contact to keep himself from changing, most of him was now separated from Alexia.
Miss Tarabotti's eyes, having entirely adjusted to the dim interior of the room, received a full-frontal view. Those sketches in her papa's books had been far more restrained than she realized.
“Really, we must discuss this silly notion of yours,” he said with a sigh.
“What?” she croaked, goggling at him.
“That you will not marry me.”
“Must we discuss it here and now?” she said, not realizing what she was saying. “And why is it silly?”
“Well, at least we have some privacy.” He shrugged. The movement shifted all the muscles of his chest and stomach.
“Uh... uh....” stuttered Miss Tarabotti, “couldn't it wait until I am home and you are, uh, clothed?”
Lord Maccon realized he had the advantage over Alexia; he was not about to sacrifice it. “Why, you think your family will allow us some privacy? My pack certainly will not. They have been eager to meet you ever since I came home covered in your scent. Not to mention Lyall and his gossiping.”
“Professor Lyall gossips?” Alexia tore her eyes away from his body to look up into his face.
“Like an old churchyard biddy.”
“And what exactly has he told them?”
“That the pack is getting an Alpha female. I am not giving up, you realize?” He said it with deadly calm.
“But I thought it was my move? Isn't that the way this works?” Miss Tarabotti was confused.
Lord Maccon's grin was all wolf. “Up to a certain point. Let us simply say you have made your preferences known.”
“I thought you found me utterly impossible.”
He grinned cheerfully. “Most assuredly.”
Alexia's stomach flipped over, and she was seized with the sudden impulse to tackle him and rub up against him. Lord Maccon naked was one thing; naked and smiling that gently crooked smile of his— devastating.
“I thought I was too bossy,” she said.
“And I shall provide you with an entire pack to boss around. They could use the discipline. I have been getting lax in my old age.”
Miss Tarabotti highly doubted that. “I thought you found my family impossible.”
“I shall not be marrying them,” he began, inching back in toward her, sensing a weakness in her resolve.
Miss Tarabotti was not certain his return was a good thing. True, that most disturbing view was blurring as he moved toward her, but he had that look on his face that said the kissing would start up again presently. She wondered exactly how she had managed to get herself into such an untenable position.
“But I am tall, and brown, and have a large nose, and large everything else.” She gestured ineffectually at her hips and chest.
“Mmm,” said the earl, agreeing with her entirely, “you most certainly do.” He found it interesting she did not mention those things that had worried him from the start: his age (advanced) and her state (preternatural). But he was not about to assist in her protestations by giving her more ammunition in objecting to his suit. They could talk about his own concerns later—preferably after they were married; that is, he grimaced mentally, if they managed to survive their current predicament and make it to the altar.
Finally, Alexia came round and about to the thing that really troubled her. She looked down at her free hand as though finding its palm fascinating. “You do not love me.”
“Ah,” said the Alpha, looking pleased at this, “says who? You never asked me. Should it not be my opinion you take into account?”
“Well,” sputtered Miss Tarabotti, at a loss for words. “Well, I never.”
“So?” He raised an eyebrow.
Alexia bit her lip, white teeth gnawing at the full swollen flesh. Finally, she lifted trembling lashes and cast a very worried glance up at him, now too close to her once more.
Naturally, because fortune is a fickle beast, it was precisely at that moment that the door to their cell opened.
Standing in the doorway was a backlit figure, clapping slowly but with evident approval.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Last Room
In a lightning-fast movement, which bespoke his dexterity as a human before he had become a werewolf, Lord Maccon shifted around Miss Tarabotti so that his back was to the intruder and he was shielding her with his body. In the same motion, Alexia saw he had managed to grab the shard of mirror off the floor next to them. He held it between them, protected from Mr. Siemons's view.
“Well, Miss Tarabotti,” said the scientist, “you certainly do excellent work. I never thought to see a were-wolf Alpha in human form on full-moon night.”
Alexia moved to sit, lifting the bodice of her dress over her shoulders as subtly as possible. The back had entirely come undone. She glared at Lord Maccon, who looked back at her in an utterly unapologetic way.
“Mr. Siemons,” she said flatly.
As the scientist moved into the room, she saw that behind him stood at least six other men of varying sizes, mostly on the larger end of the spectrum. He was clearly taking no chances should her preternatural abilities be simply a superstitious hoax. But, having found no were-wolf in residence, he stared at Lord Maccon's back with a decidedly clinical expression.
“Does his brain return to human reason as well as his body to human form, or is he still essentially a wolf inside?” the scientist asked.
Alexia saw the earl's intent in the narrowing of his eyes and the way he shifted his grip on the shard. With his back to the door, Lord Maccon had not seen Mr. Siemons's large retinue. Miss Tarabotti shook her head almost imperceptibly at him. Taking the hint, he subsided slightly.
Mr. Siemons came closer. Bending over their prone forms, he made to grab the earl's head so he could tilt it up and look into his face. With a spark of malicious humor, Lord Maccon growled loudly and snapped at him as though he were still a wolf. Mr. Siemons hurriedly backed away.
He looked at Alexia. “Really,” he said, “quite remarkable. We are going to have to study your abilities extensively, and there are several tests...” He trailed off. “Are you certain I cannot persuade you to our cause—that of justice and security? Now that you have experienced the true terror of a werewolf attack, you must admit to how incontrovertibly hazardous these creatures are! They are nothing more than a plague on the human race. Our research will lead to empire-wide prevention and protection against this threat. With your capabilities, we could determine new neutralization tactics. Don't you see how valuable you could be to us? We would simply want to do a few physical assessments now and again.”
Alexia was not quite sure what to say. She was both repulsed and frightened by the eminently reasonable way in which the man spoke. For there she sat, flush against a werewolf, a man whom this kidnapper, this torturer, thought of as an abomination. Yet a man whom, she realized with no surprise whatsoever, she loved.
“Thank you for the kind offer—” she began.
The scientist interrupted her. “Your cooperation would be invaluable, but it is not necessary, Miss Tarabotti. Understand, we will do what we must.”
“Then I would act in accordance with my conscience, not yours,” she said firmly. “Your perception of me must logically be as warped as your perception of him.” She dipped her chin at Lord Maccon. He was glaring at her intently, as though trying to get her to stay silent. But Miss Tarabotti's tongue had always gotten the better of her —hinged in the middle as it undoubtedly was. “I would as soon not be a willing participant in your fiendish experiments.”
Mr. Siemons smiled a tight little psychopathic smile. Then he turned away and yelled something in Latin.
A brief silence descended.
There was a rustle among the scientists and thugs gathered in the doorway, and the automaton pushed them
