How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(9)

“Did it?”

“I felt you waver.”

“Did you? I didn’t think we were so intimate that you could sniff out my feelings at a distance like that.”

“A tether is a tether, Channing. You cannot fool me with that icy facade. You hurt deeper and harder than any of the others, so I feel you pulling at me the most.”

“Do I? Do you? I shall try to control myself better.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Channing laughed, cold and sharp, a burst of pain bleeding out of his mouth. “You’ve no idea what you’re asking for, Alpha.”

“No, I don’t. But you keep it all so close, tight to yourself. That’s not pack. That’s loner behavior. It pulls and frays and aches. You’re hurting yourself and you’re hurting us. I don’t want to lose you, Channing. You’re a prat but you’re my prat.”

“Have you asked Lyall or the others? Do you know why?”

“I do. But it’s not worth shutting yourself off from us because of what she did.”

“Pack may not be enough to hold me? Is that what you’re saying?” Channing’s greatest fear tore at his throat, making his voice ragged.

“No, but I think it’s what you believe. You could let it go, you know? I’m strong enough now, even for you.”

Channing finished his slice of pie and cocked his head at his pretty young Alpha. “You’re a child.”

Biffy cocked his head back. Wolflike, mirroring his movement – sympathetic, strong, and present. He did not rise to the bait.

Finally, the Alpha said, “It won’t break me, Channing. If you let me take on some of it. If you let her go, just a little.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“No, it isn’t, is it? People think because you are cold that you feel nothing. When in fact, it’s quite the opposite.”

“Don’t accuse me of being deep, Alpha. And stop meddling – you’re like a gossipy grandmother. Now that you’ve established yourself, you want to see the rest of us tied down and subdued.”

Biffy flashed his sweet smile. “I’d settle for seeing you happy.”

“You are a confounded romantic.”

“Guilty as charged. So, what happened to twinge our tether?”

“There was this irritating American.” Channing had no idea why he confessed even that much. Sometimes, it was hard to hide from an Alpha.

“An American, was it? Pretty?”

Channing glowered at him and refused to elucidate further.

Biffy only nodded to himself in that irritating way he had. “Very pretty, I take it. Was she—” Suddenly, the Alpha’s head went up, nostrils flaring.

Channing instantly tensed. What was it? Loner in their territory? Break in one of the others’ tether? Attack? Battle?

The expression on his Alpha’s face went from concerned sympathy to incandescent joy. “Lyall’s home.”

Channing snorted at him.

Moments later, Professor Lyall slid quietly into the room. One eyebrow rose in inquiry at the sight of Channing and his pork pie remnants chatting alone with the Alpha in an unlit kitchen.

“Channing, how are you this evening?” The Beta’s nondescript face was carefully neutral, although there was something to his eyes that suggested he was actually amused to find them thus situated.

Channing pointed at Biffy. “Take him away, Randolph, do. He’s getting nosy again.”

Professor Lyall came up behind their Alpha and ran his fingers through the young man’s dark brown hair. Biffy leaned into the caress, closing his eyes briefly like a contented cat.

Channing groaned. “Stop it. I just ate.”

Biffy grinned. “You’re only jealous.”

Channing rolled his eyes, stood up in a huff that was only partly simulated, and stormed out of the room. Jealous. Of course I’m jealous. And it wasn’t even the love, or the contentment, or the easy affection that drove a spike into what was left of Channing’s heart. It was that he’d set himself on this path and had walked it with confidence for decades, chosen to be solitary, because it seemed easier and he was lazy and afraid. And now he was trapped.

A pair of blue eyes, like lapis, had shaken him out of it for one sharp moment. His Alpha had felt it, that tiny shift. That opening of the trap. And Channing wanted to escape – he desperately wanted escape. Except that the pain of the iron teeth holding him back was all he knew now, and he was a coward.

Get yourself together, Channing, old man, she’s a bloody American. She is not for you. And you most certainly are not for her.





STEP THREE


  If You Must Be Bait, Be Very Stylish Bait


Faith found the Iftercast household to be much like its mistress – comfortable, casually opulent, cheerful, and mildly forgetful. The town house was situated in a desirable location just off Grosvenor Square, substantial without being too showy. This, too, was like its mistress.

They kept fashionable hours, with breakfast at noon, morning calls paid in the early afternoon (confusingly), and other business conducted at night. Faith supposed it made sense for a society built around the presence of supernatural creatures. Vampires and werewolves, after all, only came out after sunset.