Changeless

“No. He knew the regiment was due in; he sent me to meet them at the station.”

“Oh, he did, did he? And he did not see fit to inform me?”

Lyall, realizing he might have just gotten his Alpha into some very hot water indeed, dissembled. “I believe he was under the impression you knew. It was the dewan who ordered the military recall. Withdrawal papers came through the Shadow Council several months ago.”

Alexia frowned. She remembered vaguely the potentate arguing vociferously with the dewan on this subject at the beginning of her stint as muhjah. The dewan had won, since the strength of Queen Victoria’s regiments and the building of her empire was dependent upon her alliance with the packs. The vampires held controlling interest in the East India Company and its mercenary troops, of course, but this had been a matter for the regulars and so the werewolves. Still, Lady Maccon had not realized the results of that decision would end up encamping on her doorstep.

“Don’t they have a proper barracks somewhere they should be shambling off to?”

“Yes, but it is tradition for them all to stay here for several weeks while the pack re-forms—before the daylight soldiers head homeward.”

Lady Maccon watched Ivy wend her way through the chaos of military tents and baggage. She moved with such purpose it was as though she walked with exclamation marks. Hydrodine engines emitted small puffs of yellow smoke at her as she passed and compressed expansion tent stakes hissed as they were pulled prematurely from the ground. All were now being taken back down and moved around the side of the house and into Woolsey’s extensive grounds.

“Have I mentioned recently how much I dislike tradition?” Alexia said, and then panicked. “Are we expected to feed them all?”

The grape bunches bobbed in time with Ivy’s rapidly mincing footsteps. She did not even pause to investigate the disarray. She was clearly in a hurry, which meant Ivy had news of note.

“Rumpet knows what to do. Don’t concern yourself,” advised Professor Lyall.

“You really cannot tell me what is going on? He was up so very early, and Formerly Merriway was definitely involved.”

“Who, Rumpet?”

That earned the Beta a look of profound disgust.

“Lord Maccon did not inform me of the particulars,” Professor Lyall admitted.

Lady Maccon frowned. “And Formerly Merriway won’t. You know how she gets, all-over nervous and floaty.”

Ivy attained the steps to the front door.

As she neared, Professor Lyall said hastily, “If you will excuse me, my lady, I should be getting on.”

He bowed to Miss Hisselpenny and vanished around the corner of the house after Major Channing.

Ivy curtsied to the departing werewolf, a strawberry on a long silk stem wiggling about in front of her left ear. She didn’t take offense at Lyall leaving so precipitously. Instead, she trotted up to the stoop, blithely ignoring Alexia’s dispatch case and waiting carriage, certain in the knowledge that her news was far more important than whatever affair was causing her friend to depart forthwith.

“Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn?”

Lady Maccon sighed. “Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed.”

Miss Hisselpenny ignored the sarcasm. “I have the most splendid news. Should we go in for tea?”

“Ivy, I have business in town, and I am already late.” Lady Maccon refrained from mentioning that business was with Queen Victoria. Ivy knew nothing of her preternatural state, nor her political position, and Alexia thought it best to keep her friend ignorant. Ivy was particularly adept at being ignorant but could cause extensive havoc with the smallest scrap of information.

“But, Alexia, this is very important gossip!” The grapes vibrated in agitation.

“Oh, have the winter shawls from Paris come into the shops?”

Ivy tossed her head in frustration. “Alexia, must you be so tiresome?”

Lady Maccon could barely tear her eyes off of the hat. “Then, please, do not keep it to yourself one moment longer. Pray tell me at once.” Anything to get her dearest friend gone posthaste. Really, Ivy could be too inconvenient.

“Why is there a regiment on your lawn?” Miss Hisselpenny persisted.

“Werewolf business.” Lady Maccon dismissed it in the manner calculated to most efficiently throw Ivy off the scent. Miss Hisselpenny had never quite accustomed herself to werewolves, even after her best friend had the temerity to marry one. They were not exactly commonplace, and she had never had to cope with their brand of gruffness and sudden nudity. She simply couldn’t seem to acclimatize to it the way Alexia had. So she preferred, in typical Ivy fashion, to forget they existed.

“Ivy,” said Lady Maccon, “what exactly are you doing here?”

“Oh, Alexia, I am terribly sorry for descending upon you so unexpectedly! I hadn’t the time to send round a card, but I simply had to come and tell you as soon as it was decided.” She opened her eyes wide and flipped both hands toward her head. “I am engaged.”

CHAPTER TWO A Plague of Humanization

Lord Conall Maccon was a very large man who made for an exceedingly large wolf. He was bigger than any natural wolf could ever hope to be and less rangy, with too much muscle and not enough lank. No passerby would be in any doubt, had they seen him, that he was a supernatural creature. That said, those few people traveling the cold winter road on this particular early evening could not see him. Lord Maccon was moving fast, and he boasted a dark brindled pelt so that, but for his yellow eyes, he faded almost completely into the shadows. On more than one occasion, his wife had called him handsome in his wolf form, yet she had never called him so as a human. He would have to ask her about that. Conall ruminated a moment; then again, perhaps he would not.

Such were the mundane thoughts that passed through a werewolf’s head as he ran the country lanes toward London. Woolsey Castle was some distance away from the metropolis, just north of Barking, a good two hours by carriage or dirigible and a little less on four legs. Time passed and eventually wet grass, neat hedgerows, and startled bunnies gave way to muddy streets, stone walls, and disinterested alley cats.

The earl found himself enjoying the run a good deal less when, just after entering the city proper, right around Fairfoot Road, he abruptly and completely lost his wolf form. It was the most astonishing thing—one moment he was dashing along on four paws, and the next his bones were crunching, his fur retreating, and his knees crashing down upon the cobbles. It left him, shivering and panting, naked in the road.

“Great ghosts!” exclaimed the aggrieved nobleman.

Never had he experienced the like. Even when his gloriously frustrating wife used her preternatural touch to force him back into humanity, it was not so sudden. She generally gave him some warning. Well, a little warning. Well, a yell or two.

He looked about, worried. But Alexia was nowhere near, and he was pretty darn certain he had managed to leave her safe, if fuming, back at the castle. There were no other preternaturals registered for the greater London area. What, then, had just happened?

He looked to his knees, which were bleeding slightly and quite definitely not healing. Werewolves were supernatural: such minor scrapes ought to be closing up right before his eyes. Instead they leaked his slow old blood onto the muddy stones.

Lord Maccon tried to change back, reaching for that place from which he drove his body to split its biological nature. Nothing. He tried for his Anubis Form, the Alpha’s ace, with the head of the wolf and the body of a man. Still nothing. Which left him sitting on Fairfoot Road, completely unclothed, and deeply confused.

Struck with the spirit of investigation, he backtracked a short way. He tried for Anubis Form, changing just his