A small huff of amusement met that. “Tell me, Biffy.”
“I can’t hold them together. Whatever is needed of an Alpha, I don’t think I have enough of it. They’re always arguing with me. They don’t trust my judgment. It’s no wonder the clavigers left me. Without them, I feel like the pack trusts me even less. I’m too young, too new at this. Don’t most Alphas spend decades as loners first?”
“You are not the type of man to be a loner.”
“No, I’m not.” I’d never survive. Not that I couldn’t fight. Simply that I’d have nothing to fight for. Perhaps that’s part of this as well. I’m afraid that I need the pack more than the pack needs me. Biffy drank the last of his brandy. It burned his throat but did nothing more. The comforting looseness of intoxication was no longer an option. Well, there was formaldehyde – drink enough of that and even a werewolf turned squiffy. But the last thing he needed as a few-months-old Alpha was to lose control.
Lyall put his still-full brandy glass down on the table between them. Then in one of those lightning-quick movements that Biffy had learned to anticipate from the supernatural set, Lyall shifted to sit next to him on the settee.
I forgot he could move so fast. Much of Lyall’s survival and his fighting skills came from his speed. Lord Maccon once said he knew of none faster, and that had Professor Lyall been a big enough wolf, and of the right temperament, he would have been the foremost Alpha in the land. But, of course, Lyall was neither. So, his speed was made to serve a pack, and serve them it had for hundreds of years.
Biffy knew agility was some of his own Alpha skill set as well. As if by swindling them both in the size department when compared to other werewolves, the gods of immortality had deemed Biffy and Lyall worthy of great speed and cunning instead. So far, Biffy had only had to fight a few times, but he practiced a lot. He’d decided, after defeating Channing, he’d take what he’d been given and learn to use it. Perhaps Lyall can teach me some of his tricks.
Lyall moved closer until they were almost touching, side by side on the small couch. Both of them watched the play of the fire rather than each other.
Biffy turned his gaze, almost desperately, to his empty glass.
Lyall reached out and took it out of his hands, setting it aside.
Then those fine gentle fingers were pressing insistently on Biffy’s cheek, turning his head, tilting Biffy’s face until he was forced to look into serious sand-colored eyes.
Sad eyes. Always. Even when Lyall was smiling, or plotting, or fighting, or solving some pack riddle or another, his eyes were always a little sad. Only a few times had Biffy seen them wide and full of wonder, almost but not quite joyful. And I most certainly shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, with my bed right there.
Biffy lowered his eyelashes, collected himself. He recounted the twenty perfect cravat knots in his head. He contemplated the button choices he’d been offered for his next waistcoat. I think I’ll go with the milk glass. I should have James contact my tailor with that decision. He collected himself.
Lyall’s fingers did not stroke Biffy’s skin – there was no caress to his touch, only insistence and comfort.
“Tell me.”
Biffy stayed silent and turned his face into the hand, seeking more. It instantly withdrew.
Biffy flinched. “I was rather hoping you could tell me.” He does not want me anymore. Not in that way.
Lyall sighed. He pushed Biffy back against the corner of the settee and then turned himself around and rested against him. His back was lean and warm on Biffy’s chest.
It was a pose of lovers. A way they had sat in the past. Only, they were both dressed, and this felt more like friendship and necessary intimacy than lust.
Biffy took it, though. He was embarrassingly grateful for whatever scraps he was offered. He held Lyall close, but not tightly, and tried not to breathe in his scent. Not because he didn’t want to – because he did want to. Too much. Lyall clearly did not desire that. Did not desire him. Oh, but it wasn’t easy.
Lyall was offering him comfort without obligation, and connection without expectation. He had arranged them to be close but only so that Biffy would not have to look directly at him while he confessed his deficiencies. No Alpha could bear that, to look into sympathetic eyes.
He knows I am crumbling and he wants to help. He knows it is now impossible for me to expose any deficiency. He is making it so I can do so with support but not confrontation.
Biffy wondered if Lyall had done this for any of his previous Alphas. No doubt Biffy was not so different from them in matters of guilt and confession. If I was made to lead and to take risks with my actions, my greatest fear, by default, must be failure. Well, that and any change that I myself have not chosen.
I guess I really am an Alpha.
So, Biffy held his love against him, not too tight. And encouraged into release by his Beta’s easy acceptance, Biffy spoke of all the terrors of the young and responsible when the weight of a broken dream is upon them.
*
Lyall lay motionless in his Alpha’s undemanding embrace. He had instigated it, but Biffy had not repelled him. Unfortunately, he had not drawn him closer, either. His Alpha’s hands, laced together, rested open and still and undemanding on Lyall’s chest.
He needs to tell me what’s wrong. He needs to articulate all of it so that I can understand and help. Lyall waited, keeping his breath even.
He has the charisma to hold this pack. There’s no reason the clavigers should have left us. Unless it is that they can sense how he doubts himself.
Lyall could tell that Biffy needed many things from him. But principally, he needed guidance towards a better understanding of Alpha nature and pack structure. Only then could they come up with a cure for this thing that was eating away at what was left of Biffy’s soul. The other need, Lyall’s own, a temptation that was dormant beneath everything, would only complicate matters. I had forgotten the way his lips curved, and that his bottom one is slightly fuller than the top.
What we had was just the one moment to help us both overcome loss, him of his past and me of my future. I cannot encumber him with the awkwardness of my continued desire. It’s not fair. Another requirement for an overburdened Alpha. Another need to fulfill.
Lyall did many things, but he never, ever imposed. What was comfort is now friendship. And that is good enough. It must be good enough.
Finally, Biffy began to speak. “They went mad at the end there. All of them, not only Lord Maccon. He refused to leave, you see, even though we all knew it was time. And I...” Biffy’s voice broke a moment. “I liked him. He was my Alpha. My friend. But he wasn’t here anymore, not present, there was just the shell of him left.”
Lyall explained, “He was losing his tethers.”
“Vampires are tethered to place, werewolves to pack.” Biffy repeated the old saying.
But did he really understand it? Had Conall been well enough to give him that much training? When Lyall left, he’d thought Lord Maccon was still holding everything together. He’d thought, with Lady Maccon’s particular abilities, that they could weather Alpha curse and come out the better for it. Perhaps I was wrong.
So, Lyall felt it his duty to ensure Biffy knew now. “It’s not simply a platitude. When you became Alpha of this pack, you tethered to them, to each and every member. Your tether is the last of your soul, so, in a way, the pack becomes the Alpha’s soul. And you are theirs.”
“And what about you?” Biffy wondered. The slight breath of his speaking shivered over Lyall’s hair.
“You didn’t feel it snap back into place? In the hat shop, when you knew it was me and I didn’t smell right?”
Mine. “Oh. That. You still don’t smell quite right.”