I assure you, he wanted to say again, I’m not pining! Except that he was. Only it wasn’t for a state of undead - it was for a person. It wasn’t so much an ache, a void at the edge of his consciousness, as a missing piece. The same piece that was missing from his pack, the balance point that they all yearned for. The one who could, so easily and gently, have settled the matter of purple curtains.
Biffy told himself for the millionth time that it was nothing more than an Alpha’s need for his Beta. He refused to believe that after twenty years, his heart hurt for a connection it had had so long ago, for such a short space of time. He forced his mind not to go in that direction. There were too many other things, too many important things that he must deal with, and pining for his Beta (non-sexually or otherwise) wouldn’t solve anything.
With a sigh, he capitulated. Which likely wasn’t a good decision. Alphas were supposed to be strong, commanding, hold to their point of view. Or something like that.
He went with his second option. “I suppose blood red is out, too.”
The pack all looked at one another.
“We werewolves customarily get outdoor colours like browns and greens and such.” Phelan was trying to help.
Biffy glared. “I am attempting to give us an aura of sophistication! It’s 1895. We live in London. Earth tones are so very last decade!”
The werewolves now looked as though they were trying not to laugh. At least a few of them did.
“Why do vampires get to have purple? Is it a rule? Something to do with royalty?” Biffy had learned there were lots of unwritten rules to immortality. The werewolves called them protocols, but really they were traditionally codified rules.
Adelphus smiled. “Not officially. It’s more to do with Rome.”
Biffy grinned back. “Oh, yes, ancient history, is it?”
Biffy knew he had a bit of a lax attitude about tradition. But then again, wasn’t that part of his role? In his lucid days, before the previous Alpha went mad with Alpha’s curse, Lord Maccon would say, This is your time, Biffy. Bring us into the modern age. We have to learn to accommodate the present, or we are going to become obsolete. You’re important to all werewolves - you represent a new kind of Alpha.
I’m failing. I’m failing him. And I’m failing them. Well, us, I suppose I should say. He looked at his pack sitting around the dinner table, worried, uncomfortable.
Biffy stood. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he had good form and excellent posture. He was a practiced gentleman and he called upon that sophistication (in lieu of arrogance) so that he could put his beautifully shod foot very firmly down.
“Purple curtains. End of discussion.”
Adelphus opened his mouth. Biffy glared. “End. Of. Discussion.”
Adelphus snapped his mouth closed and tilted his head quickly to show his neck. “Yes, Alpha.”
With a start, the others followed suit.
Biffy marched from the room. Feeling a little faint. Which he attributed to not having had time to eat - too busy arguing about curtains.
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G A I L C A R R I G E R, L L C
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by GAIL CARRIGER, LLC.
Copyright (c) 2018 by Gail Carriger, LLC
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Excerpt from Romancing the Werewolf by Gail Carriger
Copyright (c) 2017 by Gail Carriger, LLC
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ISBN: 978-1-944751-12-8
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