Dubh quickly turned to one side, baring his neck. Apparently he agreed with the earl in this matter.

Lord Maccon made his way over to where Lady Kingair sat, still and straight in her chair at the head of the table. "You certain about this, la.s.s? You ken 'tis probably death that's facing you?"

"We need an Alpha, Gramps." She looked to him. "Kingair canna survive much longer without one. I be the only option we've got left, and at least I'm Maccon. You owe the pack."

Lord Maccon's voice was a low rumble. "I dinna owe this pack anything. But you, la.s.s, you're the last of my line. And it's time I took your wishes into consideration."

Lady Kingair sighed softly. "Finally."

Conall nodded once more. Then he changed. Not entirely. There was no full breaking of bone, no complete melting from one form to the next, and no shifting of hair into fur-except about his head. Only there did Lord Maccon transform: his nose elongating, his ears expanding upward, and his eyes shifting from brown to full yellow and lupine. The rest of him remained fully human-looking.

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Lady Maccon. "Are you going to do it right here, right now?" She swallowed. "At the dinner table?"

No one responded. They all stopped eating-a serious business, indeed, to put a Scotsman off his food. Pack and claviger alike became still and focused, staring hard at Lord Maccon. It was as though, by sheer strength of will, they could all see this metamorphosis through to a successful conclusion. Either that, or they were about to regurgitate their meals.

Then Lord Conall Maccon proceeded to eat his great-great-great-granddaughter.

There was really no other way of putting it.

Alexia watched in wide-eyed horror as her husband, wearing the head of a wolf, began to bite down on Lady Kingair's neck and then kept on chomping. Never before had she thought to behold such a thing.

And he was doing it right there, supper dishes not yet cleared away. The blood leaking down from Lady Kingair's throat seeped into the lace collar and silk bodice of her dress, a dark spreading stain.

The Earl of Woolsey savaged Sidheag Maccon. Not one of the pack stepped in to save her. Sidheag flailed against the full bite. Instinct would not deny such a reaction. She clawed and hit at Conall, but he remained unmoved and unhurt, his werewolf strength easily outmatching her pathetic human struggles. He simply clamped those big hands about her shoulders-and they were still simply hands, without claws-and kept on biting. His long white teeth ripped through skin and muscle right down to the bone. Blood covered his muzzle, clotting the fur there.

Lady Maccon could not pull her eyes away from the gruesome sight. There seemed to be blood everywhere, and the copper smell of it battled against the scent of haggis and fried kipper. She was beginning to discern the inner workings of the woman's neck, as though this were some kind of horrific tableside anatomy lesson. Sidheag stopped struggling, her eyes rolling far back, showing almost all the whites. Her head, barely still attached to the rest of her body, lolled dangerously far to one side.

Then, in some farcical mockery of death, out came Conall's big pink tongue, and like an excessively friendly dog, he began licking over all the flesh he had just butchered. And he kept on licking, covering Sidheag's face and her partly open mouth, spreading lupine saliva about Lady Kingair's gaping wounds.

I am never going to be able to perform my wifely duty with that man ever again, thought Alexia, her eyes wide and fixed on the repulsive sight. Then, entirely unexpectedly and without even knowing it was about to happen, she actually fainted. A real honest-to-goodness faint, right there, face forward into her half-eaten haggis.

Lady Maccon blinked awake to her husband's worried, looming face. "Conall," she said, "please do not take this the wrong way. But that may have been the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life."

"Have you ever attended the birthing of a human child?"

"No, of course not. Don't be vulgar."

"Well, perhaps you had best wait to pa.s.s judgment, then."

"Well?" Alexia levered herself up slightly and glanced about. She appeared to have been carried into one of the drawing rooms and put to rest upon a brocade settee of considerable age.

"Well what?"

"Did it work? Did the metamorphosis work? Is she going to survive?"

Lord Maccon sat back slightly on his haunches. "A remarkable thing, a full Alpha female. Rare even in our oral histories. Boudica was an Alpha, did you know?"

"Conall!"

The head of a wolf came into Alexia's line of vision. It was not one she was personally familiar with: a craggy, rangy creature, graying about the muzzle but muscled and fit despite evident signs of age. Lady Maccon struggled to prop herself farther up onto the pillows.

The wolf's neck was covered in blood, the fur matted with a dark red crust, but otherwise it showed no injury. As though the blood were not her own. Which, technically, as she had now become supernatural, it might not be anymore.

Sidheag Maccon lolled a tongue out at Alexia. Alexia wondered how the wolf would respond to a scratch about the ears and decided, given the dignity of the woman when mortal, not to risk such an approach.

She looked at her husband. At least he seemed to have changed his shirt and washed his face during her mental absence. "I take it it worked?"

He grinned hugely. "My first successful change in years, and a female Alpha at that. The howlers will cry it to the winds."

"Somebody's proud of himself."

"Except that I should have remembered how distressing metamorphosis is to outsiders. I am sorry, my dear. I didna mean to upset you."

"Oh pish tosh, it wasn't that! I'm hardly one to be overcome by a bit of blood. It was simply a little dizzy spell."

Lord Maccon shifted forward against her and ran a large hand down the side of her face. "Alexia, you have been entirely comatose for well over an hour. I had to send for smelling salts."

Madame Lefoux came around the side of the couch and crouched down next to Alexia as well. "You had us very worried, my lady."

"So what happened?"

"You fainted," accused Lord Maccon, as though she had committed some egregious crime against him personally.

"No, with the metamorphosis. What did I miss?"

"Well," said Madame Lefoux, "it was all very exciting. There was this crash of thunder and a bright blue light and then-"

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Lord Maccon. "You sound like a novel."

Madame Lefoux sighed. "Very well, Sidheag started to convulse and then collapsed to the floor, dead. Everyone stood around staring at her body, until all of a sudden, she began spontaneously changing into a wolf. She screamed a lot-I understand the first change is the worst. Then we realized you had collapsed. Lord Maccon threw a conniption fit, and we ended up here."

Lady Maccon turned accusing eyes to her husband. "You didn't, and on your granddaughter's metamorphosis day!"

"You fainted!" he said again, disgruntled.

"Stuff and nonsense," replied his wife sharply. "I never faint." A bit of her old color was returning. Really, who would have suspected she could turn quite that ashen?

"There was that one incident, in the library, when you killed the vampire."

"I was shamming and you knew it."

"How about that time we visited the museum after hours and I trapped you in a corner behind the Elgin Marbles?"

Lady Maccon rolled her eyes. "That was an entirely different kind of pa.s.sing out."

Conall crowed. "My point exactly! Just now, you actually, positively, did faint. You never do that kind of thing; you're not that kind of female. What's wrong with you? Are you ill? I forbid forbid you to be ill, wife." you to be ill, wife."

"Oh, really. Stop fussing. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I'm just a tad off-kilter, have been since the dirigible ride." Alexia pushed herself more upright, trying to smooth her skirts and ignore her husband's still-stroking hand.

"Someone could have poisoned you again."

Alexia shook her head decisively. "As it wasn't Angelique who tried before, and it wasn't Madame Lefoux who stole my journal, and both occurred on board the dirigible, I believe the perpetrator never followed us to Kingair. Call it a preternatural hunch. No, I'm not being poisoned, husband. I'm just a little bit weak, that's all."

Madame Lefoux snorted, looking back and forth between the two of them as though they were both batty. She said, "She is just a little bit pregnant is what she is."

"What!" Lord Maccon's exclamation was echoed by Alexia. Lady Maccon stopped smoothing out her skirts, and Lord Maccon stopped smoothing out his wife's face.

The French inventor looked at them, genuinely amazed. "You did not know? Neither of you knew?"

Lord Maccon recoiled away from his wife, violently, jerking to stand upright, arms stiff by his sides.

Alexia glared at Madame Lefoux. "Don't talk piffle, madame. I cannot possibly be pregnant. That is not scientifically feasible."

Madame Lefoux dimpled. "I was with Angelique during her confinement. You show every possible sign of a delicate condition-nausea, weakness, increased girth."

"What!" Lady Maccon was genuinely shocked. True, she had been slightly sick to her stomach and unreasonably off some foods, but was it really possible? She supposed she might be in an indelicate condition. The scientists could be wrong, after all; there didn't exist very many soulless females, and none of them were married to werewolves.

She turned a suddenly grinning face to her husband. "You know what this means? I am not a bad dirigible floater! It was being pregnant that made me ill on board. Fantastic."

But her husband was not reacting in quite the manner antic.i.p.ated. He was clearly angry, and not the sort of angry that made him bl.u.s.ter about, or shout, or change form, or any of those normal Lord Macconish kinds of things. He was quietly, white-faced, shivering angry. And it was terribly, terribly frightening.

"How?" he barked at his wife, backing away from her as though she were infected with some terrible disease.

"What do you mean, how? The how how should be perfectly obvious, even to you, you impossible man!" Alexia shot back, becoming angry herself. Shouldn't he be delighted? This was evidently a scientific miracle. Wasn't it? should be perfectly obvious, even to you, you impossible man!" Alexia shot back, becoming angry herself. Shouldn't he be delighted? This was evidently a scientific miracle. Wasn't it?

"We only call call it 'being human' when I touch you, for lack of a better term. I'm still dead, or mostly dead. Have been for hundreds of years. No supernatural creature has ever produced an offspring. it 'being human' when I touch you, for lack of a better term. I'm still dead, or mostly dead. Have been for hundreds of years. No supernatural creature has ever produced an offspring. Ever. Ever. It simply isna possible." It simply isna possible."

"You believe this can't be your child?"

"Now, hold on there, my lord, don't be hasty." Madame Lefoux tried to intervene, placing one small hand on Lord Maccon's arm.

He shook her off with a snarl.

"Of course it's your child, you pollock!" Now Alexia was livid. If she hadn't still been feeling weak, she would have stood and marched about the room. As it was, she groped for her parasol. Maybe whacking her husband atop his thick skull would drive some sense into him.

"Thousands of years of history and experience would seem to suggest you are lying, wife."

Lady Maccon sputtered in offense at that. She was so overset she couldn't even find the words, a remarkably novel experience for her.

"Who was he?" Conall wanted to know. "What daylight-dependent dishtowel did you fornicate with? One of my clavigers? One of Akeldama's poodle-faking drones? Is that why you're always visiting him? Or just some milk-curling mortal blowhard?"

Then he began calling her things, names and words, dirtier and harsher than she had ever heard before-let alone been called-and Alexia had encountered more than her fair share of profanity over the past year. They were horrible, cruel things, and she could comprehend the meanings of most, despite her lack of familiarity with the terminology.

Conall had committed many a violent act around Alexia during their a.s.sociation, not the least of which was savage a woman into metamorphosis at the supper table, but Alexia had never been actually afraid of him before.

She was afraid of him now. He did not move toward her-in fact, he'd backed farther away toward the door-but his hands were fisted white at his thighs, his eyes had changed to wolf yellow, and his canines were long and extended. She was immeasurably grateful when Madame Lefoux physically interposed herself between Alexia and the earl's verbal tirade. As though, somehow, the inventor could provide a barrier to his horrible words.

He stayed there, on the other side of the room, yelling at Alexia. It was as though he'd placed the distance between them, not because he didn't want to come at her and tear her apart, but because he really thought he might. His eyes were such a pale yellow they were almost white. Alexia had never seen them that color before. And, despite the filthy words coming out of his mouth, those eyes were agonized and bereft.

"But I didn't," Alexia tried to say. "I wouldn't. I'd never do those things. I am no adulteress. How could you even think? I would never." But her protestations of innocence only seemed to injure him. Eventually, his big, good-natured face crumpled slightly about the mouth and nose, drawing down into lines of pain, as though he might actually cry. He strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

The silence he left behind was palpable.

Lady Kingair had, during the chaos, managed to change back into human form. She came around the front of the couch and stood a moment before Alexia, entirely naked, shielded only by her long gray-brown hair, loose over her shoulders and chest.

"You will understand, Lady Lady Maccon," she said, eyes cold, "if I ask you to leave Kingair territory at once. Lord Maccon may have abandoned us once, but he is still pack. And pack protects its own." Maccon," she said, eyes cold, "if I ask you to leave Kingair territory at once. Lord Maccon may have abandoned us once, but he is still pack. And pack protects its own."

"But," Alexia whispered, "it is his child. I swear it. I was never with anyone else."

Sidheag only stared at her, hard. "Come now, Lady Maccon. Shouldna you come up with a better story than that? 'Tis na possible. Werewolves canna breed children. Never have done, never will do." Then she turned and left the room.

Alexia turned to Madame Lefoux, shock written all over her face. "He really believes I was unfaithful." She herself had reflected recently how much Conall valued loyalty.

Madame Lefoux nodded. "I'm afraid it is a belief most will share." Her expression sympathetic, she placed a small hand on Alexia's shoulder and squeezed.

"I wasn't, I swear I wasn't."

The Frenchwoman winced. "I believe that, Lady Maccon. But I will be in the minority."

"Why would you trust me when even my husband does not?" Alexia looked down at her own stomach and then rested shaking hands upon it.

"Because I know how very little we understand about preternaturals."

"You are interested in studying me, aren't you, Madame Lefoux?"

"You are a remarkable creature, Alexia."

Alexia widened her eyes, trying not to cry, her mind still vibrating with Conall's words. "Then how is this possible?" She pressed hard against her stomach with both hands, as though asking the tiny creature inside to explain itself to her.

"I imagine that is something we had best figure out. Come on, let's get you out of this place."

The Frenchwoman helped Alexia to stand and supported her weight out into the hallway. She was surprisingly strong for such a delicate-looking creature, probably all that lifting of heavy machinery.

They ran into Felicity, looking remarkably somber.

"Sister, there was the most awful to-do," she said as soon as she saw them. "I believe your husband just smashed one of the hall tables into a thousand pieces with his fist." She c.o.c.ked her head. "It was was an astonishingly ugly table, but still, one could always give it to the deserving poor, couldn't one?" an astonishingly ugly table, but still, one could always give it to the deserving poor, couldn't one?"

"We must pack and leave immediately," said Madame Lefoux, keeping one arm supportively about Alexia's waist.

"Good Lord, why?"

"Your sister is pregnant, and Lord Maccon has cast her out."

Felicity frowned. "Well, that that does not follow." does not follow."

Madame Lefoux had clearly had enough. "Quickly, girl, run off and gather your things together. We must quit Kingair directly."

Three-quarters of an hour later, a borrowed Kingair carriage sped away toward the nearest train station. The horses were fresh and made good time, even in the slush and mud.