How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(31)

Channing had come over all lily-livered, choosing to investigate missing bullets and visit hives (which he loathed) over social engagements (which he had once loathed but now craved).

Not strong enough to entirely resist her presence, Channing slipped into the hat shop on occasion, simply to smell her. Knowing he could control his baser instincts with his Alpha present, but parched for the raisins in her breath and the lapis in her eyes.



Biffy was waiting for Channing as he closed the front door of Falmouth House behind him. Channing snorted at him. It was close to dawn and the Alpha should be in bed with his Beta like any decent Biffy.

“I worried that perhaps you would not make it back in time.”

“I always make it back.”

His Alpha was sitting in the drawing room, curtains drawn against the rising sun and everything dark around him. He was strong enough to take daylight if he must, even with his youth, but he could not stand it for very long.

Channing could barely withstand a moment of sun and rarely bothered to test himself anymore.

“The Iftercasts are coming to dine here, the night after next.”

Channing said nothing in response to this and did not move to join his Alpha in the drawing room.

“Faith will be with them.” Biffy answered the question Channing had not asked.

Of course she will. That is why you invited them.

“You will be there, Channing. This is not a request. It is an order from your Alpha. If nothing else, you owe the girl common courtesy, as you have not dignified her with an explanation for your erratic behavior. Your hot-and-cold treatment of her has been shabby in the extreme.”

Channing hung his head and still said nothing. There was no excuse. His Alpha was correct.

“Tell her what was done to you, Channing, all those years ago. She has suffered her own version of abuse – she will not be unsympathetic. You need not protect her from it. Then, when you leave her because you are not strong enough to stay and fight to overcome the past, she will at least understand that it was not her fault. You owe her that much. Tell her.”

“Or you will?” Channing’s tone was bitter.

Biffy stood and walked to him, fine-boned and refined. A dandy. And a werewolf. And an Alpha.

My Alpha.

“You know I would never betray a confidence, even though your history was told to me by others. But I cannot make promises for the rest of the pack.”

“Lyall,” growled Channing. “You will have Lyall do it.”

Biffy straightened, proud and commanding. “It should come from you.”

Channing left him then, walking slowly through the hallway and up the stairs towards his quarters.

Biffy said to his retreating back, “You will be at this dinner, Gamma.”

“I will,” whispered Channing, to the shadows of the staircase. Knowing his Alpha would hear him no matter how softly he spoke.



Accordingly, the Iftercasts and their American cousin went to dinner at Falmouth House, in Greenwich.

This was widely remarked upon.

The London Pack did not keep an Isopod steam conveyance, so when one pulled up and disgorged a family of mortals, one of whom was noted to have been courted by a pack member, bets were placed.

A reporter, haunting the street nearby, took note of the elegance of the dinner dresses and number in the party. Mr Iftercast was in attendance, a clear sign pointing towards marriage negotiation. Miss Wigglesworth looked very fine, if a tad pale, in her gown of peach silk. That fact would appear in the Mooning Standard gossip rags the next day as “peach, clearly indicating anticipation and eagerness on the part of the young lady.”

Notes were made as to the whiteness of her neck, the trimness of her waist. Notes were not made about the firmness of her jaw and the hardness of her eyes.



Faith thought her dress very daring: the neckline was low and the bodice pleated in such a way as to be extremely flattering. Her pallor was the result of discomfort. She wasn’t certain, after a week of so little contact directly following such profound intimacies, how she could calmly sit at table with Major Channing.

The marks on her neck had faded and with them the last of her confidence. Perhaps he did not want her and had never wanted her. Maybe it had all been some kind of game. Chase me. Chase you.

Tonight was likely to be an awkward business.

Falmouth House was impressive, appearing more like a very large cottage than a true manor house. It was unexpectedly welcoming and homey, for all its size. It must boast many rooms, considering the entire London pack, its clavigers, and assorted staff all called it home, and yet it felt intimate. It was situated on rising ground outside the village of Blackheath, and with the heath itself nearly surrounding it. It was still technically part of London, Mrs Iftercast assured Faith, but rather more towards the outskirts than a lady of high fashion would prefer. Faith supposed wolves needed a place to hunt in their bestial forms (as opposed to the hunting they did in drawing rooms). Faith did not consider herself a lady of high fashion, so she liked both the house and its situation.

Most of the pack members were present to welcome them, including Major Channing. A few were out of town or on business that could not be avoided.

Of those present, Faith had already met Biffy, Professor Lyall, Mr Bluebutton, and Mr Quinn. As to the rest, they were all large, handsome gentlemen of various iterations. Packs apparently did not bother to try to balance the company at table. At Falmouth House, the men vastly outnumbered the women and likely always would.