The ugly Luna

Her plan and new emotions

*Polly*

"Really?" I feel a not altogether pleasant pang of surprise. Of course, Fennec has to marry… someday. But at the moment, I rather like him as he is: mine. Well, mine and Bella’s. "You’re too young," I say protectively.

"You are only seventeen and you’re looking for a mate."

"But that’s just the right age for a she-wolf to marry. Mama didn’t let me debut until this year precisely because of that. Men should be far older than nineteen. I expect thirty or thereabout is about right. What’s more, you’re young for your age," I add.

Fennec narrows his eyes. "I am not."

"You are," I say smugly. "I saw how you were flitting about with Bella, showing her off as if she were a new coat. You probably set her up in some sort of appalling little house draped in blush-colored satin."

His scowl is truly ferocious, which, rather than alarming me, merely gives me confirmation. "At the very least, she could have chosen some shade of blue. She-wolves with yellow hair always think that pink shades will flatter their skin. Whereas a blue, say a cerulean or even violet, would be far more pleasing."

"I’ll let her know. You do realize, Poppy, that you’re not supposed to mention she-wolves like Bella in polite company, let alone offer advice on how they should design their nests?"

"When did you become polite company? Do not call me Poppy," I retort. "Whom are you thinking of marrying?" I do not like uttering that question. I have something of a possessive bent when it comes to Fennec.

"I have no one in mind." But the corner of his mouth twitches.

"You’re lying!" I cry, pouncing on it. "You do have someone in mind! Who is she?"

He sighs. "There’s no one."

"Since you haven’t been to a single ball this year, I cannot imagine whom you could have fixed your eye on. Did you go to any balls last year, when I was still confined to the schoolroom? Of course, I should play an important part in choosing your betrothed," I say, getting into the spirit of it. "I know you better than anyone else. She’ll have to be musical, given what a beautiful voice you have."

"I am not interested in anyone who can sing." Fennec’s eyes flash at me in a way that I secretly rather like. Most of the time he is just the funny, wry ‘brother’ I’ve had my whole life, but occasionally he turns electric with fury and I see him in a whole different light. Like a man, I decide. Odd thought.

I wave my hands. "For goodness’ sake, Fennec, calm down. I must have mistaken the sure sign that you were fibbing." I grin at him. "Do you think I would tease you about your choice? I, who blurted out my adoration of Geoffrey? At least you don’t have to worry about being entirely overlooked by your beloved. You’re quite good looking; the she-wolves don’t know you well enough to guess at your faults; you sing like an angel when someone can coax you into it; and you shall have a good title someday. They would have fallen about hoping to dance with you last night, and I could have watched it from the side."

"I loathe balls," Fennec says, but he isn’t really paying attention. He is trying to puzzle something out; I recognize the look.

"She’s not married, is she?" I ask.

"Married? Who’s married?"

"The she-wolf who has fixed your attention!"

"There isn’t anyone." The edge of his mouth doesn’t curl, so he is probably telling the truth.

"Petra Lightfoot has a lovely singing voice," I say thoughtfully.

"I hate singing."

I know that, but I think he will surely grow out of it. When Fennec sings ‘Lives again our glorious Alpha king!’ in the chapel, I find myself shivering all over at the pure beauty of it, the way his voice swoops up to the rafters and then settles into an angel’s trumpet for ‘Where, O death, is now thy sting?’ Whenever he sings, I think of bright green leaves in late spring. “Isn’t it interesting that I think in colors,” I ask now, “and you think in music?”

“Not at all, because I do not think about music.”

“Well, you should think in music,” I revise. “Given your voice.” But he is obviously in a serious temper, and I have learned over the years that the best tactic is not to engage when he is peevish.

“I wish I had your advantages.” I drop onto my bed and draw up my knees so I can hug them against my chest. “If I were you, Geoffrey would be at my feet.”

“I doubt it. He wouldn’t want a Luna who has to shave twice a day.”

“You know what I meant. All I need is for people to start paying attention to me,” I say, rocking back and forth a little bit. “If I just had even the smallest audience, I could be funny. You know I could, Fennec. I could talk circles around Claribel. I just need one proper suitor, someone who’s not a fortune hunter. Someone who would . . .” An idea pops into my head, fully formed and beautiful.

“Fennec!”

“What?” He raises his head.

For a moment, looking at him, I almost drop my idea. His eyes are positively tragic, and there are hollows in his cheeks, as if he hasn’t eaten enough lately. He looks exhausted. “Are you all right? What on earth did you do last night? You look like a drunkard who spent a night in a back alley.”

“I’m fine.” He sighs.

One has to suppose he spent the previous evening drowning in cognac. My mother is of the opinion that gentlemen pickle themselves in the stuff by age thirty as a matter of course. “I have an idea,” I say, returning to my point. “But it would mean that you’d have to delay your plan to marry for the immediate present.”

“I have no such plan. I don’t wish to get married, no matter what my father says about it.” Fennec can be maddeningly sullen when he wishes. It has gotten better since he was fifteen, but not that much better. “Do you know what I hate most in the world?”

“I’m sure you’ll say your father, but you don’t really mean it.”

“Besides him. I hate feeling guilty.”

“Who on earth makes you feel guilty? You’re the perfect scion of the pack.”

He runs a hand through his hair again. “That’s just what everyone thinks. Sometimes I would kill to go away, where they’ve never heard of Alphas and Lunas and all the rest of it. Where a man could be judged on who he is, rather than on his title and the rest of that tomfoolery.”

I frown at him. “I don’t see where the guilt comes in.”

“I’ll never be good enough.” He gets up and strides to the side of the room to look out the window.

“You’re being absurd! Everyone loves you, including me, and if that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does. I know you better than anyone in the world, and if I say you’re good enough, then you are.”

He turns around, and I find to my relief that he has a lopsided smile on his face. “Poppy, do you suppose you’ll try to take over the House of Alphas someday?”

“They should be so lucky!” I retort. “But seriously, Fennec, will you at least listen to my plan?”

“To conquer the world?”

“To conquer Geoffrey, which is much more important. If you would pretend to woo me, just long enough so that I would be noticed, it would mean the world to me. You never come to balls, and if you began to escort me, then everyone would be asking why, and before we knew it, I would find myself talking to Geoffrey about something… and then I could charm him into overlooking my profile and he would be mine.” I sit back, triumphant. “Isn’t that a brilliant plan?”

*Fennec*

I narrow my eyes. “It has some advantages.”

“Such as?”

“Father would think I was wooing you and leave me alone for a bit.”

Polly claps. “Perfect! I’m absolutely certain that Geoffrey will talk to you. Wasn’t he head boy in your last year at Alpha School?”

“Yes, and because of that I can tell you straight out that Trevelyan would make an uncomfortable husband. He’s far too clever for his own good. And he has a nasty way of making jokes about people.”

“That’s what I like about him.”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s ugly as sin,” I add.

“He isn’t! He’s deliciously tall and his eyes are bronzy-brown colored. They make me think of…”

“Do not tell me,” I say with an expression of utter revulsion. “I don’t want to know.”

“Of morning chocolate,” Polly says, ignoring me. “Or Tib’s eyes when he was a puppy.”

“Tib is a dog,” I say, displaying a talent for the obvious. “You think the love of your life looks like a ten-year-old obese dog?” I assume a mockingly thoughtful attitude. “You’re right! Trevelyan does have a doggy look about him! Why didn’t I notice that?”

Demonstrating that she had not spent seventeen years in the Alpha prince’s household for nothing, Polly throws one of her slippers straight at my head. It skims my ear, which leads to an ungraceful and rather juvenile scene in which I chase her around the bedchamber. When I catch her, I snatch her around the waist, bend her forward, and rub my knuckles into her skull while she howls in protest.

It is a scene that Polly’s bedroom, and indeed, many other chambers on various pack estates, have seen many a time.

But even as Polly howls and kicks at my ankles, I have the sudden realization that I am holding a fragrant bundle of she-wolf. That those are breasts against my arm. That Poppy’s rounded bottom is grinding against me and it feels…

My hands fly apart without conscious volition, and she falls to the ground with an audible thud. There is true annoyance in her voice as she rises, rubbing her knee.

“What’s the matter with you?” she scolds. “You’ve never let me fall before.”

“We shouldn’t play such games. We’re… You’re soon to be a married she-wolf, after all.”

Polly narrows her eyes.

“And my arm is sore,” I add quickly, feeling my cheeks warm. I hate lying. And I particularly hate lying to Poppy.

“You look fine to me,” she says, giving me a sweeping glance. “I don’t see an injury that warrants you dropping me on the floor like a teacup.”

*Polly*

It isn’t until Fennec practically runs from the room that I sink onto the bed and think about what I have seen.

I’ve seen that particular bulge in men’s breeches before. It is a shock to see it on Fennec, though. I don’t think of him in those terms.

But then, all of a sudden, I do.