“Don’t run,” Rue advised her chief engineer. “He’ll only chase.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Quesnel sounded as though he, too, might be losing the ability to speak.

“Are you tarnished?”

Quesnel inclined his head.

“Can you pull? Slowly?”

Quesnel moved with liquid grace, reaching with his right hand to scrunch back the cuff on his left arm. This revealed a dart emitter on his wrist. He made a tapping flick to load it, no doubt with silver. Not big enough to do serious damage, but if applied to the right area it could certainly slow a werewolf down.

Rue let out a shaky breath and returned her focus to her father.

“Paw, look at me. Please.”

He didn’t move.

Instinct, this is all instinct. I have to play on that.

She gave Quesnel a wink to let him know she wasn’t serious and then gave a small whimpering sigh. “Oh.” She put a hand to her head in the manner of Aunt Ivy. “I feel faint. I feel dizzy.” She stumbled slightly to one side.

And he was there, big arms scooping her up. So reassuring, usually, Paw carrying her like she was a child again, but his grip was too tight.

Rue tried a light touch to his bristled cheek. Finally, their eyes met. Yellow-to-yellow, grave and worried to glassy and… absent.

Rue could think of only one thing that might help this situation – Lady Maccon. “Where’s Mother, Paw? Where’s your wife?”

Lord Maccon twitched, maybe hearing her, maybe not.

Rue tamped down on the realisation that the London Pack had been drunk and out of control last night, not for some bumbling adorable werewolf reason, but because their Alpha was out of control.

“Alexia, where is she?” Instinct, Rue instructed herself, activate instinct. “I’m fine, Paw. Everything is well. You need to find your wife. She needs you.” You need her.

Alphas who lost their control went mad. They were put down like dogs, for the good of society. Her Paw was, more than ever before, a walking corpse.

Something Rue said went in and stuck.

Lord Maccon blinked and for one second he was back – her big gruff softy of a Paw. “Rue? What are you doing—?”

She took that moment of lucidity and ran with it. “Paw, find Mother. You must find Mother. Now.”

He tilted his head at her. “But?”

“I’m safe.” She did not mention Quesnel. He was standing as still as could be, dart pointed, barely breathing. No need to remind Paw of what he had interrupted; it may have sent him back to that place of the glassy eyes.

“I’m a modern woman, remember? Dama trained me.”

Paw sneered automatically. “That vampire.”

That was good. That was a normal reaction. “But, Paw, I think Mother needs you now. You should go to her.”

He blinked again, like a small sleep-addled child. “Alexia? I should?”

“Yes, at once. Please?”

“If you think that necessary, little one. Is there trouble?” He set her down; huge hands still gripped her shoulders firmly.

“Yes, there’s trouble.” It was true enough, even if the trouble was him.

“Then I’ll go.” He whirled and ran.

Rue spared a moment to be grateful he was wearing clothing; the state he was in, it could have gone either way. She regretted that even in sunlight he could move faster than most humans. She should set a deckling to track him, but even if she was willing to risk the life of one of her crew, it was too late. He’d vanished.

The horror of it prickled her all over – sharp, painful spikes. Her Paw was going mad. She hadn’t noticed. She’d been too caught up in leaving home, in exploring India, and angry queens, and her pretty ship, and her pathetic romance. And now she’d set him loose through London, where he could kill someone. Or himself.

Rue could only hope he found Mother soon. He wouldn’t harm Lady Maccon. Mother always said, “Your father’s instincts are different with us, infant. It has to do with smell and family. Don’t take advantage, but you should know when he’s wolf he’ll always try to protect you. Don’t take it as an insult. He can’t help it, poor dear.” Mother would handle everything. She would make it all better. That was the awe and the grace of Lady Maccon.

Except that this didn’t seem like a thing that could get better.

Rue had been raised with pack. Rue was pack. She knew what it was to be a werewolf. A little. She also did not understand in the slightest. She never hunted on instinct. Even at full moon she could stay in control. She never craved flesh. She simply liked to dash about hairy and on four legs once in a while. But she had thought she understood werewolves and their moods and forms. Yet she’d never realised a werewolf could be in human shape, yet still a wolf.

She let out a shaky breath and tried to find her equilibrium but her mind would not stop. Paw will have to leave off Alpha. Will he be challenged? Will he be killed? Could I get him out of London first? Could I take him somewhere safe? Where could we go where Alpha’s curse would not get him? It takes all Alphas in the end.

Much to her own surprise and embarrassment, fat tears burned down her face.

Quesnel turned from where he’d tracked her father with his dart emitter and saw her crumble. Which was humiliating, because she had just decided not to trust him, and she really couldn’t tolerate that loving sympathetic look in his eyes.

He took a step towards her, arms open to enfold her in a soothing embrace.