Page 80 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

“Some of these items are very rare,” Aidan said, taking his spectacles off only long enough to wipe the lenses with a handkerchief. “You are to be commended.”

“Why, thank you.” Barnabus’s chest puffed up. “It’s my life’s work.”

“Would you happen to carry anything of wolf provenance? Something from the Anthus Pack?”

“They are a living Pack, sir. It is forbidden by the Order.”

“Of course,” Aidan murmured easily. “My mistake.”

Sorcha pouted and tried not to look as though she was enjoying herself. “But they are supposed to bless a marriage with good luck. And you promised me something truly unique as a betrothal gift.”

“So I did, rabbit. We’ll find something.”

She huffed. “Lady Carrington had a crocodile from the Nile. She made it dance. I must have something equally rare.”

“And you will. I am sure there are other museums to visit. I shan’t rest. Nothing is too good for my future countess.”

Barnabus’s eyes widened at the reveal. Dramatically. He coughed. “Felicitations, my lord.”

“Thank you, Bernard,” Aidan said, getting his name wrong whilst sounding so uninterested that Sorcha bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Shall we be on our way, rabbit?”

“I suppose so,” she sighed. “This would have made such a good story at my ladies’ tea. Even with her crocodile, Lady Carrington is too scared to walk down this alley, the goose.”

“We’ll find a better one.”

“Er…” Barnabus interrupted with another cough.

Sorcha raised her eyebrows. “Oh dear, are you getting ill? We should go.”

“No!” He smiled so widely it was a bit off-putting. “That is, I am perfectly well. Just need a cup of tea.”

“I see. That’s good to hear. I don’t wish to sneeze through my betrothal ball. It will be the event of the Season, I assure you.”

Aidan offered his arm, and Sorcha wrapped her fingers around it, the muscles hard and warm under her palm. They turned away as one. A gentleman and his lady.

A wolf and the Red Cloak.

“Your lordship, if I may?”

Aidan paused, blinking as if he had already forgotten about poor old Barnabus. “Yes? What is it?”

“Perhaps I can be of service,” the proprietor said quietly, glancing around to make sure the little girl eating her strawberry tart was out of earshot with her father. The little girl in question roared so loudly at her treat that there was no mistaking exactly where she stood. The tart made a clacking sound, like teeth chomping together. Her peal of laughter was infectious—and safely far away on the other side of the exhibits. Barnabus relaxed. “I don’t usually do this, of course. But as it’s a special occasion…”

“Of course,” Aidan allowed. “You have a wolf’s tooth? We would need something old and powerful. The Bisclavret line, if the Anthus is not possible.”

Not even the University could afford the Bisclavret tooth, even if it wasn’t even now in Freya’s possession. Lord Winterwell was fuming over its disappearance but could not do so publicly and risk exposing that it had been stolen while under his care.

Barnabus shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my lord. But we do have this lovely incisor.”

There was still blood on the root. Wolf catchers claimed wolf blood made magic stronger. Aidan tensed. Sorcha made ready to launch herself over the counter to beat Barnabus about the head.

Aidan’s voice was very even when he said, “This is a puppy tooth,” partly for her benefit, she was sure. “Anybody might find these scattered on the ground. Not nearly good enough.”

“This tooth is from a mummified cat from Egypt. It’s several thousand years old.”

“That’s not suitable for my spell,” Sorcha said. “Pity.”

Aidan sighed, also disappointed.