“For me?” Such a wealth of confusion in Lyall’s voice. Of lack of value.
Biffy felt the pain in the question as if it were a pressure at the base of his throat, stoppering breath. Oh, no. I never thought. I never considered that he would not think himself worthy. Of course. Lyall would never think to put himself on the list of loves lost. Would never think of himself as second, or third, or fourth in Biffy’s affections. He was Beta, born to live his life for others.
“Silly man. The main loss I had to cope with was yours.” There. Lyall could make of that what he would. That Biffy missed him for his gentle care as Beta werewolf, or that Biffy missed him as man, and friend, and lover.
Hesitantly, Biffy set his hands on Lyall’s shoulders. Careful not to upset the line of the jacket. Careful because he wished to grab so badly.
Then Lyall tilted his head slightly. That birdlike movement that said he was considering carefully what he would say next.
Biffy decided to stop being careful. He pulled Lyall against him and held him as tightly as he could, hands stroking down that familiar back, curling up to the back of his neck, messing up that perfectly styled hair, so much longer now with the aftereffects of mortality.
Lyall sighed and relaxed against him. Lyall, who never relaxed. He pressed his nose against Biffy’s neck, nuzzling under the collar of the robe, breathing him in.
“You smell like home.” Lyall murmured it into Biffy’s throat.
“While you, on the other hand, still wear the scent of desert sands about you. Foreign and not right. Come to bed? We can work on fixing that condition.” Biffy expected resistance. It was the middle of the night. There were things still to do. The pack was awake. And Lyall was refined and reserved, never wild or uncontrolled. So, most of the time, was Biffy.
“Will we be done in time for supper?” was Lyall’s only token resistance.
“Of course. What do you take me for, some kind of monster?” But Biffy’s hands were now fisted in Lyall’s jacket and he was almost dragging him towards the bed.
For two extremely cultivated men, reunions, it turned out, could be a messy business. Rushed, and fumbling, and sloppy, and desperate, but also sweet and wondering. Twenty years was a long time, and Biffy wanted to relearn every inch of his lover’s body.
He remembered, of course, what those perfectly tailored nondescript suits covered. His Lyall was all lean muscle and smooth skin. There was a little cluster of freckles on his right shoulder blade that needed to be checked and licked – still there. Good. There was the way the hair on his head tapered down to a V at the base of his neck, that needed to be checked and nibbled – still there, still elicited the same whimper of pleasure. Good.
Lyall was doing the same. They hadn’t had much time together before he left with the Kingair Pack, but they’d made good use of it. There was a lot to remind each other of. The same taste, different smells, same kisses, different touches, the best kind of reminding. Even while it was hurried and desperate, it was also perfectly rapturous.
There was something more there too, something in the strands of tether between Alpha and Beta, as if they were knitting together the last pieces of their souls.
When they lay tangled and supine, satiated and sticky, Biffy asked about it. “Did you feel that?”
Lyall understood, of course. “A resettling of the tethers, yours and mine.”
“Is it normal?”
“What is normal?”
Biffy glared at him.
Lyall pressed Biffy’s nose with his finger in the manner of a playful adult to a frustrated child.
“Randolph!” Biffy resorted to Lyall’s given name, which he knew they both hated.
“I only know what I have felt before. Previously, when I have settled into a new Alpha, it usually comes along gradually. But then, I never slept with any of them so early on in our relationship. And never willingly.”
Biffy flinched from that. He knew Lyall had been abused by Lord Vulkasin when that Alpha had succumbed to the curse. Insanity was the greatest of werewolf horrors, and Biffy dreaded that fate. Although he was young and he likely had hundreds of years, he still flinched away from the horror of his future. He did not deserve sympathy for what would be, when Lyall had once dealt with it personally, every day.
“I will go to the God-Breaker Plague before I let myself get that far gone. I swear it,” Biffy vowed.
Lyall stroked Biffy’s hair, placid and reassuring. “Hush, now. I’ve got you. Can you feel how strong it is?”
“Yes, that’s why I was asking about it. I mean to say, I can feel my tethers to the rest of the pack, but it’s not like this.”
“It’s different. Thicker, tighter. I feel possessive in a way I had not before,” Lyall agreed, but did not seem upset.
“Sex complicates matters.” Biffy puffed out his checks, afraid.
Lyall nudged him. “Sometimes, it simplifies them. It brings them here, to this place, to need and gratification and connection. I am entirely yours now.”
Biffy buried his face in Lyall’s neck and inhaled. “Yes, you are.”
“And you are mine.”
The Alpha in Biffy balked at the statement, but also liked it. He tested the tether between them, a small emotional tug. It wasn’t a chain or a leash. It wasn’t binding. He didn’t think it would become so. It simply was.
Lyall hummed and tugged gently back.
Biffy started at the feeling and glared at him.
“When you’re as old as I am, you think there are no more firsts.” Lyall was actually grinning. His forgettable face made memorable and beautiful by discovery.
“Are you complaining?” Biffy teased, with an edge of worry. He liked being a first for a werewolf hundreds of years old. But this was so very sudden and unmoving in its intensity.
“Certainly not. It feels right. It is odd, but I feel as if I am anchoring you. As if this is what a Beta is meant to be, and before I was merely acting the part as best I could. This is somehow more real.”
Biffy kissed him for his candor, and because, even now, he couldn’t stop touching him.
“Four hundred years to find my place.” Lyall folded against him, resting his cheek in the divot beneath Biffy’s shoulder.
Biffy shifted to get more comfortable, winding his legs through his lover’s, pressing Lyall close with long strokes and firm hands. “I guess the fact that I had to wait for twenty is not so bad, by comparison.”
Biffy felt that he had given everything. And taken everything. They were what they were, and the world would have to accept it.
Lyall was heavy against him, dozing off. Biffy thought he was asleep until he spoke. It was so quiet, Biffy almost missed his words, even with supernatural hearing.
“We will have a long time now, you and I. Together. Must be, with a tether this strong. I think I can hold you here, hold you back.”
“From what, my love?”
“From Alpha’s curse. From madness.”
Biffy choked and nodded, but did not stop his petting, did not relax his hold.
Soon enough, Lyall slept against him.
Biffy wept silently into sandy hair – overcome with relief and lost loneliness and the possibility of forever.
EPILOGUE
In A Neat Little Bow, With Squash
The next evening, in the hostile territory of the warehouse, the entire London Pack assembled behind their Alpha in protective battle formation, consolidated and supportive. After a round of crossed arms and intimidating glares, which humbled the assembled cult members into fearful murmurs, Biffy redistributed the babies back to their respective parents.