Of course, Lyall knew how to change that in a hurry. You could mark me, inside and out. We could... Not a good idea. Continue the lesson.
“That will change. I’m only just home. Anyway, clavigers aren’t pack, they aren’t supernatural, they have no sense of tether.”
“But the pack could still leave me.”
“Perhaps. But it would not be easy. Because they are also tethered to each other.”
“This seems awfully tangled up and messy.”
Lyall smiled. Now Biffy was looking down at him. “Before Lord Vulkasin... died” – before I arranged to have him killed – “the pack had no clavigers left at all. All of them were dead or had run away.”
“Is that where I’m headed?” Biffy knew the story of the previous Lord Woolsey, of the mad Alpha before Lord Maccon, and of Lyall’s role in seeing him dispossessed. At least, he knew some of the story. Lord Vulkasin had taken Alpha’s curse to an extreme, turning violent, cruel, and abusive.
“You have hundreds of years, young pup, before you need face Alpha’s curse. I merely tell you so that you realize clavigers come and go. We need them, but they do not need us. Thus, they can leave when times are unsettled.”
“Are you saying I need to settle?”
“Yes, I suppose in a way I am. You need to focus on pack, on building our new home together.”
“Solidifying my tethers?”
“Exactly. Stability. Loyalty. Then everything else will follow.”
“How do I do that? The rest of the pack... they are all so much older and stronger than I am.”
“When you were with Lord Akeldama, you were, without question, leader of his drones. How did that happen? How did all those young men come to look to you for guidance? You were no older than they, nor were you physically stronger, nor were you better positioned in society. How did Lord Akeldama come to rely upon you? Even the vampire himself leaned on your strength. I saw him do so, more than once.”
“I don’t know, it simply happened that way. It was easier for me to lead and for the other drones to follow. I was good at making the right decisions and willing to step to the fore. They trusted me. Because, I guess, I trusted them.” Biffy shifted under Lyall, a shudder of realization. “Oh.”
Lyall twisted to look up at him, to see the understanding in those blue eyes. “So, Alpha?”
“I think I have curtains to replace.”
“The purple ones?”
“How did you know? Don’t answer that – of course you knew.”
Lyall made to shift off of Biffy. Reluctant to lose the contact but knowing his task was done.
Biffy’s arms tightened then, slightly. “Not yet, please. A little longer. I haven’t been like this with anyone in a long time.”
Please from an Alpha. Something to be savored.
Lyall wanted to ask how long. He wanted to know if he had been replaced, and with whom. But he was way too old for such juvenile prying. And whom was he fooling? He didn’t want to leave Biffy’s arms either. It had been a long time for him as well.
Lyall thought he felt Biffy’s head tilt forward, and a tiny feather-light nuzzle against the top of his own. He wanted so badly for it to be real.
But even if it were, how awful to take advantage again? His new Alpha was vulnerable and lonely. He was seeking solace, not love. It would be unfair of Lyall to offer himself under such circumstances, knowing he wanted more than Biffy was capable of giving. Friendship would have to be enough.
I didn’t think it would be this difficult.
CHAPTER SEVEN
If Offerings Were Babies
They’d fallen asleep like that. Dozing off. Biffy woke, just before dawn, with a crick in his neck and the weight of his Beta still curled against his chest. Comforting, welcome warmth.
Poor Lyall, he’s been traveling forever, and finally arrives home only to find screaming babies and shaken Alphas and a pack in crisis.
Unwilling to lose contact just yet, Biffy slid out from under Lyall, and, blessing his supernatural strength, lifted his Beta and carried him to the bed. Biffy set him, still in his greatcoat, atop the covers. Nothing untoward might be thought of him lying there like that.
Still fully clothed himself, and wincing for the state of his trousers on the morrow, feeling only a little guilty at manipulating Lyall’s exhaustion, Biffy crawled next to him on the counterpane.
He didn’t curl about him or put his head to the crook of Lyall’s shoulder as they had once done so easily – that seemed too much like what they’d been before and were no longer. Instead, Biffy reached out a hand and rested his fingers gently in Lyall’s slack palm. Only that small press of touch and familiarity.
He slept the whole day through, untroubled.
*
When Biffy awoke again, Lyall was gone. As if that weren’t bad enough, James came in and attempted to put him in a green tweed suit. Green. Tweed. In town! After disabusing him of this notion – Tweed is for the country and shooting, James, I know Greenwich seems provincial, but it is not the country and I am not currently possessed with the need to shoot anything, except perhaps this suit – they agreed upon a nice dark blue number instead.
It was a trying start to the evening, only improved upon, in the worst possible way, by the discovery that yet another baby had been left on the pack’s doorstep.
Biffy had had enough.
Fortunately, one of the clavigers had been on “doorstep watch” out the front parlor window, and gone running after the departing carriage with Rumpet hot on his heels. (Rumpet because the young man had left without hat or coat, not because butlers worried about baby deposits.) And once the iron fist of Rumpet was released from the household... Most of the clavigers and staff gave chase as well.
The clavigers liked to rise in the late afternoon to get themselves dressed and ready before the pack awoke. Seeing one of their number dash out the door at sunset, followed by Rumpet, meant three others should follow, plus a footman, and the upstairs maid. This left only James and one other claviger to tend the waking pack.
Being that they were mostly dancers, singers, and stage performers, pursuit of a carriage was accompanied by much leaping and bounding, colorful language, and not a few capes, forming a mini herd trailing the offending conveyance down the street. Unfortunately, none of them were of the Greek Olympiad marathon variety (had they been, Lord Akeldama would never have allowed them to move house), so the carriage soon outpaced the mob. They returned home in an excited breathless clatter, to report that while it escaped their clutches, it had sped through Blackheath towards the warehouse district and the docks.
That being a most excellent point of data, Biffy was inclined not to grumble about the pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, hair-mussed return of his underlings. Instead, he praised them for perspicacious action, and listened for any further details that might be of use. He didn’t even mock them for the capes. He’d once had a weakness for a nice cape himself when on an escapade.
I wonder if Alphas are permitted capes? Too frivolous? Another vampire-only affectation?
Unfortunately, while the boys had noted the exact style and design of the carriage, not to mention the cut of the coachman’s coat and hat, none of this was particularly useful. There was no crest and it was unmarked hired transport, not privately owned and branded. Still, Biffy was pleased. They’d done their very best, and to his standards. Wassail was brought up in gratitude. It proved a most welcome addition.
The second bit of good news came over breakfast, when Adelphus and Phelan commenced chattering on about their research into the new religious sect in the area. They casually mentioned that the group was informal enough not to have consecrated grounds, but instead was reputed to assemble out on the heath when the weather was fine, and in an old warehouse or tent when it was inclement.
This caused poor Ulric no end of distress. “Did you say preaching... outside? How very rough and ready.”
“Well, that’s the problem, we believe.”