Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(27)

The pack slowed as well. After all, it was no fun to hunt something that didn’t fight back. They weren’t cats.

The drones stopped with relief on their faces and began to tend to each other’s wounds, knowing the blood must be staunched before the vampires caught the scent and demanded second breakfast.

Percy marched up to one of the vampires and put his hands to his hips. “Gahiji, what in heaven’s name do you lot think you’re doing?”

“That man attacked you!”

The vampires all glared at Quesnel.

“Mr Lefoux,” said Percy, “happens to be a colleague both aboard my ship and in academia. We were engaging in a gentleman’s disagreement on a matter of grave import and no little delicacy. I should thank you, and my blasted mother, to keep your ruddy fangs out of it!”

Uh-oh, thought Rue, Percy has resorted to swearing.

Quesnel was annoyed at being defended by his rival but seemed to see the sense in it. After all, the vampires were most assuredly not going to listen to him. Besides, Channing, a great white wolf with cold eyes, was sitting uncomfortably close and staring at him.

Rue yipped at her uncle.

Channing twitched his fluffy white tail at her but did not move. Paw had ordered him to track Quesnel. Only Paw could call him off.

Rue rolled her eyes. Bloody werewolves.

Lady Maccon marched up looking horribly pleased with herself and swinging her ghastly parasol in a jaunty manner. “There you are, infant. My but I forgot how much fun adventuring was.”

Rue sniffed.

“Quite right, quite right. I’m far too old for this nonsense.”

Rue blew out air between her teeth in a canine raspberry.

Lady Maccon turned to Quesnel. “Good evening, Mr Lefoux. This mess is your fault, I take it?”

Quesnel was not afraid of Rue’s mother. Which was an incredibly attractive trait, Rue had to admit. He tilted his head and dimpled winsomely. “Why, Lady Maccon, how do you do? My fault you say? But, dear lady, I am neither a hive queen nor a pack Alpha and yet I see a number of supernaturals milling about. What have I to do with them? Professor Tunstell and I were having a philosophical discussion. No one else ought to have involved himself.”

Lady Maccon was taken aback. “Oh, well. Yes. I suppose I see your point.”

Tasherit trotted up to weave in and around, getting underfoot and underhand and generally in everyone’s way.

Lady Maccon was distracted. “Are you the lioness? Remarkable.”

Rue barked.

But Lady Maccon knew how to keep a secret. She made no illusion to Tasherit’s being a werebeast and only took great care not to touch the cat.

Tasherit reared away from Mother, realising the danger this statuesque woman represented. Rue could almost hear the werecat’s thoughts: Soulless, stay back!

Paw joined them. “So, young Mr Lefoux. Perhaps you and I should take a perambulation about this neighbourhood together?”

Rue placed herself between her father and her chief engineer. Things were confusing enough between her and Quesnel without Paw interfering.

Paw was not best pleased at being opposed by his own daughter.

When he tried to reach around her to grab at Quesnel, she growled.

“Don’t you dare threaten me, young lady!”

“Leave it, dear,” said his wife. “Remember back then, how you reacted to interference from my sainted mother?”

Paw looked shocked. “Are you comparing me to your mother?”

“If the hat fits.”

Rue had never before seen Paw so quickly cowed.

Everyone was calming down. The vampires and drones beetled off to their nearby hive under Percy’s annoyed instructions. Although, no doubt, one or two remained in the shadows to observe. The pack stayed, assembling in a loose circle of lupine curiosity. They seemed particularly fascinated by Tasherit. With regal cat superiority, she took the attention as her due and ignored them.

A touch at the top of Rue’s head distracted her.

Quesnel had his hand buried there and was idly combing through her fur.

“You’re so soft.” He tugged a bit at her long silky ears and she flicked them at him.

He’d ridden her in the past. A fact she had carefully not told her parents; it seemed oddly intimate. But those had been necessarily hurried exploits. She had hoped to practise more, to give him some real training in wolfback riding. The twins were both skilled in the matter, and Quesnel had felt left out. But then he disappeared to Egypt.

“Get your greasy hands off my daughter,” yelled Lord Maccon.

The petting stopped.

Rue instantly missed it.

“What is going on here?” Uncle Rabiffano strode onto the croquet green.

He was so very stylishly pulled together; everyone around him immediately became aware of how disreputable they looked. Lady Maccon’s hands went to her hair, which was still up but full of flyaways. Lord Maccon reached self-consciously for his cravat knot. The other werewolves all looked guilty – cognisant of ruffled fur, scrapes, and the need to bathe.

Uncle Rabiffano’s elegant dancer’s stride ate up the distance until he came to a stop in front of Paw.

Lord Maccon tried to recover the conversational ground. “What are you doing here, Beta?”

Uncle Rabiffano shook his head in a short negation, eyebrows raised. “Delivering a hat to Baroness Tunstell, of course. The real question is, what are you” – one graceful hand took in the amassed pack – “all of you, doing here?”