Free Imprudence by Gail Carriger Page A

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.
    She couldn’t suffer
that
either. She put both her hands up to ward him off.
    Then there came a swirl of fabric and the scent of apple blossoms.
    Primrose was there.
    Primrose was making calm sweet noises, wrapping Rue in soft gentle arms and guiding her back aboard the
Custard
and away from all the staring. Away from Quesnel’s hurt sympathy. Away from Paw’s glassy wolf eyes. Up the gangplank and through a silent mass of sombre decklings and a strangely agonised-looking Percy, and down the stairs, and into the privacy of the captain’s quarters.
    There Rue could heave out the sobs of certain loss that come with change. For Paw was meant to be immortal, and for the first time Rue knew that he was not.

FOUR

In Which the Maccon Family Is Quite Imprudent
    P rimrose stayed, rubbing Rue’s back and making sympathetic noises. Primrose was good like that. She didn’t ask what was wrong.
    Finally Rue said, “I” – sniff – “hate” – sniff – “stays.”
    â€œLet’s get you out of that corset, then, shall we?” Which was a mark of how good a friend Primrose was, for she was normally the most proper young thing and tried not to know that Rue rarely wore underpinnings. Now she pretended delight at helping her strip and climb into a comfortable tea-gown.
    Rue loved her for the pretence.
    â€œPrim, something’s wrong with Paw.” Rue sat on the edge of the counterpane and looked at her hands, trying not to cry again.
    Primrose perched next to her. “Yes. I do believe you might be right about that.”
    â€œIt’s Alpha’s curse.”
    Prim did not mollify that horrible statement with platitudes. “Do you know how old he is, your father?”
    â€œOld enough.”
    â€œIs that what it looks like, the curse?”
    â€œIt differs, depending on the Alpha. There are not many cases