Perhaps their bond went both ways now, binding them together mutually, as equals?
He supposed he couldn’t know till Lindsay woke and told him how it felt to him.
What he did know, was that this new bond didn’t change his feelings about Lindsay in any way. As he watched the wolf sleeping on his bed, he felt just as he had all those years ago, when he’d walked into Hector Cruikshank’s parlour and seen Lindsay Somerville for the first time in a pink striped coat and Nile green breeches.
Thunderstruck.
Lovestruck.
The question was, how would Lindsay feel when he saw Drew?
An hour later, when Lindsay showed no sign of waking, sleeping peacefully on even after Drew stopped trying to be quiet, Drew decided to go in search of food—and news. As much as he wanted to stay here in this quiet den with Lindsay, he could not ignore the events of the previous night any longer.
When he emerged from the bedchamber and began to walk downstairs, it was to discover that bright daylight was streaming through the windows of the townhouse, making everything look ordinary again. There were no signs of any altercation having taken place and the house was silent.
He searched empty room after empty room until, finally, he found Wynne, sitting at a desk in a small study, staring out of the window.
Drew stood in the doorway for a while, quiet, before he finally knocked softly at the open door and Wynne glanced up, startled.
“Drew,” he said. Then, tensely, “How’s Lindsay?”
Drew entered the study. “He has shifted,” he said, a helpless smile curving his mouth. “He is sleeping now, in his wolf form.”
Wynne closed his eyes. “Thank God,” he whispered shakily and Drew saw that the hand he ran over his face trembled.
Drew took a seat in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Where is everyone?” he asked. “The house is so quiet.”
Wynne opened his eyes again, but he didn’t meet Drew’s gaze when he answered. “It’s just us. I turned the servants away this morning—told them not to come back till Thursday. Mim took Alys to Rankeillor Street earlier. Or perhaps I should say Alys took her.” He paused, frowning. “She doesn’t speak, but somehow, you know what she wants.” His voice was even, but Drew noticed the edge to his scent.
Concern, and… jealousy?
“What about”—Drew hesitated, swallowing hard—“Francis and Duncan?”
“Their bodies are still in the bedchamber,” Wynne said. His expression was bleak. “I’ve covered them and sealed the room with a charm. There will be no change for now.”
“No change?”
“No decomposition,” Wynne clarified flatly. “We will have to take them out tonight for burial though.”
Drew nodded, swallowing back a lump of raw sorrow.
“How is Marguerite?” he husked when he could speak again.
“Devastated. She loved Francis with all her heart.”
“Oh God,” Drew said, his voice breaking. “I know. And he loved her. So much.” It was… unbearable.
After a while, Wynne said, “It’s probably as well she has Alys to see to—it may be the only thing keeping her sane.”
Drew nodded. He could feel Wynne’s pain, and scent it, and see it, but there was nothing he could say to make it better.
All he could do, was distract him.
“I did what you said, you know.”
Wynne looked up, a question in his eyes.
“I listened to my wolf. And—well, it told me to bite Lindsay. So I did—that was what made him shift into his wolf.”
Wynne’s eyes gleamed with sudden emotion. “Did you?” he said almost wonderingly. “Well now, Drew Nicol.”
Drew told him the rest then.
“I don’t know what to make of it,” he said when he was finished. “That crevasse, and the ice. Was it real? Did I imagine it?”
“There are other planes of existence,” Wynne said gently. “The events that take place on them are, in their way, as real as those that occur in this world to the body you are inhabiting now.” He was quiet for a few moments, then he added, “I don’t think Lindsay would have survived the severing of his bond with his wolf if you had not bitten him. In those last days, he grew so weak. He needed his wolf to live.”
“Didn’t you see that though? When you scried for him?”
Wynne shook his head, his eyes filled with sudden tears. “The visions are selective—that’s why scrying is so dangerous. I saw you and him together, as the outcome of him using the Wolfsbane. But I didn’t see what the cost would be. What would happen to Francis.” He dashed the tears away with an impatient hand.
For a while they were silent. Then Drew said, “Will Lindsay remember what happened on that other plane?”
Wynne shrugged. “We will have to see. Do you want him to?”
“I don’t know.” He wanted Lindsay to remember that perfect, loving reunion, but he didn’t want him to have to remember being alone and isolated on the ice. He wanted to protect Lindsay from the memory of that pain. From everything that might ever hurt him.
Was that new? That protective instinct?
And there he went again, speculating about what caused his feelings for Lindsay instead of simply… feeling them.
“I remember,” a new voice said.
Drew turned.
Lindsay stood in the doorway, his thin body swamped by a loose shirt and breeches that were not his own. He was still pale and fragile-looking and the wound at his neck—the one Drew had inflicted on him—was red and raw. But he was on his feet. On his feet, without a cane and he was smiling, if a little uncertainly.
“I remember what you did,” Lindsay whispered. “Risking everything—to bring me back.”
Drew stood. His legs felt suddenly weak. “I’ve been such a fool,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Lindsay asked. “None of this was of your making.” He laid his forearm against the doorframe and leaned there, tiredly.
Drew scowled. “You shouldn’t be up,” he said. He crossed the chamber floor in a few swift strides and hefted Lindsay up into his arms easily. “I’m taking you upstairs and then I’m getting you something to eat.”
“Just take him upstairs,” Wynne said behind them. “I’ll take care of the food.”
Lindsay ate with more appetite than Drew had seen from him since his return to Edinburgh, devouring most of a cold roast chicken and a half-loaf of bread before he was able to speak again.
“What did you mean when—” he began.
“Drink this first,” Drew interrupted, handing him a bowl of some tisane Wynne had made. “Wynne says it will help with the pain.”
Lindsay sighed but he took the tisane and drank it down before leaning back against the nest of pillows Drew had made for him.
“What did you mean when you said you were sorry in the study?” he asked. His dark eyes were genuinely curious, as though he couldn’t think of any reason for himself.
Drew cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “I caused all of this,” he said. “With my blindness. My refusal to accept that it was not just the maker bond that made me want you. If I had not done that, you would not have used the Wolfsbane. You would not have grown so weak, or lost your wolf.” He paused, swallowing hard before he admitted hoarsely, “Francis would not be dead.”
Lindsay’s gaze was sorrowful. “And nor would Duncan be. And perhaps we would not have Alys back. How can we know? How can we predict every event that will flow from the choices we make? I may as well say I caused it all, by biting you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. As you’ve said many times, you did not ask to be bitten.” Lindsay smiled sadly to take the sting out of his words.
Drew sighed. “I have felt the Urge for myself now. I did not know before how it comes over you. The certainty of it.” He smiled ruefully. “And you did save my life when you bit me.”
“Without your consent,”
Lindsay reminded him. “Francis told me straightaway I shouldn’t have done it. In fact, he’d warned me just the night before about the danger of my wolf trying to turn you. He guessed there was a risk that the Urge would rise in me.” Lindsay paused, then he said softly. “I knew too. The truth is—” He fell silent, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
“What?”
Lindsay met Drew’s gaze. “I suppose the truth is that, deep down, I wanted to turn you more than anything. I believed you were my mate before I bit you. And I was in love with you. So when events unfolded as they did, it felt… inevitable I suppose.”
“Perhaps it was inevitable,” Drew said. “Perhaps it was always destined to turn out this way.”
Lindsay smiled sadly. “That would be a convenient conclusion, would it not? I don’t think Francis would have let me get away with that. He never shied away from the hard truths.”
“What hard truths?” Drew asked, stroking Lindsay’s hair again, from crown to nape.
Lindsay took a deep breath. “For years I have justified what I did to you by the fact that I only had an instant to choose. There was no time to explain, to seek your consent. I made a decision I had no right to make and I’ve always known that. But if I am honest, it has taken me until now—until this moment perhaps—to see that the fact that I loved you, quite desperately, did not give me the right to make that decision.”
Drew’s heart felt as though it had been stopped, like a clock. “Lindsay—” he whispered.
“I asked you to forgive me,” Lindsay said. “And many times I told you that I’d turned you because I loved you. But—I never told you I was sorry. And if I am honest… that was because I wasn’t sorry. Not until now.”
Drew couldn’t find words, but something inside him unfurled at this admission. Something that had been held very tight and very closed.
Lindsay sat upright and leaned towards Drew. He lifted his arm—his sore left arm—and laid his hand against Drew’s cheek. The loose cuff of his shirt slipped down, exposing his flawed skin.
“I am sorry, Drew. Not that you are here, of course—I am very, very glad about that. But I am sorry I turned you against your will. That I made a decision it was not mine to make.”
Distantly, Drew realised his eyes were wet. That tears were trickling down his cheeks. He couldn’t seem to form words, but there was something important he needed to say and his throat ached with the unsaid words.
“I—” he began shakily. “I—” He gave a shuddering breath and Lindsay lifted his other arm, laying his right hand on Drew’s other cheek, cupping his face and staring gravely into his eyes.
“Tell me,” Lindsay encouraged. “You can say it—whatever it is. I deserve it.”
Drew whispered, “I forgive you.”
Lindsay swallowed. “What?”
“I forgive you,” Drew repeated. “And I love you, Lindsay Somerville.”
Lindsay gazed at him for a heartbeat and then he lurched forward, pressing his mouth against Drew’s in a desperate kiss.
Drew groaned and folded his arms around Lindsay, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Lindsay he loved him again. That he was sorry too. That he regretted every bitter word he’d spoken to Lindsay over the years. That he was glad they were both alive and here together now. But continuing the kiss felt more important.
Lindsay’s body still felt thin in his arms, but Drew could sense a new energy in him, a tensile strength in the wiry arms that clung to him.
Lindsay tore his mouth from Drew’s. “I need you to fuck me,” he gasped.
“Lindsay—”
“I need you,” Lindsay said again, his fingers already working on the buttons of Drew’s breeches. “Please.”
Drew covered those busy fingers with his own, stilling them, and when Lindsay looked up, he met his eyes. “All right, yes, but… let me do this, will you?”
“Do what?” Lindsay asked.
Drew gave a crooked smile. “Take care of you. Make love to you.”
“Yes,” Lindsay said with a shaky laugh. “Yes, I want that.”
Drew reached for the hem of Lindsay’s shirt and gently pulled it up and over his head, tossing it aside. Then he removed the loose breeches and drawers Lindsay wore and gently pushed him back against the nest of pillows so that he was half-reclining there.
“So beautiful,” he murmured.
Lindsay shook his head, a flush on his cheeks. “You don’t need to say that. I know how I look, Drew.”
Drew leaned over him, still clothed, pressing a soft kiss to Lindsay’s collarbone and letting his lips trace up over his pale, damaged throat, all the way to his soft, parted lips. Drew grazed another kiss over them and whispered, “Lindsay Somerville—the most beautiful man in all the world.” The sudden happy curve of his mouth made his lips brush against Lindsay’s again. “And he’s all mine. I call that a miracle.”
Lindsay’s breath stuttered and Drew laughed softly, loving that he could see the effect he was having.
He pushed back, standing up and stripping off his clothes, till he was quite naked, and then he lay down over Lindsay, keeping his weight off that thin body but letting his skin brush exquisitely over the whole length of the man so that they were touching all over, chests and bellies and thighs and—oh God, cocks. Their shafts brushed against each other in rude, blunt welcome, making them both gasp with delight, then laugh softly. Wondrous laughter—full of affection and desire.
Drew began kissing Lindsay. He kissed his mouth, his face, his throat—tracing the healing bite wound there with his lips—and his chest. He traced Lindsay’s nipples with his tongue and tugged at them with his teeth, relishing the moans his attentions elicited. He explored Lindsay’s lean belly and jutting hips, and when he got low enough, he took his hard, perfect prick into his mouth and sucked it—softly at first, then hard and demanding.
“I want you to fuck me,” Lindsay pleaded. And Drew knew why he was begging for that—he wanted to be joined with Drew. Wanted the intimacy of it.
“I will,” Drew promised. “Just lie back, my love. I’ll take care of you.”
The food tray Wynne had brought earlier had a butter dish on it. That would do, Drew thought, stretching over to scoop up a generous quantity of butter. Then he raised himself up on his knees and began to rub and press at his own tight hole.
“What are you doing?” Lindsay whispered.
Drew quirked a smile at him. “I can’t take you without some help.”
Lindsay blinked. “We’ve never—”
“I know,” Drew said, positioning himself over Lindsay’s cock and holding it in place, ready for him. “I always held back. I always let you give yourself. But now—starting right this moment—everything’s different.”
Lindsay’s hands on his hips stilled him when he would have moved. “But do you like it, like this?” Lindsay’s earnest expression made Drew’s heart trip. “I only want you to do it if you like it. I only want to give you pleasure and happiness.”
“I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out,” Drew said, smiling tenderly. “If I hate it, we can always change around, can’t we?”
And with that, he lowered himself, slowly, steadily, on Lindsay’s hard prick.
It wasn’t immediately pleasurable—far from it. There was deep, almost thrilling pain as he lowered himself onto Lindsay’s thick, uncompromising shaft.
Oddly, Drew relished the blunt pain. The realness of it, The presence and aliveness of it. But as he began to move—and as Lindsay moaned and shifted beneath him—it became easier. Better.
He was just thinking that maybe, perhaps, he might grow to enjoy this one day, when Lindsay suddenly grasped his hips and thrust up into him. The subtle change of angle caused Lindsay’s cock to stroke some hidden part of Drew that had never been touched before—that sang with intense, almost unbearable pleasure.
Drew howled, his head falling back as Lindsay, growling with satisfaction, repeated the motion, a
gain and again, till Drew was mindless with the beautiful sensation.
He wasn’t aware much of what followed. Only of being fucked. Of being owned by Lindsay’s cock. Of that singular pleasure, stroking inside him, over and over, and then Lindsay’s hand on his cock for a few moments before he was climaxing harder than he ever had before.
When he finally opened his eyes, it was to find Lindsay panting, his dark eyes soft with something like awe.
“You liked it,” he said, seeming amazed.
“I—” Drew flushed hard. “Yes, obviously—but did you? Did you climax?”
Lindsay laughed. “You didn’t notice? Christ, like a volcano!”
His eyes sparkled with joy and humour and the scent of rainwater washed over Drew, fresh and cleansing.
Drew gazed down at his lover.
His love.
Lindsay was thin and weak and pale—he had a great deal of healing still to do, but he was whole again inside, where it mattered. And Drew could take care of him from now on.
Lindsay’s cock had softened now and when Drew raised himself up, he slipped out of Drew’s body. Drew climbed over him and settled down beside him, reaching out a hand to stroke his face, his dark hair.
“I’m getting used to your hair like this,” he said. “Though I loved it when you wore it long.”
“Did you?” Lindsay asked softly. “It’s terribly unfashionable these days, but I’ll grow it if you like.”
“Perhaps,” Drew said, moving closer, nuzzling into Lindsay’s neck. “Though short hair has its compensations. Your neck is wonderfully accessible.” He grazed his lips over the already-fading bite mark and laughed softly. “Just as well we have the next few centuries together. Enough time for me to see your hair in every possible style I could imagine.” Lindsay stiffened and Drew raised his head, gazing down into dark eyes that were wide with fear. Hesitantly he said, “I assumed too much. You don’t want to—”
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