Bainbridge smiled a thin-lipped smile. “I believe I can convince you of our sincerity. How would you like to see a real live werewolf, Mr. Niven?”
Chapter Eighteen
The past, part 5 – 12 years earlier
* * *
Venice, September 1808
* * *
“Dinner,” Lindsay said flatly. “You sent Drew to a masquerade to fetch Wynne and me so that we could dine with you?”
Marguerite glared at him. “But of course! Drew is only here one night. Why would I not want us all together at such a time?”
“Oh I see,” Lindsay replied. “Drew doesn’t come near you for years on end, during which time he doesn’t even write to let you know how he goes on, but the moment he turns up, the fatted calf is slaughtered as though he’s the prodigal son.”
“That’s not fair,” Francis put in mildly. “He’s already been to Saxony for Mim. Went to fetch her that grimoire she wanted so badly. What’s it called, Mim?”
Marguerite blushed. Actually blushed. Drew hadn’t known she was capable of blushing. He had never seen her other than entirely composed.
“Not the Leipzig grimoire?” Wynne said slowly. “The one I—”
“Yes,” Marguerite bit out. “What of it? I thought you wanted it?”
Wynne blinked. “I—I do, I just didn’t…” He trailed off, seeming unsure how to complete the sentence. When the silence continued, he added, awkwardly, “You didn’t get it for me?”
“Of course I did. It is not much use to me, is it?” Marguerite said tightly. “I am not a witch.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Besides, I merely provided the money to buy it. Drew is the one who risked his neck to go and get it and to bring it here.”
And with Britain and Saxony at war, it had not been the safest of trips. Thankfully, Drew’s German was excellent, and if he had not quite passed as a local, he had least passed as not British. Well enough to get the grimoire out of Saxony with very little trouble beyond a few scuffles, and down into French-ruled Venice.
“What sort of grimoire is it?” Lindsay asked.
Wynne turned his head, meeting Lindsay’s gaze. “It teaches scrying, in particular using mirrors and water—reflective surfaces.”
Lindsay’s expression sharpened with interest and Drew was reminded of their recent conversation.
“He is going to scry for me. Find a solution.”
“A solution to what?”
“To you.”
A shiver ran up Drew’s neck. A premonition? He felt a sudden conviction that he should not have brought the grimoire here.
Marguerite rose to her feet. “I am going to bathe,” she said. “We will dine in an hour. Do please dress accordingly.”
An hour later, they recongregated in the drawing room. Lindsay and Wynne had changed out of their masquerade costumes and were now in plain, elegant evening clothes, as were Drew and Francis. Marguerite wore a simple white muslin gown that was near transparent, displaying the outline of her body quite blatantly, and she had styled her lustrous hair in an artless Grecian manner.
“I do like these new fashions,” Lindsay said, bowing over her hand to kiss the tips of her fingers. “They are wonderfully revealing. They show you off to perfection, my love.”
Marguerite laughed throatily, a deeply attractive sound. “Flatterer,” she teased. When Wynne’s scent spiked, Drew forced himself not to glance at him—or at Francis who would surely also have noticed.
“Come,” Marguerite said, leading the way into the dining room. “I have had everything laid out so we can eat in peace.”
Sure enough, the table was groaning with platters of food: roasted meats and fowl and dressed vegetables, and since they were all, other than Wynne, wolves with fearsome appetites, they set to without ceremony. While they ate, there was little talk, but once their appetites were satisfied, the conversation began to flow more readily.
It was pleasant enough, at first, catching up on what each of them had been doing. But the differences under the surface could not be avoided forever. The surprising thing—to Drew at least—was that when disaster finally struck, it was not between himself and Lindsay.
Marguerite had excused herself from the table a few minutes before. When she returned, she carried a package wrapped in brown paper. Drew recognised it. Beneath the paper was a layer of linen, and beneath that was the grimoire.
Marguerite set it down in front of Wynne.
“This is for you,” she said.
He stared at it, the oddest expression on his face. Silence fell around the table, as they all watched and waited for his reaction.
Slowly, Wynne reached out and touched the parcel with his left hand, only barely resting his fingertips on the surface.
“It’s smaller than I’d have thought,” he said. His voice was husky.
“Open it,” Marguerite said.
He glanced at her, his expression troubled, but he said nothing, only reached out with his other hand and began undoing the knots on the string that held the paper in place.
He unwrapped first the paper, then the linen, finally drawing out the grimoire itself. It was indeed quite small, only a little larger than Wynne’s hand, with a cover of dark brown tooled leather and a sturdy iron hasp, locking the pages closed.
When Wynne began to examine the hasp, Drew said, “It’s open just now, but the seller told me the mechanism can be securely locked by a skilled magic-user who knows what they’re doing.”
Wynne nodded but said nothing.
He set the book on the table and gazed at it longingly for several moments. Then he pushed back his chair and stood.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I can’t accept this.”
Marguerite’s expression was wounded. “What? Why?”
He met her eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said. “But you can’t buy your way out of what happened.”
She reared back as though struck. “I am not trying to buy my—”
“Or—I don’t know—compensate me? Is that it?”
Marguerite fell silent in what looked very like an admission of whatever it was Wynne was accusing her of.
Wynne passed a hand over his face in a weary gesture. He was no longer the bright-eyed man Drew had first laid eyes on this evening. It was as though this conversation had drained every bit of energy from him.
“I told you I understood your decision,” he said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not aggrieved by it, and I won’t accept one of your consolation prizes so you can feel better about it.”
Marguerite stood abruptly, her chair tumbling back behind her with the swiftness of the movement.
“And what about Lindsay?” she demanded. “You said you could scry for him with this grimoire. Is he to simply forego that chance?”
“Give the grimoire to Lindsay if you like,” Wynne said flatly. “If he asks me to consult it, I will. But for myself, I want nothing else to do with it.” And with that pronouncement, Wynne strode to the door.
“Where are you going?” Marguerite cried.
“Away from here,” Wynne said grimly and left, slamming the door behind him.
Drew glanced between Francis and Lindsay. Neither of them seemed surprised by what had just taken place. Clearly he had missed something during his latest absence.
Marguerite had her eyes closed tightly now and was rubbing her forehead. Abruptly, with a sound of suppressed frustration, she whirled on her heel and disappeared through the door after Wynne.
The remaining three men all looked at one another, dismayed.
“Should we…” Lindsay trailed off uncertainly.
Francis got to his feet. “I’ll speak to her. Dissuade her from going after him.”
Lindsay subsided, visibly relieved. “Thank you. I think Wynne is best left to his own devices tonight. He is still—very sore.”
Francis nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
Once he had gone, the dining room felt both empty an
d very silent.
Drew said, hesitantly, “I take it something happened between Wynne and Marguerite?”
Lindsay gave a humourless laugh. “Yes, something did.” He sighed heavily, letting his head fall back, gazing up at the shadows playing over the ceiling. “But Wynne is mortal, and Marguerite cannot contemplate the pain of losing someone she loves again.” He glanced up. “So she refuses to take matters any further with him.”
“Well,” Drew said carefully. “I can understand that. Some circumstances… cannot be overcome.”
Lindsay was quiet for a few beats. Seeming to absorb that. Then he said, “She should not have encouraged him. She gave him hope. That was cruel.”
Drew found himself somewhat uncharacteristically leaping to her defence. “Sometimes, in the heat of moment, people make poor choices. It doesn’t mean they intend to be cruel.”
“Are we still talking about Marguerite and Wynne? Or are we talking about all those times that you’ve fucked me and then disappeared the next morning?” Lindsay enquired acidly. He raised his head and met Drew’s flustered gaze directly.
“Lindsay—” It came out on a sigh, helpless and melancholy.
Lindsay gave a hollow chuckle. “Lindsay…” he mocked, adopting Drew’s tone.
For the longest time, they sat, staring at one another. Then Lindsay slowly rose to his feet and walked around the table till he stood in front of Drew.
“The worst part is, I still want you,” he said, his eyes burning with resentment. “So badly that, at this point, I don’t even care that you’ll vanish tomorrow.”
Drew said nothing, watching him dry-mouthed, heart pounding.
Lindsay leaned slowly forward, settling his hands on the high chairback behind Drew’s head, his face hovering over Drew’s.
Drew opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but the words stuck in his throat. They were so close now, gazes locked. Longing and yearning and lust surged between them, and then Lindsay leaned down, capturing Drew’s mouth in a kiss that was immediately hot and desperate. And all Drew could think was, How did I go so long without this?
Lindsay tasted of the candied quince and Marsala wine they’d had at the end of the meal. Sweet and heady. Drew clutched at him, kissing him back, his cock iron-hard in his breeches and his heart beating wildly.
Tearing his mouth from Drew’s, Lindsay gasped, “Come to bed. Fuck me, Drew.”
For an instant, it crossed Drew’s mind that this was a terrible idea, but when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were, “Not here. Let’s go to my bedchamber.”
“How do you want me?” Lindsay breathed.
“Naked would be a start.”
Lindsay’s groan of agreement sounded almost painful. He reached for the buttons on his waistcoat.
Soon they were working together, removing Lindsay’s clothes, discarding layer after layer of fabric till Lindsay was down to his drawers, and then to nothing at all. And God but he was beautiful. Entirely unchanged in the all the years since Drew had first seen him like this. Moon-pale skin stretched over a lean frame, taut with well-honed muscle. Long dark hair, tumbling over his shoulders.
Dark, gleaming eyes.
Their gazes met and held. Lindsay said huskily. “What now?”
“Let me touch you,” Drew whispered, muscling closer, so that his clothed body brushed Lindsay’s naked one.
Lindsay swallowed visibly, saying nothing. Their eyes were fixed on each other’s faces. Drew couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it.
Slowly, reverently, he set his hands on Lindsay’s hips then slowly slid them up, skating over waist and ribs and moving up. His thumbs met at Lindsay’s sternum before he spread his hands wide again, fingers brushing Lindsay’s sensitive nipples, then curving over his shoulders and down his back. A long, slow, sweeping caress that he repeated twice more, each time pulling Lindsay a little closer until his mouth was nuzzling Lindsay’s throat and every part of his own body touched part of Lindsay’s.
He stopped moving then, holding Lindsay close, never wanting to let him go.
Lindsay’s scent was at its most heady in that delicious space between his throat and his shoulder, and Drew nestled his nose into that space, breathing in deeply. God, that scent. Fresh rainwater and sweet earth.
No one else in all the world smelled like Lindsay.
“I want you to fuck me,” Lindsay breathed.
“Yes,” Drew replied. He wanted to do everything to Lindsay. And he also wanted to simply stand here, holding Lindsay in his arms forever.
His heart was a swollen thing in his chest, hot and heavy, and perhaps bleeding. It felt too full. He didn’t trust himself not to say something very, very foolish, so he did the only thing he could think of to stop himself, dropping to his knees in a single fluid motion and swallowing Lindsay’s flushed, hard cock.
“Christ!” Lindsay gasped, rolling his hips.
Lindsay’s prick was blood-warm and sex-scented and Drew moaned around it, loving the warmth and the girth and the heavy feeling of it on his tongue and in his throat. Loving the scent and taste of it, the rude prod of it at the back of his throat as Lindsay helplessly rocked into him, gasping his name.
After another minute of blissful sucking, Drew pulled off, standing and setting one firm hand on Lindsay’s chest, walking him backwards till his thighs met the end of the bed.
Understanding, Lindsay sat on the mattress, watching, dazed and flushed as Drew dropped to his haunches and pressed Lindsay’s thighs wide. For a moment Drew just stared at him, drinking in the sight of the smooth thighs, the dark nest of pubic hair and the hard prick, bobbing over a set of balls drawn tight and high.
Drew turned his head and pressed a soft, adoring kiss to Lindsay’s inner thigh, where his intoxicating scent was strong. Then, inhaling deeply, Drew kissed his way inwards to Lindsay’s balls, mapping his body with tiny kisses as he pleasurably rediscovered its secrets.
Lindsay’s groan, when Drew finally laved his scrotum, was broken and helpless.
“Drew—” he gasped. “God.”
Drew’s tongue skimmed over velvet-soft skin, coarse hairs, intriguing seams and wrinkles, exploring and adoring, laving the tender purse wetly until Lindsay’s fingers tangled in his hair and he was whimpering.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted to devour Lindsay whole and leave him wrecked from pleasure. Drew continued licking, but this time he started lower, his tongue trailing over the sensitive patch of skin between anus and balls before sliding up over his scrotum. With each long, wet pass, he began lower still, till his tongue was first lightly grazing, then circling, then probing Lindsay’s hole, and Lindsay was coming apart beneath him.
“Please, Drew, fuck me,” he begged. “I need your cock in me.”
Drew took him to the edge twice, pulling back twice. Only when Lindsay was a sobbing, helpless mess, did he finally rise to his feet and slowly, deliberately unfasten his breeches and drawers.
His own prick was almost painful to touch, so swollen with unfulfilled pleasure and need.
Almost two years since they’d been together.
“Please,” Lindsay begged.
Drew leaned over him, smoothing his damp hair back from his forehead. “No more waiting,” Drew whispered. “I will give you what you need, love.”
Lindsay gave a broken sob and turned his head into the pillow.
“Look at me,” Drew begged. He was pressing his fingers inside Lindsay now, preparing Lindsay for his cock. He lined the head up against Lindsay’s hole.
Lindsay turned his head back, his dark eyes fiery and vulnerable at once. He was not happy to looking at Drew right now, but he did not resist Drew’s plea, meeting his relentless gaze and keeping his eyes open as Drew slowly, thickly, pressed inside him, groaning with the effort of taking Drew deep.
When Drew was fully seated inside Lindsay, he lowered his clothed body onto Lindsay’s naked one, pressing their chests together. For a long moment, he
stared into Lindsay’s eyes, then pressed their mouths together, tangling his tongue with Lindsay’s as he began to move his hips, his hands gripping Lindsay’s thighs so tightly they’d leave bruises.
It was over absurdly quickly. They were both so worked up by then, Drew could only have been fucking Lindsay for a minute before Lindsay gasped and spasmed, his cock pulsing between their bellies, and Drew wasn’t far behind him. A few more snaps of his hips, and he was coming inside Lindsay, coming so hard and so long, he thought he’d pass out if it didn’t stop soon.
When it was over, he slumped over Lindsay’s exhausted body, gasping for breath, and for some coherent words to say.
“Well,” Lindsay said lightly, his breath ghosting over Drew’s ear. “Here we are again.”
Drew levered himself up slowly, avoiding Lindsay’s eyes. Already regret was setting in.
Lindsay said, “Isn’t this the part where you tell me this was a mistake and that I made you do it?”
Drew flushed. “I’m not blaming you,” he said. “I accept responsibility for my actions.”
“Well, that’s very big of you,” Lindsay replied. He gave a short laugh and pushed against Drew’s arm, forcing Drew to move aside and let him stand.
Frowning, Drew watched as Lindsay pushed past him and began to search the floor for his clothes. After a moment, galvanised by the efficiency with which Lindsay was briskly dressing, Drew began to slowly tuck himself back into his own drawers and breeches.
As he worked, he braced himself for the inevitable debate that always followed their encounters. But it seemed Lindsay had nothing to say. In fact, as soon as he had his drawers, breeches and shirt on, he bundled up rest of his clothes and headed for the chamber door without another word.
“Where are you going?” Drew blurted.
Lindsay spared him a glance. “Bed,” he said tersely.
“You usually—” He broke off
Lindsay stopped. Turned.
“Usually what? Hang around after you fuck me hoping you’ll have changed your mind about us?”
Master Wolf Page 17