Alexia screamed in surprise and then in shock at the coldness of the water. She came up sputtering.
Without hesitating, her husband dove in after. He could swim better and catch up to her faster in wolf form, so he changed as he fell, hitting the water a massive brindled beast instead of man.
As the steamer churned swiftly away, Alexia heard Ivy screaming, “Woman overboard! Wait, no, man and woman overboard. Wait, no woman and wolf overboard. Oh, dash it, help! Help us please! Stop the ship! Man the lifeboats. Help! Summon the fire brigade!”
Conall arrowed through the icy black sea toward Alexia, his fur slicked back, seal-like. After only a few moments, he reached her.
“Really, husband, I can swim perfectly well. There’s no need for both of us to get all salty,” instructed Alexia tersely, although she was already shivering and she well knew the real danger in being cast adrift came not from drowning but from cold.
Conall barked at her and swam closer.
“No, don’t touch me! Then you’ll be human, too. Then we’ll both shiver to death. Don’t be silly.”
Ignoring her, the wolf came up next to her and wormed his way under one arm, clearly intending to help her stay afloat.
He did not change.
Not even slightly.
Alexia had removed her gloves for parasol examination and was gripping him reflexively with one bare hand. Nothing. He remained a werewolf.
“Well, would you look at that!”
Conall’s wolf face looked shocked. But then again, the markings about his eyes and muzzle often caused that expression, so there was no way to tell if he was truly registering the peculiarity or still acting on instinct to protect her. Whatever the case, at least he did not give in to his werewolf nature and try to eat her, which for the first time in their long association he might have been able to do.
Alexia’s teeth started to chatter. Conall was doing most of the work to keep them afloat. She figured she might as well let him, as he still had all his supernatural strength.
She cogitated upon this amazing occurrence, thinking back over her life and every preternatural touch: those times when she had been forced to use her nak*d flesh, and those times when it had functioned even through fabric.
“Wat-t-t-t-ter!” she chattered. “It’s all wat-t-t-t-t-ter. Just like ghosts and t-t-tethers.”
Conall appeared to be ignoring her, but Alexia was having a scientific breakthrough and being stranded somewhere near the Strait of Gibraltar in the Atlantic Ocean wasn’t going to stop her epiphany. “It all makes per-r-r-fect sense!” She wanted to explain but she was chattering so hard she could no longer understand herself. Also her extremities were going numb. Science would have to wait.
I’m going to freeze to death, she thought. I have figured out one of the greatest preternatural mysteries and no one will know the truth. It’s so very simple. It was there all along. In the weather. How annoying.
“Oh! There she blows!” she heard Ivy sing out in the dark night. A wave of displaced water crashed over her, and a second later a wooden box with handles splashed down next to her for her to latch on to. The box was followed by a knitted hammock she could use to pull herself inside.
Conall changed into his human form and pulled himself in next to her.
“Cover yourself with my skirts,” hissed his wife through still-chattering teeth, pushing the ruination of her evening gown at him.
Her husband only looked at her, mouth agape. “What just happened?”
“We have made a g-g-g-reat discovery! We may have to p-p-p-publish,” announced his wife, waving her goose-pimpled arms about. “Scientif-f-f-ic-c-c break-k-k-through!”
Conall threw his arm around her, hugging her close, and they were lifted to safety. By the time they reached the deck, he was mortal.
CHAPTER NINE
Biffy Experiments with Flirting and Felicity
Everything ought to have proceeded smoothly with the investigation—or as smoothly as possible with Lady Kingair’s brand of Alpha obnoxious interference. Biffy genuinely believed they were doing well, even after calling in at the eighth ball in an attempt to track down various private dirigible owners. Lucky for him, in the manner of all wealthy enthusiasts, the owners were quite willing to talk about their floating conveyances to the exclusion of all else, even with a slight young man to whom they had only recently been introduced. Biffy learned how the Great Mitten Slayer earned its name, where it was berthed, how often it was used, and what security measures were in place that prevented lone assassins from floating it to Fenchurch Street and killing werewolves. He ascertained similar details about Her Majesty’s Truss, the Lady Boopsalong, and several others with names less easily recalled. He also learned that those gentlemen equipped with the means and inclination to purchase personal flotation devices were not so interested in tying their cravats with finesse. Dirigibles brought out the worst in people.
It was Professor Lyall’s plan of inquiry. Biffy was to handle the high-society elements, while the professor looked in at registration offices and sequestered paperwork on pilots’ credentials and private dirigible sales from Giffard’s. Lady Kingair was of very little use, so they left her to stew at the house, pacing about the library and pouncing upon whoever stumbled in. Floote kept her in line as well as he was able with a constant supply of chewing tobacco, Scotch, and treacle tart. Just like Lady Maccon, she seemed to have an unholy passion for the dratted stuff. Biffy had never liked treacle tart, even as a human; he simply couldn’t respect any kind of food that left a residue.
He came home from the eighth party, and yet another failed lead, to find Floote waiting for him in the hallway looking rather more concerned than he had previously thought Floote capable of looking, even after an entire evening spent with sticky, treacle-eating werewolf she-Alphas. The hallway smelled of roses.
“Is something wrong, Floote?”
“It’s Miss Felicity, sir.”
“Lady Maccon’s sister? What could she possibly want with me?”
“Not you, sir. She called here to see Lady Kingair. They’ve been sequestered in the back parlor for over an hour.”
“Good gracious me! They know each other from when the ladies visited Scotland, but I did not think they were on terms of any intimacy.”
“No, sir, I don’t believe they are.”
“You think Miss Loontwill is up to something?”
Floote inclined his head. As much as to say, Isn’t she always?
Biffy took off his hat and gloves, placing them both on the hall table and checking the state of his rebellious hair in the looking glass above it. Tonight it was frizzy. He sighed. “But what could Miss Loontwill possibly want with Lady Kingair?”
“Is that Professor Lyall?” came a roar from the back parlor. The door crashed open, revealing Lady Kingair in a towering fury.
Biffy, noting the rage, inclined his head, tugging down on his cravat to expose his neck.
This submissive stance only seemed to aggravate her further. “Oh, it’s you. Where is Lyall, the little weasel? I’ll see him flayed alive. You see if I don’t.”
Biffy glanced up through his lashes, trying to keep as unthreatening a demeanor as possible.
Felicity followed Lady Kingair out into the hall. She was wearing a dress of pale blue satin with royal blue velvet trim and a smug expression. Biffy had no idea why, but that expression terrified him more than Lady Kingair’s rage. He wasn’t particularly taken with the dress, either. Blue on blue always looked damp.
Lady Kingair came close enough for his hackles to rise, even in human form. “Did you ken, pup?”
“Know what, my lady?” Biffy kept his voice mellow.
“Did you ken it was him? Did you ken what he did?”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but I have no idea to what you are referring.”
“Did you ken what he did to my pack? Stole Gramps away from us! Lyall, that jackass. Stole him! Organized everything. Played us all like we were bally puppets. Got my pack to attempt treason and Gramps to feel betrayed so he would up and run to Woolsey. Do you ken what that did to my life? A child left to clean up dross? Have you any inkling what it was like? Did he give us a single thought? Destroy one pack to save another, will he? Bollocks to that! I’ll skin him alive!”
Biffy could only shake his head, trying to understand, trying to put everything together. “This is all before my time, my lady.”
She lashed out at him, backhanding him hard across the face, all werewolf strength and Alpha rage at anyone who would threaten her pack, past or present, real or imagined. The force of the blow thrust Biffy back against the wall and down to one knee, blood spattering the perfect points of his white starched collar.
Felicity gave a little squeak of alarm.
The pain was intense but fleeting. Biffy could feel the cut on his lip healing even as he regained his feet. It had taken him a long while to become accustomed to the sensation of flesh knitting back together again, like skin darning. He pulled out his handkerchief, lilac scented, and dabbed the spatter off of his cheek. He could feel the hunger starting, the need to consume bloody flesh to compensate for the blood he had lost. Felicity, standing so still behind the vibrating Lady Kingair, smelled delicious, even through the lilac of his handkerchief and the rose of her perfume—werewolf urges were so embarrassing.
“Now, Lady Kingair, there’s no call for that kind of behavior. We are all civilized here, if you would just—”
But the Alpha was already away, ripping the dress from her own body and changing to wolf form there in the hallway. She went charging out into the night. Floote had enough presence of mind to open the front door wide or she might have crashed through it.
Biffy was frightened for Lyall and momentarily at a loss given the suddenness and violence of the preceding few minutes. He knew he should warn the Beta somehow, but first he had to ascertain the particulars. He turned to face Felicity.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Floote subtly replacing a tiny pearl-handled gun into his inner coat pocket with his free hand. The butler must have armed himself when Lady Kingair turned violent. Biffy wasn’t certain how he felt about this. Should butlers be hiding small firearms about their personage? Didn’t seem very domestic.
Felicity tried to make her way to the now-open door.
Biffy moved supernaturally fast. He would never be as quick as Lord Akeldama, but he was certainly faster than Felicity Loontwill. He signaled Floote with a sharp gesture, and the butler, understanding perfectly, closed the door firmly in the young lady’s face. In the same instant, Biffy took Felicity by one arm.
His hands—slender and fine and once so well suited to his preferred mortal pastime, playing the piano—were now more than equipped with the strength to waylay one frivolous female.
“I didn’t know you knew Lady Kingair.”
“I didn’t until I met her.”
Biffy glared.
Felicity started to prattle. “Why, Mr. Rabiffano, I’ve hardly seen you out in society at all since I returned from abroad. I’m finding private balls about town so very undiscriminating these days. They’ll let practically anyone attend. Then again, you were at the Blingchesters last night, weren’t you? Talking to Lord Hoffingstrobe about his new dirigible?”