The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (118 page)

The young men gave way until she was faced with the gilt door, painted with white and lavender swirls, that led into Lord
Akeldama's infamous drawing room. She took a deep breath and knocked loudly with the handle of her parasol.

“Lord Akeldama? It's Lady Maccon. May I enter?”

From behind the door came the sound of scuffling and possibly Lord Akeldama's voice. But no one actually bid her entrance.

She knocked again. Even under the most dire of circumstances, one didn't simply go bursting into a man's private drawing room
without sufficient provocation.

A particularly loud crash was all the response she got.

Alexia decided that
this
could be considered sufficient provocation and slowly turned the knob. Parasol at the ready, she waddled in as quick as she
could, closing the door firmly behind her. Just because she was disobeying Lord Akeldama's orders didn't mean the drones could
as well.

Her fascinated gaze fell upon quite the tableau.

Lady Maccon had witnessed an altercation between a vampire and a werewolf once before, but it had been inside a moving carriage
and had rather rapidly relocated from carriage to road. Also, back then, the two opponents had genuinely been trying to kill
each other. This was different.

Lord Akeldama was locked in single combat with a werewolf. The wolf was definitely trying to kill him, jaws snapping and all
his supernatural strength bent on the vampire's destruction. But Lord Akeldama, while fighting the wolf off, did not seem
to be enthusiastic about killing him. For one thing, his favored weapon, a silver-edged glaive that masqueraded as a piece
of gold plumbing, was still in its customary place above the mantelpiece. No, Lord Akeldama seemed to be employing mostly
evasive strategies, which only served to frustrate and anger the wolf.

The beast lunged for the vampire's elegant white neck,
and Lord Akeldama dodged to the side, flicking out one arm in a blasé manner, as if flapping a large handkerchief at a departing
steamer. It was a gesture that, for all its casualness, still lifted the werewolf up and entirely over the vampire's blond
head to land on his back near the fireplace.

Alexia had never had the chance to observe Lord Akeldama fight before. Of course, one knew Lord Akeldama must be
able
to fight. He was rumored to be quite old, and as such must be at least capable of combat. But this was akin to knowing, academically,
that his chubby calico house cat was capable of hunting rats—the actual execution of the task always seemed highly improbable
and possibly embarrassing for all concerned. Thus, she now found herself quite intrigued by the display before her. And soon
discovered that she was wrong in her initial assumption.

Far from any discomfit or awkwardness, Lord Akeldama fought with a nonchalant lazy efficiency, as though he had all the time
in the world on his side. Which Alexia supposed he did. His advantage was in speed, eyesight, and dexterity. The wolf had
strength, smell, and sound to rely on, but he was inexperienced. The werewolf hadn't an Alpha's skill, either, which Lord
Maccon had once described to his wife as fighting with soul. No, this wolf was moon mad. His jaws snapped and his claws speared
surfaces without regard to logic or expense. The vampire's perfectly elegant drawing room was faring no better than Alexia's
back parlor. He was also getting saliva all over the pretty throw cushions.

It would have been an entirely uneven match except that Lord Akeldama really was trying not to hurt Biffy.

Because that was who it was: Biffy, chocolate brown fur with an oxblood stomach.

“How on earth did you get out of the Woolsey dungeon?”

No one answered her, of course.

Biffy charged Lord Akeldama. The vampire seemed to flash spontaneously from one side of the room to the other, leaving the
werewolf to complete his leap with no quarry at the end of it. Biffy landed on a gold brocade chair, overturning it so that
its legs stuck up, shockingly bare, into the air.

The werewolf noticed Lady Maccon's presence first. His nostrils flared. His hairy head swiveled around to cast a yellow-eyed
glare in her direction. There was none of Biffy's soft blue gentleness in those eyes, only the need to maim, feast, and kill.

Lord Akeldama was only seconds behind noticing that they had company. “Why, Alexia, my
little cowslip,
how kind of you to call. Especially in your present condition.”

Alexia played along. “Well, I had nothing better to do of an evening, and I did hear you needed help in entertaining an unexpected
guest.”

The vampire gave a little chuckle. “La so, my custard. As you see. Our company is a
tad
overwrought. Methinks he could use some good cheer.”

“I do see. Is there any way in which I may provide assistance?”

While this conversation took place, Biffy charged at Alexia. She barely had time to arm her dart emitter before Lord Akeldama
interposed, protecting her gallantly.

He took on the brunt of the attack. Biffy's claws scraped down the vampire's legs, tearing silk trousers to
ribbons and gouging deep into the muscle. Old black blood seeped out. At the same time, the werewolf's jaws locked about Lord
Akeldama's upper arm, biting clean through the meatiest part. The pain must have been phenomenal, but the vampire merely shook
the wolf off, as a dog will shake off water. Even as Alexia watched, Lord Akeldama's wounds began to heal.

Biffy launched himself at the vampire once more, and together they grappled, Lord Akeldama always just that split second faster
and a whole lot craftier so that even with all the predatory advantages afforded by the werewolf state, Biffy could not break
the vampire's hold nor his will when both were set so firmly against him.

Alexia said, “I've been meaning to have this little chat with you, my lord. Some of your young gentlemen friends do seem to
get overly clingy, don't you find?”

The vampire puffed out a breath of amusement. His hair was coming loose from its ribbon, and he appeared to have lost his
cravat pin.

“My
darling pumpkin blossom,
it is not my intent to engender such gripping affection, I assure you. It is purely by accident.”

“You are too charismatic for your own good.”

“
You
said it, my dabble-duck, not I.” Once more the vampire managed to use grip and speed to lever the wolf off of him and hurl
the creature across the room, away from Alexia. Biffy landed full against the wall and slid down, taking several watercolors
with him. He crashed to the floor, the paintings now lying amidst shards of glass and gilt frames. He shook himself and stumbled
dizzily to his feet.

Alexia fired the parasol. Her dart struck home and the
werewolf collapsed back. He seemed to wobble, losing control of bits of himself, but then, quicker than any vampire Alexia
had ever shot, fought against the effects of the drug and regained his feet. She wondered if Madame Lefoux's last batch of
numbing agent was up to snuff or if it was simply less effective on werewolves.

Lord Akeldama flitted to one side, catching the wolf's attention and directing his next charge away from Lady Maccon.

Alexia said, deciding on a new tactic, “If you think you could hold him steady, my lord, I might be able to manage a calming
touch. You know, some lads these days simply require a female to administer discipline.”

“Of course, my plum, of course.”

Biffy hit Lord Akeldama broadside, and in the same movement, the vampire turned all affectionate, instead of tossing him away.
Wrapping both his arms and legs about the wolf, Lord Akeldama used the beast's own momentum to tumble them both to the lush
carpet. In an amazing feat of wrestling, the vampire got one elbow about Biffy's muzzle, his hand closing firmly over the
nose. With his other arm, he locked down the forelegs. With his legs, Lord Akeldama secured Biffy's hindquarters. It was a
remarkable exhibition of agility and flexibility. Alexia was duly impressed, having wrestled a bit with her husband. Lord
Akeldama was clearly very experienced in the matter of intimate tussling.

Alexia knew the vampire would not be able to pin the werewolf thus for very long. In the end, Biffy was stronger and would
break free, but Lord Akeldama did have the beast momentarily confused.

She waddled up and, casting her own safety to the
winds, leaned forward, not unexpectedly losing her balance. She landed fully atop both supernatural creatures, ensuring her
bare hands were in contact with Biffy but turning both men mortal in her enthusiasm.

It was a very odd sensation, for in such a position, Alexia was uncomfortably aware of Biffy's body changing from wolf to
human. She could feel the slide of muscle and bone beneath her protruding belly as he shifted. It was eerily like the feel
of her child kicking underneath her own skin.

Biffy howled with the pain of it, directly into Alexia's ear. A howl that turned to a scream of agony, then a whimper of remembered
suffering, and finally little snuffles of acute embarrassment. Then, as he came to the horrific realization of what he had
almost done, he turned to his former master.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear. Oh dear.” It was a litany of distress. “My lord, are you well? Did I cause any permanent injury? Oh look
at your trousers! Oh, mercy. I am so sorry.”

Lord Akeldama's healing was paused midway so that the claw marks were still visible under the tattered ribbons of his silken
britches.

“'Tis but a scratch, my pet. Do not trouble yourself so.” He looked down at himself. “Well, several scratches, to be precise.”

At this juncture, Alexia was forced into a realization that rather shook the foundations of her universe: there are some circumstances
that even the very best manners could not possibly rectify. This was one such situation. For there she lay, pregnant and out
of balance, atop a pile consisting of one overdressed vampire and one underdressed werewolf.

“Biffy,” she said finally, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? I was under the impression you were otherwise contained
this evening.” It was a valiant attempt, but even such talk as this could not mask the awkwardness.

Lord Akeldama attempted to unwind himself from Biffy and extract himself from Alexia without the aid of supernatural strength.
When this was finally accomplished, he stood, dashed to the door to reassure his drones of his undamaged state, and sent one
of them to fetch clothing.

Biffy and Alexia helped each other to rise.

“Are you unharmed, my lady?”

Alexia did a quick internal check. “It would appear so. Remarkably resilient, this baby of mine. I could use a bit of a sit-down,
though.”

Biffy helped her to an ottoman—one of the few pieces of furniture in the room not overturned—her hand firmly clasped in his.
They sat and stared off into space, grappling with how best to handle their predicament. Lord Maccon might be a blustering
instrument of rudeness, but he did have his uses in dispersing awkward silences. Alexia handed Biffy a shawl, only slightly
saliva-ridden. He set it gratefully in his lap.

She tried not to look, of course she did, but Biffy did have a rather nice physique. Not nearly so splendid as her husband's,
but not everyone could be built like a steam engine, and the young dandy had kept himself well in hand before metamorphosis,
for all his frivolous pursuits.

“Biffy, were you secretly a Corinthian?” Alexia wondered out loud before she could stop herself.

Biffy blushed. “No, my lady, although I did enjoy fencing
rather more than some of my compatriots might consider healthy.”

Lady Maccon nodded sagely.

Lord Akeldama returned, looking not a whit put out. His brief sojourn among his drones had resulted in hair and neck cloth
back to crisp and pristine order and a new pair of satin trousers.
How do they do it?
wondered Alexia.

“Biffy,
duckling,
what a surprise your visiting little old
me
at this time of moon.” He handed his former drone a pair of sapphire-colored britches.

Biffy blushed, pulling them on with one hand. Alexia took polite interest in the opposite side of the room. “Yes, well, I
wasn't entirely in my right faculties, my lord, when I made the decision to, uh, call. I think I simply, well, instinctively”—he
glanced at Lady Maccon from under his lashes—“headed home.”

Lord Akeldama nodded. “Yes, my
dove,
but you have missed the mark. Your home is next door. I know it's easy to be confused.”

“Too easy. Especially in my altered state.”

They were speaking about Biffy's werewolfness as one would an evening's inebriation. Alexia looked back and forth between
the two of them. Lord Akeldama had taken a seat opposite his former drone, his eyes heavy-lidded, his posture informal, revealing
nothing.

Biffy, too, was beginning to assume his old dapperness, as though this were actually a social call. As though he were not
half naked in a vampire's drawing room. As though he had not just tried to kill them both.

Lady Maccon had always admired Lord Akeldama's ability to remain patently unruffled by the world about
him. It was as commendable as his never-ending efforts to ensure that his own small corner of London was filled with nothing
but beauty and pleasant conversation. But sometimes, and she should never say such a thing openly, it smacked of cowardice.
She wondered if the immortal's avoidance of life's ugliness was a matter of survival or bigotry. Lord Akeldama did so love
to know all the gossip about the mundane world, but it was in the manner of a cat amusing himself among the butterflies without
a need to interfere should their wings get torn off. They were only butterflies, after all.

Lady Maccon felt it behooved her, just this once, to point out the wounded wingless insect before him. Soullessness may confer
practicality, but it did not always confer caution. “Gentlemen, you may place my abruptness at the door of my current condition,
but I am not in the mood to tolerate idiosyncrasies. Circumstances have placed us all in an untenable position. No, Biffy,
I do not mean your unclothed state—I mean your werewolf one.”