The earl bent and pressed a kiss to his wife’s lips and then to his daughter’s little forehead. Alexia suspected he was contemplating going back downstairs to check in with Lyall, as there was still a lot to be done that afternoon.

“Come to bed,” said his wife.

“You two ladies do look verra peaceful. Perhaps just a little kip.”

“Lyall has both Floote and Rumpet helping him. They could run the empire, those three, if they felt like it.”

Lord Maccon chuckled and crawled in on Alexia’s other side, settling his big body down into the feather mattress.

Alexia sighed contentedly and nestled against him, curled about the baby.

He snuffled once at the nape of her neck. “We need to find a name for the wee one.”

“Mmm?” was his wife’s only answer.

“I’m nae certain that’s a verra good name.”

“Mmm.”

“Sorry to disturb you, my lord, but the vampires are asking for you.” Professor Lyall’s voice was quiet and apologetic.

Alexia Maccon came awake with a start to the feel of her husband shifting behind her. He was evidently trying to extract himself from the bed without disturbing her. Poor man, stealth of movement was not one of his stronger character traits. Not in human form at any rate.

“What time is it, Randolph?”

“Just after sunset, my lord. I thought it best to let you sleep the remainder of the day away.”

“Oh, yes? And have you been awake the whole time?”

Silence met that.

“Ah. Right. You tell me the lay of the fur, Randolph, and then you go catch some rest.”

Alexia heard a faint howling. The younger werewolves, still unable to control change so close to full moon, were back in their fur and imprisoned below for another night. Locked away with vampires.

“Who is seeing to them?” asked the earl as he, too, registered the sound.

“Channing, my lord.”

“Oh, blast.” All pretense at subtlety abandoned, Lord Maccon jumped out of bed.

This jiggled the baby. A thin, querulous wail started up from just under Alexia’s chin. She started violently, for she had, until that moment, entirely forgotten about the child. Her child.

She opened her eyes and looked down. Half a day’s intermittent rest had not improved the infant’s appearance. She was red and wrinkly, and her face got all scrunched up when she cried.

Conall, obviously still under the impression that Alexia was asleep, hurried around the bed and scooped the tiny creature up. The whining turned to a little snuffling howl, and there in his arms instead of a child, lay a newborn wolf cub.

Lord Maccon nearly dropped his daughter. “God’s teeth!”

Alexia sat up, not quite comprehending what she had just seen. “Conall, where’s the baby?”

Her husband, mute in shock, proffered the cub at her.

“What have you done to her?”

“Me? Nothing. I simply picked her up. She was perfectly normal and then poof.”

“Well, she’s unquestionably cuter in that form.” Alexia was prosaic.