I assure you, he wanted to say again, I’m not pining! Except that he was. Only it wasn’t for a state of undead – it was for a person. It wasn’t so much an ache, a void at the edge of his consciousness, as a missing piece. The same piece that was missing from his pack, the balance point that they all yearned for. The one who could, so easily and gently, have settled the matter of purple curtains.
Biffy told himself for the millionth time that it was nothing more than an Alpha’s need for his Beta. He refused to believe that after twenty years, his heart hurt for a connection it had had so long ago, for such a short space of time. He forced his mind not to go in that direction. There were too many other things, too many important things that he must deal with, and pining for his Beta (non-sexually or otherwise) wouldn’t solve anything.
With a sigh, he capitulated. Which likely wasn’t a good decision. Alphas were supposed to be strong, commanding, hold to their point of view. Or something like that.
He went with his second option. “I suppose blood red is out, too.”
The pack all looked at one another.
“We werewolves customarily get outdoor colors like browns and greens and such.” Phelan was trying to help.
Biffy glared. “I am attempting to give us an aura of sophistication! It’s 1895. We live in London. Earth tones are so very last decade!”
The werewolves now looked as though they were trying not to laugh. At least a few of them did.
“Why do vampires get to have purple? Is it a rule? Something to do with royalty?” Biffy had learned there were lots of unwritten rules to immortality. The werewolves called them protocols, but really they were traditionally codified rules.
Adelphus smiled. “Not officially. It’s more to do with Rome.”
Biffy grinned back. “Oh, yes, ancient history, is it?”
Biffy knew he had a bit of a lax attitude about tradition. But then again, wasn’t that part of his role? In his lucid days, before the previous Alpha went mad with Alpha’s curse, Lord Maccon would say, This is your time, Biffy. Bring us into the modern age. We have to learn to accommodate the present, or we are going to become obsolete. You’re important to all werewolves – you represent a new kind of Alpha.
I’m failing. I’m failing him. And I’m failing them. Well, us, I suppose I should say. He looked at his pack sitting around the dinner table, worried, uncomfortable.
Biffy stood. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he had good form and excellent posture. He was a practiced gentleman and he called upon that sophistication (in lieu of arrogance) so that he could put his beautifully shod foot very firmly down.
“Purple curtains. End of discussion.”
Adelphus opened his mouth. Biffy glared. “End. Of. Discussion.”
Adelphus snapped his mouth closed and tilted his head quickly to show his neck. “Yes, Alpha.”
With a start, the others followed suit.
Biffy marched from the room. Feeling a little faint. Which he attributed to not having had time to eat – too busy arguing about curtains.
*
Biffy had elected to move the pack – his pack – for various reasons. But the main one was standing in the house next door’s entranceway, entreating him to come visit as he stormed past in a purple-curtain temper. Biffy was on a mission to settle his nerves. His authority had been questioned, not as Alpha but as arbiter of good taste. It made him feel unstable and petulant. Which was a long way of saying – he had hats to decorate. Having a gossip with his former lover, ex vampire-master, inveterate scandalmonger, and next-door neighbor was nowhere near as restful as hat decorating.
But Lord Akeldama was nothing if not persuasive, and Biffy was nothing if not courteous.
He might, of course, have pretended not to hear. But he had supernatural hearing, and Lord Akeldama knew that.
“Biffy! Pudding! Come be social with your old chum, it’s perishingly dull right now.”
It was also perishingly cold. Not as bad as last year when the blasted Thames had become an ice pit, but London was having another frigid winter in a string of them. Lord Akeldama, however, stood defiantly in his doorway wearing little more than a charming silk smoking jacket (though he didn’t smoke), a precocious gold monocle (although he had perfect vision), and skin-tight satin trousers (although it was not yet visiting hours). Vampires did not really feel the cold. They were cold already.
Biffy sighed, admiring the trousers. He no longer wore anything so well fitted. It was too difficult to strip out of tight clothing with speed and finesse. He shouldn’t have been shocked to learn (although he had been) that werewolves got naked a great deal more frequently than anyone else.
He admired the consequences of course – Biffy was a great appreciator of the male physique, and werewolves mainly came big and muscled. While that wasn’t his particular romantic preference, he could still admire – on an intellectual level, of course. But he did miss tight clothing. He himself had a slender build, but with nice lean muscles that he’d taken care to maintain, even in his human dandy lifetime, with fencing and dancing. He’d once quite enjoyed showing himself off with fashion. To be frank, he missed tight trousers.
“Are you admiring the cut of my jib, dahling?” inquired the vampire, tapping his monocle and smiling – without showing fang.
Biffy paused on the threshold and gave Lord Akeldama an assessing look. Goodness, I miss flirting.
“Will you be hoisting a petard any time soon?”
Lord Akeldama laughed. “Shall I run it up the flagpole and see if anything salutes?” His eyes drifted downwards, speculatively.
Biffy allowed a gentle chuckle to leak forth.
Lord Akeldama stepped back and gestured for him to come inside.
“Am I welcome?” Biffy hesitated.
“Ah, dear boy, you’ve been studying vampire-werewolf relationship protocols again, haven’t you?”
“I must learn.”
“Of course you must. Please, my lovely, come inside, do.”
At an outright verbalized invitation, Biffy walked inside the vampire’s home.
He was hit with a pang of regret almost instantly. Very little had changed. The hallway was still overly decorated in a French rococo style, full of opulence, gilt, and seductive tapestries featuring shepherds in compromising positions. There were marble statues of cupids and thick Persian rugs. Certainly, it wasn’t to Biffy’s taste, but it was to taste. It had a point of view and Biffy admired that in a house. And it was achingly familiar. I lived here for half as much time as I lived with the pack next door, and yet I miss this place more. Sentimentality? Perhaps it’s simply that I was so very happy here.
Lord Akeldama led him into his luxurious drawing room. Not the more comfortable sitting room – that was reserved for family and Biffy was no longer family.
“Tea? Pink slurp? Something raw and still wiggling?”
Biffy smiled. “A slurp would be lovely.” It wasn’t to his taste, but courtesy must take preeminence with vampires, even ex-lovers and old friends – especially then.
Lord Akeldama whistled up his current favorite drone, a beautiful young man with raven hair and catlike black eyes named Winkle. Well, not named Winkle, but called Winkle by my lord, and thus everyone else.
“Winkle, darling. Two pink slurps when you have a moment.”
“Of course, my lord, coming right up.”
“And we are not to be disturbed.”
Winkle frowned, looking disturbed himself. “Oh, but sir...”
“What is it, my pet?”
“There’s the matter of the kitten?”
“Kitten, Winkle?”
“Yes, sir, you promised Kippers. Remember? You agreed that we should get a new kitten, since Madame Pudgemuffin...”
Lord Akeldama tapped his lip with one fingertip. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? Is Kippers bringing around the candidate soonish?”
“They’re in the kitchen as we speak.”
“They? They! I believe I was quite clear on this matter – only one cat at a time in this household. I can’t be seen to have more than one cat, it simply isn’t done. It’s too much. Too eccentric in a vampire.”