Channing seemed to feel further explanation was necessary. “He was good, your father, very good. He’d been trained by the Templars for one purpose and one purpose only—to hunt down and kill supernatural creatures. But even he couldn’t take on an Alpha. Even an insane, sadistic bastard like Lord Woolsey was still an Alpha with a pack at his back.”

Professor Lyall put his spectacles down on a side table and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I told him not to, of course. Such a waste. But he was always one to pick and choose listening to me. Sandy was too much an Alpha himself.”

Alexia thought for the first time that Professor Lyall and Lord Akeldama shared some mannerisms. They were both good at hiding their emotions. To a certain extent, this was to be expected in vampires, but in werewolves . . . Lyall’s reserve was practically flawless. Then she wondered if his very quiet stillness were not like that of a child climbing into hot water, afraid that every little movement would only make things hotter and more painful.

Professor Lyall said, “Your father’s death taught me one thing. That something needed to be done about our Alpha. That if I had to bring down another pack to do it, so be it. At the time, there were only two wolves in England capable of killing Lord Woolsey. The dewan and—”

Alexia filled in the rest of his sentence. “Conall Maccon, Lord Kingair. So it wasn’t simply a change of leadership you were after; it was self-preservation.”

One corner of Lyall’s mouth quirked upward. “It was revenge. Never forget, my lady, I’m still a werewolf. It took me nearly four years to plan. I’ll admit that’s a vampire’s style. But it worked.”

“You loved my father, didn’t you, Professor?”

“He was not a very good man.”

A pause. Alexia thumbed through the little journal. It was worn about the edges from countless readings and rereadings.

Professor Lyall let out a little sigh. “Do you know how old I am, my lady?”

Alexia shook her head.

“Old enough to know better. Things are never good when immortals fall in love. Mortals end up dead, one way or another, and we are left alone again. Why do you think the pack is so important? Or the hive, for that matter. It is not simply a vehicle for safety; it is a vehicle for sanity, to stave off the loneliness. Our mistrust of loners and roves is not only custom, it is based on this fact.”

Alexia’s brain buzzed with all these new revelations, but finally the whirling settled on one thing. “Oh, lordy, Floote. Floote knew.”

“Some, yes. He was Sandy’s valet at the time.”

“Is it you who are keeping him quiet?”

Professor Lyall shook his head. “Your butler has never taken his orders from me.”

Alexia looked at the little journal again, stroking the cover, and then offered it back to Lyall. “Perhaps you will let me read it in its entirety sometime?”