Changeless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Second Read Online Free PDF Page B

crunching, his fur retreating, and his knees crashing down upon the cobbles. It left
     him, shivering and panting, naked in the road.
    “Great ghosts!” exclaimed the aggrieved nobleman.
    Never had he experienced the like. Even when his gloriously frustrating wife used her preternatural touch to force him back
     into humanity, it was not so sudden. She generally gave him some warning. Well, a little warning. Well, a yell or two.
    He looked about, worried. But Alexia was nowhere near, and he was pretty darn certain he had managed to leave her safe, if
     fuming, back at the castle. There were no other preternaturals registered for the greater London area. What, then, had just
     happened?
    He looked to his knees, which were bleeding slightly and quite definitely not healing. Werewolves were supernatural: such
     minor scrapes ought to be closing up right before his eyes. Instead they leaked his slow old blood onto the muddy stones.
    Lord Maccon tried to change back, reaching for that place from which he drove his body to split its biological nature. Nothing.
     He tried for his Anubis Form, the Alpha’s ace, with the head of the wolf and the body of a man. Still nothing. Which left
     him sitting on Fairfoot Road, completely unclothed, and deeply confused.
    Struck with the spirit of investigation, he backtracked a short way. He tried for Anubis Form, changing just his head into
     that of a wolf, an Alpha trick that was faster than full shift. It worked but left him in a conundrum: dally about as a wolf,
     or press on to the office naked? He changed his head back.
    Normally, when there was a chance he might have to change publicly, the earl carried a cloak in his mouth. But he had thought
     to make it safely to the BUR offices and into the cloakroom there before decency became necessary. Now he regretted such careless
     confidence. Formerly Merriway had been right—something was terribly wrong in London, and that apart from the fact that he
     was currently lollygagging about starkers inside it. It would appear that it was not only the ghosts who were being affected.
     Werewolves, too, were undergoing alteration. He gave a tight smile and retreated hurriedly behind a pile of crates. He would
     lay good money that the vampires weren’t growing any feeding fangs tonight either—at least not the ones living near the Thames.
     Countess Nadasdy, queen of the Westminster hive, must be positively frantic. Which, he realized with a grimace, meant he was
     likely to get the unparalleled pleasure of a visit from Lord Ambrose later that evening. It was going to be a long night.
    The Bureau of Unnatural Registry was not situated, as many a confused tourist expected, in the vicinity of Whitehall. It was
     in a small, unassuming Georgian building just off Fleet Street, near the
Times
offices. Lord Maccon had made the switch ten years ago, when he discovered that it was the press, not the government, that
     generally had a handle on what was truly transpiring around the city—political or otherwise. This particular evening, he had
     cause to regret his decision, as he now had to make his way through the commercial district as well as several crowded thoroughfares
     in order to get to his office.
    He almost managed the trek without being seen, skulking through the grubby streets and around the mud-spattered corners—London’s
     finest back alleys. It was quite the feat, as the streets were crawling with soldiers. Fortunately, they were intent on celebrating
     their recent return to London and not his large white form. But he was spotted by the most unexpected individual, near St.
     Bride, the unfragrant scent of Fleet Street in the air.
    A toff of the highest water, dressed to the nines in a lovely cut-front jacket and stunning lemon-yellow cravat tied in the
     Osbaldeston style, materialized out of the darkness behind a brewing pub, where no toff had a right to be. The man doffed
     his top hat amiably at the naked werewolf.
    “Why, I do