Heartless

“No, Major, wait until she is well away,” cautioned Lady Maccon.

They waited, making their way slowly up to the next floor.

Alexia finally deemed it safe, but still she spoke in a very low voice. “Yes?”

“I wanted to say, about that business with our Beta. Randolph is different from the rest of us wolves, you do realize? Your father was the love of his life, and we immortals don’t say such a thing lightly. Oh, there were others before Sandy—mostly women, I’ll have you know.” Channing seemed to be one of the few immortals Alexia had met who was concerned with such things. “But Sandy was the last. I worry. It was a quarter of a century ago.”

Lady Maccon frowned. “I have other pressing concerns at the moment, Major, but I will give the matter my due attention as soon as possible.”

Channing panicked. “Oh, now, I’m not asking you to matchmake, my lady. I’m simply pleading for leniency. I could not confide such fears to Lord Maccon, and you are also our Alpha.”

Alexia pinched at the bridge of her nose. “Could we talk about this tomorrow evening, perhaps? I really am quite done in.”

“No, my lady. Have you forgotten? Tomorrow is full moon.”

“Oh, blast it, it is. What a mess. Later, then. I promise not to take any rash action with regards to the good professor without due consideration as to the consequences.”

Channing clearly knew when to retreat from a battle. “Thank you very much, my lady. As to your sister, she is quite a peach, is she not? You have been hiding her from me.”

Lady Maccon would not be goaded. “Really, Channing, she is practically”—she paused to do some calculations—“one-twentieth your age. Or worse. Don’t you want some maturity in your life?”

“Good God, no!”

“Well, how about some human decency?”

“Now you’re just being insulting.”

Alexia huffed in amusement.

Channing raised blond eyebrows at her, handsome devil that he was. “Ah, but this is what I enjoy so much about immortality. The decades may pass for me, but the ladies, well, they will keep coming along all young and beautiful, now, won’t they?”

“Channing, someone should lock you away.”

“Now, Lady Maccon, that transpires tomorrow night, remember?”

Alexia did not bother to warn him off her sister. Such a man as Channing would only see that as a challenge. Best to pretend not to care. Felicity was on her own with this one. Lady Maccon was exhausted.

So exhausted, in fact, that she didn’t awaken when her husband later crawled in next to her in their bed. Her big, strong husband who had spent the night holding on to a boy afraid of change. Who had coached that boy through a pain Conall could no longer remember. Who had forced Biffy to realize he must give up his love or he would lose all of his remaining choices. Her big, strong husband who curled up close against her back and cried, not because of what Biffy suffered but because he, Conall Maccon, had caused that suffering.

Alexia awoke early the next evening to an unfamiliar sense of peace. She was not, by and large, a restful person. This did not trouble her overmuch. But it did mean that peace was, ironically, a slightly uncomfortable sensation. It drove her fully awake, sharp and sudden, once she had recognized and identified it. Her husband had slept pressed against her the whole day through, and she had been so very tired even the inconvenience of pregnancy had awakened her only a few times. She luxuriated in the pleasure of Conall’s broad, comforting presence. His scent was of open fields, even here in town. She reflected whimsically that he was the incarnation of a grassy hill. His face was rough with a full day’s growth. It was a good thing they were now encamped in Lord Akeldama’s house. If any household were to employ the services of an excellent barber, it was this one.

Alexia pushed aside the bedding, the better to examine her personal territory with greater thoroughness. She smoothed her hands along her husband’s massive shoulders and chest, resting fingertips at the notch in the base of his throat. She petted him as though he were in wolf form. She rarely got to indulge in such a luxury; usually her preternatural touch turned him back to human before she even got in one good scratch. Sometimes, though, and no one had ever been able to tell her why, she could put on her gloves and pet his thick brindled coat, even tug on his velvety ears with no shifting. Yet another mystery of my state, she thought. It had happened once in Scotland, and then a few other times during the winter months. These days, however, her preternatural abilities seemed to be amplified. He went human simply by being close to her. I wonder if it has something to do with the pregnancy. I should do some experiments and see if I can isolate the conditions. Before her marriage, she’d never spent much time in the company of supernaturals, apart from Lord Akeldama, and she had never had the opportunity to really study her own abilities.

But in the interim, she would continue petting whatever form he presented her with. She trailed her hands back over his chest, threading fingers through the hair there, tugging slightly, and then down along his sides.

A rumbling snuffle of amusement met this action.

“That tickles.” But Conall did not make any move to prevent her continued explorations. Instead, he picked up his own hand and began smoothing it over her protruding belly.

The infant-inconvenience kicked in response, and Conall twitched at the sensation.

“Active little pup, isn’t he?”

“She,” corrected his wife. “As if any child of mine would dare be a boy.”

It was a long-standing argument.

“Boy,” replied Conall. “Any child as difficult as this one has been from the start must, perforce, be male.”

Alexia snorted. “As if my daughter would be calm and biddable.”

Conall grinned, catching one of her hands and bringing it in for a kiss, all prickly whiskers and soft lips. “Very good point, wife. Very good point.”

Alexia snuggled against him. “Did you manage to settle Biffy?”

Conall shrugged, an up and down of muscle under her ear. “I spent the remainder of last night with him. I think that helped mitigate the trauma. It is hard to tell. Regardless, by this point, I should be able to sense him.”

“Sense, what do you mean, sense?”

“Difficult to articulate. Do you know that sensation you get when there is someone else in the room, even if you cannot see them? For us Alphas, pack members are a little like that. Whether we are in the same room or not, we simply know the pack is there. Biffy, he isn’t a part of that yet. So he isn’t part of my pack.”

Alexia was struck with a moment of inspiration. “You should encourage him and Lyall to spend more time together.”

“Now, Alexia, are you trying to matchmake?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought you said Biffy did not need to be in love, he needed to find his place.”

“Perhaps, in this matter, Biffy is not the half of the equation who needs to be in love.”

“Ah. How did you know Randolph might favor . . . ? Never mind, I don’t want to know. It would never work. Not those two.”

Alexia took mild offense. Biffy and Lyall were both such good men, so personable and kindly. “Oh, I don’t know about that. They seem eminently suited.”

Lord Maccon looked up at the ceiling. Clearly he was trying to come up with a delicate way to phrase this. “They are both, uh, too much the Beta, if you take my meaning.”

Alexia didn’t. “I don’t see how that can be an objection.”

Lord Maccon obviously felt he could not go into the matter any further without spoiling what little was left of his wife’s feminine delicacy, so he grappled for a means of changing the subject. Only to recall exactly what night this was.

“Oh, bugger it. It’s full moon, isna it?”

“Indeed it is. Good thing we’re all cozied up together, isn’t it, my dear?”

Lord Maccon pursed his lips, trying to decide what to do. He had not intended to sleep the whole day through but had wanted to be on his way back to the dungeons before moonrise. “I left orders for Lyall and Channing to transport Biffy back to Woolsey before sunset, but I really should get there myself.”