Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(18)

“Good afternoon, Paw.” Rue spoke calmly. “Where have you been?”

Lord Maccon watched her out of glassy yellow eyes, so like her own. Well, except for the glassy bit. He turned his head to glare at Quesnel, teeth bared.

The inventor was trying to look unruffled. But Lord Maccon was very large and, even in sunlight, very strong. Quesnel, while fit, was nowhere near his fighting weight. Rue wouldn’t put it past her chief engineer to be armed with silver, possibly several iterations thereof, but she hoped he wasn’t inclined to permanently damage her father.

It was an odd thought, that Paw might need protection. But he did look most unwell.

“Paw.” Rue put a gentling hand to his arm. It was full daylight so she could touch him without hairy repercussions. For while her mother’s power worked under sunlight, Rue’s did not. As a little girl, she’d always loved it when Paw was awake during the day. He gave the best hugs. “What’s wrong?”

He stayed distracted, growling at Quesnel.

Rue’s beloved Paw was, as her mother often put it, only barely civilised. Yet this was a bit much, even for him. Not that it was odd for an aristocratic father to become agitated at finding his only daughter in a clinch with a commoner on a croquet green. But Lord Maccon was looking, and there was no politer way of putting it, not in control.

“Paw, I wasn’t in danger. Mr Lefoux and I have an understanding.” Well, she corrected the little lie in her head, I understand that he is no longer to be taken seriously and that I should keep my heart out of it. And I also understand that I might as well keep trying to seduce him because a man who kisses that well has got to be good at more than kissing. Rue’s curiosity, it should be pointed out at this juncture, had got her into more scrapes than it ought. She should know better. But there was that kiss.

Lord Maccon didn’t move. Just kept growling. Rue shifted into panic. This was different. He was already over the edge. Whatever cliff it was that tumbled werewolves into animal, he had fallen to the bottom of it.

Rue spoke carefully, trying to pull him back to her with the firmness of her voice. “Paw, are you able to speak?”

He didn’t answer, simply stared at Quesnel. Had it been night, he would most certainly be a wolf. But the sun kept him human. Well, human-looking.

“Don’t run,” Rue advised her chief engineer. “He’ll only chase.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Quesnel sounded as though he, too, might be losing the ability to speak.

“Are you tarnished?”

Quesnel inclined his head.

“Can you pull? Slowly?”

Quesnel moved with liquid grace, reaching with his right hand to scrunch back the cuff on his left arm. This revealed a dart emitter on his wrist. He made a tapping flick to load it, no doubt with silver. Not big enough to do serious damage, but if applied to the right area it could certainly slow a werewolf down.

Rue let out a shaky breath and returned her focus to her father.

“Paw, look at me. Please.”

He didn’t move.

Instinct, this is all instinct. I have to play on that.

She gave Quesnel a wink to let him know she wasn’t serious and then gave a small whimpering sigh. “Oh.” She put a hand to her head in the manner of Aunt Ivy. “I feel faint. I feel dizzy.” She stumbled slightly to one side.

And he was there, big arms scooping her up. So reassuring, usually, Paw carrying her like she was a child again, but his grip was too tight.

Rue tried a light touch to his bristled cheek. Finally, their eyes met. Yellow-to-yellow, grave and worried to glassy and… absent.

Rue could think of only one thing that might help this situation – Lady Maccon. “Where’s Mother, Paw? Where’s your wife?”

Lord Maccon twitched, maybe hearing her, maybe not.

Rue tamped down on the realisation that the London Pack had been drunk and out of control last night, not for some bumbling adorable werewolf reason, but because their Alpha was out of control.

“Alexia, where is she?” Instinct, Rue instructed herself, activate instinct. “I’m fine, Paw. Everything is well. You need to find your wife. She needs you.” You need her.

Alphas who lost their control went mad. They were put down like dogs, for the good of society. Her Paw was, more than ever before, a walking corpse.

Something Rue said went in and stuck.

Lord Maccon blinked and for one second he was back – her big gruff softy of a Paw. “Rue? What are you doing—?”

She took that moment of lucidity and ran with it. “Paw, find Mother. You must find Mother. Now.”

He tilted his head at her. “But?”

“I’m safe.” She did not mention Quesnel. He was standing as still as could be, dart pointed, barely breathing. No need to remind Paw of what he had interrupted; it may have sent him back to that place of the glassy eyes.

“I’m a modern woman, remember? Dama trained me.”

Paw sneered automatically. “That vampire.”

That was good. That was a normal reaction. “But, Paw, I think Mother needs you now. You should go to her.”

He blinked again, like a small sleep-addled child. “Alexia? I should?”

“Yes, at once. Please?”

“If you think that necessary, little one. Is there trouble?” He set her down; huge hands still gripped her shoulders firmly.