumpet the Second rushed up.
Rumpet the Second was a second cousin to the pack’s previous butler, Rumpet the Original. Or possibly Premier Rumpet, if one was feeling Roman about one’s butlers. Rumpet the Original had retired happily some ten years earlier, on a generous stipend, to a small hamlet called Merkin-on-Tow, or Smirkall-near-Boot or some such rot, where he had become rather well known for his prize chrysanthemums. Every year, he sent the pack a large bunch of his own variant, called the Scarlet Moon. Which Biffy appreciated even if the flowers were most decidedly not scarlet, but more a kind of puce.
Their new Rumpet had arrived shortly after the first batch of chrysanthemums, on his cousin’s recommendation, proving himself to look and act remarkably like the first Rumpet, only younger and slightly larger and sporting a pencil-thin mustache. He was occasionally referred to by Adelphus (who thought rather too much of his own wit) as Rumpet Revisited.
Regardless of moniker, he was an excellent butler (despite the unfortunate mustache) who had seen them through Alpha transition and subsequent relocation with the unflappably stiff demeanor upon which they had all come to rely. Biffy had even learned to tolerate the mustache. Rumpet had been visiting a sick aunt the evening prior, but was apparently now caught up on the particulars of their involuntary multiple paternity, if his long-suffering expression was anything to go by.
“Ah, Rumpet. Be a good man and have one of the maids clean up the broken glass in our drawing room, if you would be so kind.”
“More broken, my lord? Right away, sir.”
“And we’d better clear out or elevate the other valuables in the room. If it is to be used for the entertainment of children...” Biffy allowed his displeasure to show.
Rumpet quite agreed with this unspoken commentary on the misuse of a perfectly civilized drawing room. His own eyebrow was minutely elevated in judgment. “Sir.”
“We must allow them their fun.”
“If you say so, sir.” Rumpet slipped off to see about maids and anti-child drawing room fortifications, and Biffy turned back to the scene before him.
Phelan, Zev, and Ulric were off to one side in the position of commentator, observer, and judge respectively, but they seemed more entertained here than Biffy had ever seen them at the theater.
Biffy took a breath. “What on earth?”
“Alpha!” said Adelphus, “We got landed with another one.”
“So I see.”
“Same exact style as last time. Simply wrapped in a blanket on the step, poor little lady.” Phelan, bless him, seemed to be willing to provide details.
“This one doesn’t spit up near as much as the other,” added Ulric.
“Thank heavens for small mercies.” Zev raised a palm upwards reverently.
“She seems recovered from her ordeal.” Biffy did not let any emotion color his tone. Merely made a show of watching the toddler gyrate about the room.