Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(21)

Rafe noticed her and said something. They all quieted. Most of them hung their heads and didn’t look at her. Hemming gave Rue a cocky grin. She thought about reminding him how ridiculous he’d looked in her dress, but the pack would have to wait.

Except they apparently wouldn’t. From a spot near the door, hidden from her hallway view, emerged a strapping blond gentleman.

Major Channing Channing of the Chesterfield Channings was both tall and broad, although not to Paw’s scale. He was entirely comfortable with his size in a way that many large men of Rue’s acquaintance were not. Few big men occupied space easily; most were constantly at war with it, trying to make room for themselves. Uncle Channing was elegant. He was also painfully good-looking, not a requirement for werewolves by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, Rue could never quite understand why he hadn’t gone for vampire. His style was more suited to hive than pack. But pack he was. Gamma by station, which meant the only ones to outrank him were Paw and Uncle Rabiffano. In human form he had a petulant mouth and icy-blue eyes. Most of the time both were arranged into a sneer of such arrogance it kept everyone at a goodly distance. Rue had learned, over the years, that this was the point.

It never worked on Rue. She’d somehow understood from her littlest girl state that Uncle Channing wasn’t intentionally mean; he was simply wounded in a way that made him scared of being prey. He hunted others as a great white wolf, vicious and bloody. And he hunted with words as a great blond man, equally vicious and bloody. Uncle Channing would do anything not to be vulnerable.

It almost hurt Rue to see him contort himself into shame before her.

“Lady Prudence?”

“Uncle Channing?”

He hung his head. “My behaviour last night. Please allow me to apologise. It was unconscionable. If I had known who you were, I would never… I can’t possibly make amends.”

“Pish-tosh.” Rue sounded so like her mother it startled a few of the other werewolves into smiles. “You didn’t hurt one hair on my pelt. There is nothing to apologise for. What’s a little growling between family, hmm?”

Uncle Channing lifted his head, icy eyes hot with hope. “You aren’t angry?”

“Of course I’m not angry. It’s not your fault.”

Uncle Channing looked like he wanted to protest. Only someone behind Rue said in a gravelly voice, “Channing, did you growl at my daughter?”

Rue spun to find her father looming in the parlour doorway with his wife, a slightly smaller loom, behind him. She was holding his hand. Keeping him mortal.

He seemed to be wholly Paw, tired but otherwise nothing like the creature she had encountered that afternoon.

“Paw, good, there you are.”

He ignored her. “Channing?”

“It was all in good fun, wasn’t it, Uncle Channing? And Uncle Rabiffano was there to keep the peace. Nice of him, actually,” Rue prattled, squeezing past her father and into the back parlour. “Good evening, Mother.”

“Infant.”

Rue glared at her parents’ joined hands. “Got your hands full this evening, have you?”

Lady Maccon was a mite taken aback by her daughter’s tone. “I don’t quite comprehend your meaning.”

“How long, exactly, have you had your hands full, Mother? Since before I left for India or is this a new occurrence? Paw, would you please close the door and come in? Good night, Uncle Channing. Perhaps we will talk again a little later? No hard feelings, I promise.”

Uncle Channing nodded at her, looking relieved, but he did not move. His Alpha had not yet dismissed him.

Paw gave him one more dominating glare. “Major.” He slammed the door in his Gamma’s face.

Lady Maccon focused on her daughter. “What’s happened, infant?”

Rue examined her mother. Lady Maccon seemed more frustrated than was normal, even for her. If she’s been holding Paw back from insanity, she’s had to stay touching him, flesh to flesh, whenever they were both awake. Rue had never once doubted that her parents adored one another, but that kind of thing would strain any marriage.

“Had a little bit of a chat with Paw earlier. Although, I did most of the chatting. Paw was there but he also wasn’t if you take my meaning?”

Mother’s face blanched, as much as it could, for she was swarthy. She collected herself and tsked. “Oh for goodness’ sake, you two, let’s sit like a proper family.”

They sat and stared at one another in awkward silence, which was quite familial.

Paw broke it. “Little one, did I drop by for a visit this afternoon? Or was that a dream?”

“I thought werewolves didn’t dream.” Rue didn’t answer his question.

He continued musing. “I did stop by. I’m certain of it. Massive ladybug ship. And you were there and so was that blister Lefoux. And he was kissing you!” His voice rose.

Then he rose as well and marched back to the door, ripping it open. Luckily it was built for such abuse.

“Channing!”

Uncle Channing reappeared with more than supernatural speed, suggesting that he had been listening at keyholes, although with werewolf hearing a keyhole wasn’t necessary.

Paw didn’t care. “As a personal favour, I’d like you to go keep an eye on this Quesnel scrapper. You know him, Lefoux’s spawn. He seems to be hunting rather the wrong prey.”