“Listen to me. You tell them that Lady Maccon says it is a matter of urgency. The Alpha female requires her pack to attend her, regardless of their current state.” I will have to change the secret phrase now.

“But—”

“It will work. You must trust me.” She wasn’t certain, of course. A matter of urgency was pack code for Lady Maccon acting as muhjah. She had rarely had to use the summons, and then only with a perfectly sane husband or Beta, never with only clavigers. Would the message even be understood?

The duke gave her one hard, long look. Then he whirled and ran, leaping the fallen tree with almost as much ease as a werewolf, heading directly for the castle, supernatural speed in full effect.

With one of their oldest and wisest gone and the great metal octopus looming above their unprotected queen, the vampires around Lady Maccon went ever so slightly insane themselves. Not as mad as the countess, but definitely wild. One of them charged the octomaton, only to be swept easily aside.

The metal creature raised up a tentacle to its eye slit, once more opening the tip and flipping out the bullhorn that allowed Madame Lefoux to speak.

“Give me Quesnel. You are out of options.” There came a short pause. “I can hardly believe it of you, Alexia, helping vampires. They tried to kill you!”

Alexia stuck her head out of the door-side window of the carriage and yelled back, “So? Recently, you also tried to kill me. In my experience, murder could almost be an expression of affection.” It took an enormous effort to yell, and she fell back into the carriage, moaning and clutching at her stomach. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Alexia Maccon was afraid.

Then came the noise, an eerie blessing of a sound, one that Alexia had grown to love very much over the past year or so.

Wolves. Howling.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A Clot of Vampires

The Woolsey Pack was a large collective, a good dozen strong. And a dozen werewolves is like two dozen regular wolves in size alone. Normally, they were also one of the better-behaved packs. When other packs were feeling snide, they called Woolsey tame. But no werewolf behaves himself on full moon.

Lady Maccon knew very well that she was taking a grave risk. She also knew her smell would attract her husband. Even in the throes of full-moon’s curse, he would run to her. He might try to kill her, but he would come. He was Woolsey’s Alpha for a reason, with enough charisma to hold his pack and drag them with him, no matter how strong the need to break away and trail blood and raw meat across the countryside. They would all follow him, which meant he would bring them all to her.

So it proved to be.

They poured out the lower doors and windows of the castle, howling to the skies. They evolved into a kind of cohesive moving liquid, flowing down the hillside as one silvered blob, like mercury on a scientist’s palm. The howling became deafening as they neared, and they were swifter than Alexia remembered, full of eternal rage at a world that forced such a cost of immortality upon them. Any human would flee, and Alexia could see that even the vampires were tempted to run away from the massive supernatural force charging toward them.