Master Wolf

by Joanna Chambers

  Lindsay’s eyes were stormy and troubled, but after a few tense moments he sighed wearily, closing them. “All right,” he said. “Just for tonight. For you.”

  He gave himself up to Drew then, growing pliant and easy, letting Drew slide off his coat and take his hat and cane. He didn’t even protest when Drew hoisted him up into his arms and started up the stairs.

  Christ, he was light. He’d always been slender, of course, but this was something else. Drew remembered the first time he’d dined with Lindsay, back when he’d been human and he’d thought Lindsay was human too. Lindsay had astonished him with his appetite and the quantity of food he’d consumed. Now he felt as though he’d barely been eating.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Drew murmured, as they approached the upper floor.

  Lindsay just sighed, but it sounded less impatient now—almost contented.

  Drew headed down the corridor. He could have moved more quickly but he found himself slowing his pace. Stupid, but he wanted to relish this brief intimacy. The feeling of Lindsay in his arms, for once quiet and biddable. He didn’t know whether to love it or hate it.

  Too soon they were at Lindsay’s bedchamber. Drew set Lindsay down on his feet and they went inside. Lindsay sat heavily on the bed while Drew went to the sideboard and lit some candles

  Turning back, he asked, “Shall I help you undress?”

  Lindsay nodded and struggled up to a sitting position. “Please.”

  Drew reached for the knot that held the black silk sling in place, taking care to support Lindsay’s arm when the knot came free. Then, slowly, methodically, Drew undressed him, removing each item of clothing one by one and setting them aside to be put away later. When Lindsay was down to his drawers, he reached for Lindsay’s arm again and began to unwind the bandage.

  “No,” Lindsay protested, trying to tug his arm free, but Drew held fast.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said gently. “I saw what you did last time.”

  At last Lindsay subsided, sitting passively while Drew unwound the first layer of bandages then waiting while Drew fetched scissors and muslin, snipped the rest of the bandages away and cleared away the dried remnants of the poultice.

  His ulcerated flesh was red and sore and stained darkish green in places from the paste. As painful as it looked, though, Lindsay didn’t so much as wince as Drew washed and dried his arm, then carefully bandaged it again with clean linen.

  “Where is your nightshirt?” Drew asked softly.

  Lindsay chuckled. “I don’t sleep in a nightshirt—I don’t sleep in anything. Don’t you remember that much at least?”

  “We haven’t shared a bed that often,” Drew replied mildly. “And the last time was years ago. Besides, you don’t seem as warm as usual.” He ran a finger over Lindsay’s unbandaged arm. “Look—gooseflesh.”

  A tremor went through Lindsay at his touch and Drew swallowed.

  “Wolves’ blood runs hot,” Lindsay said. His voice was a little hoarse. “The Wolfsbane suppresses that.” He smiled wryly. “I’d forgotten how cold humans get.”

  “Are you cold now?” Drew asked.

  Lindsay closed his eyes. Whispered, “I am always cold these days.”

  Drew’s heart twisted painfully. “Come on then,” he murmured. “Let’s get you into bed and warmed up.”

  Lindsay nodded and his hands went to his drawers, pushing at them ineffectively.

  “Want them off?”

  Lindsay nodded, his eyes still closed.

  Drew gently brushed Lindsay’s hands aside, trying to ignore his own absurdly hardening cock, and loosened the tie before easing the drawers down past Lindsay’s hips and drawing them off his legs. Lindsay’s cock curled soft, pale and vulnerable against his thigh. Drew felt a bolt of pained affection pierce him at the sight.

  Firmly reminding himself that Lindsay was fit for nothing but sleep, Drew pulled the bedcovers back and nudged Lindsay into place, tucking the covers around him.

  “How’s that?” Drew asked. “Warmer?”

  Lindsay shook his head. “Still cold,” he murmured, through barely moving lips.

  Drew knew he should walk away now, but his feet felt as though they’d been nailed to the floor and he ached with a need to comfort Lindsay.

  “Shall I stay for a while?” he whispered at last. “Till you’re warm again?”

  Lindsay’s eyes opened at that, his surprise plain. “Do you want to?” he finally whispered.

  Drew swallowed. “I’ll stay for a little.”

  Lindsay nodded. “All right then. But take your shoes off.”

  Drew decided to remove both his shoes and his coat, but he left the rest of his clothes on. Then he climbed into the bed behind Lindsay and put his arms around him, drawing Lindsay’s slender body against his own and burying his nose against the nape of Lindsay’s neck.

  Something tight and painful eased inside him.

  Lindsay gave a contented sigh and the faintest thread of his unique scent, of rainwater-drenched earth, reached Drew, miraculously breaking through the overpowering scents of sickness and despair that clung to Lindsay now.

  Drew chafed Lindsay’s goosefleshed arms and drew him closer, enfolding him in a warm, toasty embrace, relishing the smoothness of his pale skin and the familiarity of his lean form, even as he worried over the sharpness of his too-prominent bones.

  Although his cock was hard with the pleasure of holding Lindsay in his arms, it was an oddly distant pleasure, muffled by concern and an unfamiliar need to protect Lindsay that did not ease until, after a quarter hour or so, Lindsay’s slim body had finally warmed and relaxed, and his deep even breaths signalled he had fallen asleep.

  Even then, Drew stayed where he was, lying there for long minutes.

  This feeling—it wasn’t so very new, not really. The perfection of having Lindsay in his arms. But it was something he’d put down to fleshly lusts at the first, and then to the unwanted maker bond Lindsay had forced upon him. It had never been something he had wanted or chosen. Never something that was cause for joy or pleasure.

  But now, he wondered. If he could still feel like this with the bond near enough destroyed, what did that mean? His feelings were subtly different now from what he’d experienced before. The blind craving to slavishly follow Lindsay was gone and he was left with something infinitely more delicate, as though the blunt force of the bond had been masking something more human and precarious.

  He didn’t know what to make of it, or what to do about it. So, in the end, he did the only thing he could do—he rose from the bed and put his coat and shoes back on. Then he silently left the bedchamber, closing the door behind him as softly as he could, with barely a click.

  Downstairs he retrieved his coat and hat and set off into the night.

  It was a much quicker journey back to the Assembly Rooms.

  When he made his way back upstairs, it was to find Marguerite cosied up to Begg on one side of a small supper table with Bainbridge on the other. Drew had to remind himself that he needed to seem aggrieved at Marguerite sitting with Begg. He tried to fake suspicion and barely concealed hostility as he approached their table, his manner hinting at jealousy even as he politely smiled.

  Marguerite glanced up as he approached the table, meeting his gaze.

  “You are back then?” she said. Her tone was pure petulance. “I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

  Drew smiled apologetically. “I would never, my love. It was only that I had to attend to a little bit of business—I’ll be your devoted servant for the rest of the evening, I promise.”

  She pouted prettily and said to Begg, “He neglects me quite shockingly, you know.”

  Begg cleared his throat. He might have flushed too, but it was difficult to tell how much of his high colour was his naturally florid state and how much was brought on by embarrassment at being thrust in the middle of a marital row. He pushed out his chair, getting to his feet, and nodded at Drew.

  “Mr. Nive
n,” he said. “It is good to see you back. Your delightful wife has been entertaining us while you were gone.”

  “So I see,” Drew said silkily. “Well, she’s very good at that.”

  Begg’s colour did deepen then and Drew surmised that he’d been enjoying the flirtation thoroughly.

  “I was just about to invite Monsieur Begg and Monsieur Bainbridge to dine with us on Friday evening,” Marguerite said. “That would be pleasant, do you not think?”

  Drew smiled blandly. “Oh, excessively.”

  Marguerite turned back to Begg, laying a possessive little hand on his portly arm. “I do ’ope you will come? Our cook is excellente. Not French, unfortunately, but very good. I am sure you will enjoy our table. Will you come?”

  Begg cast a glance Drew’s way. Finding no discouragement there, he smiled at Marguerite. “I should very much like to, thank you, madame.”

  “And you, Monsieur Bainbridge?” Marguerite sounded rather less enthused about Bainbridge, which was probably the right approach, seeing as how Bainbridge hadn’t quite relaxed all evening.

  Bainbridge paused, but when he finally spoke, it was to say, “Thank you. I would be delighted.”

  They spent another quarter hour in idle chitchat, till Begg finally blundered to his feet.

  “I’m afraid it’s time I was on my way,” he said, bowing in Marguerite’s direction, then offering a small nod to Drew.

  Marguerite rose too. She fluttered around Begg like a butterfly in her ravishing gown, promising him all sorts of French delicacies when he came for dinner.

  Begg smiled at her indulgently, while Bainbridge—and Drew—watched in silence.

  “I will see you on Friday evening then, madame,” Begg said, at last. He nodded at Drew affably. “Niven.”

  “We look forward to it,” Drew replied.

  “I shall say good night too,” Bainbridge said, executing a brief bow which Drew returned.

  After the two men had left, Marguerite decided it would be prudent to wait a little while before they departed themselves. They ate some more supper—since they would be shifting soon—and danced the last set together before leaving the Assembly Rooms.

  “Well,” Marguerite said in the carriage on the way home. “That was an interesting evening. Monsieur Begg was very amicable, was he not?”

  “He was very amicable to you,” Drew agreed.

  Marguerite laughed. “Perhaps we should arrange a little scene, what do you think? You could catch me with him in a compromising position?”

  “And I would—do what?” Drew asked. “Call him out?”

  “But of course! I would be very upset, of course, and would tell him he must let you buy the skeleton to persuade you to withdraw your challenge. It is perfect, yes?”

  Drew laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Perfect.”

  He felt Marguerite’s eyes on him, watchful and curious.

  After a while she said, “Would you like to run with me tonight? Or do you prefer to run alone?” A slight smile played about her lips and her dark eyes seemed to glow a little in the darkness.

  For the last decade, Drew had lived the life of a lone wolf and thought himself contented. But here, now, in this full moon, Marguerite’s offer shimmered with the golden promise of pack and companionship. Things he’d rejected, over and over, and that now sounded powerfully necessary.

  His wolf was beside itself with longing and joy and for once he didn’t have the heart to deny it.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll run with you.”

  Within half an hour of arriving at Rankeillor Street, Drew and Marguerite had shifted and bounded off into the night. Soon they were running through the dense darkness of the King’s Park, the scents of heather and gorse rich in the air.

  Marguerite’s wolf was a dainty, fierce, pure white female. Barely two-thirds the size of Drew’s great grey beast, she nevertheless nipped and harried him ruthlessly, demanding that he follow her and leading him on a long and exhausting run right out to the Pentland Hills where they brought down a small roe deer, cleaning the blood from their fur afterwards in an icy lochan.

  The only thing that spoiled Drew’s happiness was the knowledge that Lindsay was at home in Albany Street, unable to shift. Too weak even to be out of bed. That made Drew’s wolf whimper when he thought about it. And then Marguerite would have to harry him again to get him moving.

  By the time they were running back towards the city, the sky was just beginning to lighten. Soon it would be dawn.

  They were perhaps a quarter hour from home when Drew’s wolf decided that it wanted its mate, stopping in its tracks, obdurate and unmoving.

  Marguerite growled low and jerked her elegant head, her gaze intent upon Drew. Her will was strong and Drew was forced to drop his eyes, but he didn’t comply with her silent demand to follow her. Instead, he paced further away and turned, ready to run in the other direction towards Albany Street, and Lindsay.

  Marguerite’s growl died in her throat, and when he chanced another glance at her, it was to discover she was already bounding away, leaving him to his own devices. Her white pelt flashed in the distance once and was gone an instant later.

  Drew put his head down and began to run as fast he could. He needed to beat the dawn now. When he finally skittered up to the kitchen door of the Albany Street house, a rosy glow was just breaching the horizon. He scratched at the wood, then sat back on his haunches and waited.

  A long time passed before Wynne came to the door, sleep-rumpled and rubbing at his eyes.

  Drew slid past Wynne’s legs and slinked into the kitchen, his toenails clicking on the stone flags. He turned to look back at Wynne, who eyed him for several moments before shaking his head and reaching for a pitcher of water. He poured some into a bowl and set it down on the floor for Drew.

  It was only then Drew realised how thirsty he was. He dipped his head and drank noisily, then abandoned the bowl and went to pace uneasily at the kitchen door.

  Wynne sighed. “You want to go to Lindsay,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but Drew whined his agreement anyway. Wynne smiled strangely. “You should listen to your wolf more often,” he said.

  Standing, he stood and opened the door, and Drew streaked past him, racing out into the hallway where he leapt up the stairs that would take him to Lindsay’s bedchamber.

  Wynne followed him more slowly. When he reached Lindsay’s bedchamber door, where Drew impatiently waited, he paused briefly, seeming to consider for a moment. Then finally, he reached for the handle and opened the door, letting Drew inside before softly closing the door behind him.

  Drew padded over to the bed.

  Lindsay hadn’t moved since Drew had left. He lay on his side in the same crescent moon shape, his poisoned arm stretched out across the mattress in front of him, the vulnerable underside showing through the pale muslin.

  Deftly, quietly, Drew leapt up onto the mattress and settled his big body down beside Lindsay, laying his great head alongside Lindsay’s vulnerable, bandaged arm. He wanted to gnaw the bandages open and lick all the soreness and poison away.

  Instead he snuffled unhappily and went to sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Drew? What are you doing here?”

  Drew woke reluctantly, dragged from the deepest midst of sleep by an incredulous voice and a hand shaking his shoulder. Blinking blearily, he became aware of his situation by degrees: that was Lindsay’s voice in his ear, Lindsay’s hand on him. Drew was in Lindsay’s bed and he was—

  —happy?

  “Drew!”

  He felt an almost physical nudge at his name—was that Lindsay’s will asserting itself?—and his eyes snapped open in surprise, only to screw closed again at the sunshine streaming directly into his face through the window. “Mmmpf,” he managed. “What time is it?”

  He was back in his human form.

  “Not quite eight,” Lindsay informed him. “More to the point, why are you here?”

  Dr
ew struggled up on to his elbows, blinking. He could only have been asleep a handful of hours and he felt very far from rested. He dragged his mind back to the night before, when he’d first brought Lindsay home.

  “I thought you wanted me to stay with you,” Drew said, voice raspy with sleep. He watched as Lindsay got out of bed and shouldered into his crimson satin banyan. He looked like a poppy. Gorgeous and vivid and fragile all at once—though a little less fragile this morning, Drew was glad to see. There was a tiny bit of colour in his cheeks and Drew had felt that slight familiar surge of will from him when he woke. A trace of the maker bond.

  The wolf’s ability to heal was a powerful thing.

  Drew smiled, sitting up properly, but Lindsay did not smile back.

  “Whatever my wishes may have been when we first got back,” Lindsay said, frowning, “I distinctly recall that you left and I wasn’t expecting to wake up to you this morning. Yet here you are.”

  “I had to return to the ball for a while,” Drew said. “But after, Marguerite and I shifted and ran—it was full moon last night. And my wolf”—he paused briefly—“led me back here.”

  He’d hoped that confession might lessen Lindsay’s hostility. But if anything Lindsay appeared even unhappier. His eyes narrowed and he said baldly, “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Drew said defensively, “My wolf and I do not exactly see eye to eye on everything as you well know.”

  Lindsay turned away, muttering “Jesus Christ,” in an exasperated tone.

  “What?” Drew demanded.

  Lindsay threw his hands into the air in plain frustration. “Oh, I don’t know! You’ve spent the last three decades begging me to leave you alone, and the moment I do as you ask, here you are. Coming to my bed two nights in a row. Telling me your wolf brought you. I just—I can’t fathom it!”

  Drew flushed and set his jaw, but he said nothing to defend himself. What could he say? Lindsay was right, but he could offer no explanation for his contradictory behaviour. And what he said was true: his wolf had brought him here. Was that his fault?