The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(71)
A dark tingling began in Alexander’s spine, and his heart beat faster. “I never wanted to be a demon.”
It is what you are. Myn did not speak words, and Alexander was not reading his mind. He simply knew what Myn meant.
Myn shimmered again and his form flowed into that of the wolf that had appeared in the anteroom at the ball. You may show what form you wish to the world.
Surrender was not a word with which Alexander was comfortable. He’d surrendered to Prince Damien but only conditionally because he believed that Penelope could keep Damien under control. Alexander hadn’t really surrendered to the love spell when it had touched him; it had simply taken him over.
Myn had taught him meditation. Stretching out his hands, Alexander studied his fists, marking each sinew and hair that curved over his fingers. He had darker skin than an Englishman’s, his Magyar ancestry showing in his olive-toned flesh.
Alexander loved to look at Meagan’s hand on his, her pale fingers lightly brushing his. She touched him as though she found every part of him fascinating.
For Meagan, Alexander thought. For her safety. He closed his eyes and gave himself to the change.
When he opened his eyes again, the world did not look much different—and then everything shifted. Shadows sharpened and he saw colors he’d never known existed, exact shades that hugged the line between green and blue, and a color beyond purple he could not identify.
Every blade of grass, every leaf, every grain of earth was clear and whole. He definitely heard the heartbeats of animals now, and their quick fear as they sensed a predator among them. He was aware of the steady beat of Myn’s heart, the heat of the other logosh’s blood, could pinpoint where Myn was with precision.
Alexander’s hands were different. Hard with muscle, strange skin covered them, but it was not unpleasant as he had feared. It looked right, as though Alexander himself had finally broken through.
But Meagan would fear this shape. Alexander had heard the story of how the boy logosh, Wulf, had come to England in pursuit of Penelope and how he’s terrorized the household, including Meagan. He did not want Meagan looking upon Alexander in fear.
Another shape then—Myn had said that Alexander could present any face to the world he wanted. He already knew the Alexander shape, but for his logosh form, he would choose something less frightening to Meagan.
Ah, he hit upon it. Alexander had always admired the creatures and a few of them inhabited the high mountains north of Nvengaria.
Alexander concentrated. He studied his hands again, nearly jumping when they began to be covered with smooth, silky black hair. His fingers grew shorter and rounded into claws, then he was compelled to drop to all fours.
When he landed, the look of the world shifted again, going black and white but sharper still, with shadows becoming convex and concave. He rumbled in his throat, a growl emerging that sent the more sensible rabbits dashing for safer hiding places.
Alexander put one paw in front of the other, feeling the strength in sleek sinews, shoulders bearing the weight of his long back. He swiped his tongue over the outside of his mouth, tasting wiry whiskers and the strange sensation of fur.
He broke into a trot without realizing it, following the scent pattern of Myn’s wolf form, the trail of smells bolder than those of sight. The moon emerged as Alexander moved into the woods, spilling light into the empty clearing where he’d been. The breeze stirred the abandoned clothes and sash of office of the Grand Duke of Nvengaria.
* * *
Alexander did not return home until dawn. Egan MacDonald, with stubbornness, refused to leave, no matter how many times Meagan beat him at chess.
“I have taken a hundred guineas from you,” she said as Egan laid down his king yet again. Early light brushed the edges of the curtains, sliding between cracks to touch the near-guttered candles.
“I am a glutton for punishment.” Egan retrieved the chess pieces and set them up. “Again?”
“Good heavens, no.” Meagan rose, impatiently shaking out her apricot skirts, tired of the lovely dress. “Haven’t you things to do? Mad Highlander things?”
Egan turned the white queen around between broad fingers. “If I go off to do Mad Highlander things, will you go to bed?”
Meagan shook her head. “I am afraid not.”
“Then I stay. And anyway, Alexander—”
“I know, ordered you to look after me.” Meagan scowled. “Blast him.”
“Meagan, he is a—”
Meagan thrust out her hand. “If you are going to say he is a very important man, I believe I shall scream.”
“Let me finish a sentence, woman. I was going to say he is an unpredictable man. You’re never sure what he’s going to do. When I arrived in Nvengaria with Damien and Penelope last summer, Alexander was calm as anything, ushering us into the throne room and behaving like a caring host. And of course he meant to execute Damien as soon as he possibly could, and me too perhaps.” Egan set the queen down with a thump. “Whatever Alexander’s gone off to do, unless he wants us to know what it is, we never will.”
Meagan lifted her chin. “I intend to ask him.”
Egan blew out his breath. “Good luck, love. I admire the man, and he’s proved a boon to Damien and Penelope, but no man holds his cards closer to his chest than Alexander of Nvengaria. He’s got the new King George trembling in his Bath chair every time he comes near.”