The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(99)

Alexander the man might wonder who they were and what was their scheme, how they’d managed to get into the garden past his guards, who they worked for, what their master wanted them to accomplish, and how he could use them to counteract the plot. Alexander the beast did not care. These men had compromised the safety of his wife, his son, his men, his home. For that they would pay.

He padded softly through an unkempt garden to a window, able to smell the men’s stench and hear their grating voices inside. He shimmered into his demon form, hid in the shadows near a window and peered through it.

He observed a warm and comfortable sitting room, but the men within it looked anything but comfortable. Otto von Hohenzahl stood before a fireplace with a fire roaring high. He wore a lavish dressing gown and held a cheroot in one hand, a crystal goblet of wine in the other.

His expression as he gazed at the men before him was one of abject horror.

“You idiots!” he said in loud, clear German. “You invaded his house in front of dozens of witnesses? Why would you do such a stupid thing?”

“To avenge you,” the man who seemed to be the leader said. “At least, that is what Peterli told us.”

“Peterli …” The name died on von Hohenzahl’s lips. “Oh, devil take him. Why would he do such a thing?”

A distant part of Alexander’s mind remembered that, according to Myn, von Hohenzahl had been speaking to a man called Peterli in the tavern in Wapping.

“To avenge you,” a new voice repeated as a younger man entered the room. He was dressed in a fine Austrian military uniform, his dark hair crisp, his eyes full of anger. “And keep you from being taken in by that bastard Alexander. He has turned you from your higher purpose.”

“Higher purpose?” von Hohenzahl asked in amazement.

“To bring Nvengaria under the wing of Austria, where she belongs,” Peterli answered. “To teach the arrogant Nvengarians all about submission.”

Von Hohenzahl’s face went ashen. “You are mad, Peterli. My plan, it failed. I cannot make a move without Alexander’s men watching me, and they more than likely followed you here tonight. I am doing what is prudent, withdrawing until Alexander tires of me so that I can begin again.”

Peterli glared at him. “Hiding is not how to make Austria great or Prince Metternich happy.”

“Peterli, you are young,” von Hohenzahl said, taking on a fatherly tone. “You do not make Austria great by charging into ambassadors’ houses and shooting at people. You plan and wait and have patience. You succumb to enemies when necessary, and then plot for bringing them down later. That is how you live another day in this game.”

“Game?” Peterli snapped. “I thought you were an honorable man, Mein Herr.”

“Now you sound exactly like the Nvengarians. You have utterly ruined me, Peterli. Even now, a pack of Alexander’s dogs will be hunting you—and me—and I do not think they’ll wait for someone to translate that you acted without my knowledge.”

“You would betray me?” Peterli asked, shocked. “You would hand me over to them?”

“I would. I’ll not waste twenty years of plans because a hothead like you couldn’t hold on to his temper.”

“But I avenged you. Alexander took away your honor.”

“Peterli, you are so impossibly stupid.”

Alexander smelled the young man’s shift from triumph to bewilderment to blood-crazed fury. Peterli had come to von Hohenzahl expecting to be praised and rewarded, only to find himself slapped on the nose like a slow-witted dog.

Peterli moved swiftly. Before the word “stupid” had completely left von Hohenzahl’s lips, Peterli had a long knife in his hand and was plunging it toward von Hohenzahl.

Von Hohenzahl was faster. He lifted a primed pistol from the table that held an expensive bottle of wine and fired it directly into Peterli’s chest.

The impact sent Peterli hurtling backwards and to the floor, a look of astonishment crossing his face before he died.

The smell of fresh kill released the beast inside Alexander. He smashed the window glass and the wooden frame and tore into the house.

In terror, von Hohenzahl aimed his pistol at Alexander, but it was already empty. Alexander ignored him and slashed heavily into a man who’d brought up a pistol ready to be fired. The others tried to flee.

Alexander slid into his panther form and sprang after the running men, tackling one and hurling him into the others before they could reach the front door. He played with a fallen man like a cat would, pinning him and swatting at him as the man squirmed in terror.

Alexander changed back into his logosh form and swung around just as von Hohenzahl tried to thrust his knife into Alexander’s back. One blow of Alexander’s fist sent von Hohenzahl across the sitting room to smash against the wall. A second blow dispatched another man with a gun who landed on his side, bleeding and groaning.

Alexander changed into the panther as he sprang to von Hohenzahl, who lay dazed on the carpet, and planted one large paw on the man’s chest. Von Hohenzahl looked up at him in terror.

“It was not me,” he bleated in heavy Nvengarian. “I was true to you.”

Alexander growled, giving von Hohenzahl a close-up view of his sharp leopard’s teeth.

Von Hohenzahl shook, his body stinking of fear. “You almost succeeded,” he whispered.