Camwolf

by J. L. Merrow

  Julian raised an eyebrow. “Decided you can’t keep your hands off me a moment longer?”

  “If you mean am I planning to deck you, you’re probably right.” Grabbing Julian by the wrist, she made for her room in E block. As they passed through the archway that led out of Main Court, Julian dragged back.

  “You’re angry.” He actually sounded surprised.

  Tiff snorted. “Give the boy a medal,” she said shortly. “Come on. We’re not talking about it here.” She stormed up the stairs and very deliberately didn’t slam the door after they’d got to her room. Julian winced theatrically anyway.

  “Sit,” she told him, gesturing to the bed.

  “Coming to join me?” Julian asked mockingly. He sprawled on the duvet, resting his weight on one elbow. The position seemed to exaggerate the supple lines of his body. Tiff would have said he looked feline, but somehow it just didn’t seem to fit.

  “No, I think I’ll sit here,” she said firmly, pulling out her desk chair. She could look down on him from there, which would make a nice change. “All the better to glare at you, my dear,” she added sarcastically. Julian looked startled, God knew why. But that was good. It meant she could catch him while he was off balance. “Right. What have you got against Dr. Sewell?”

  Julian looked steadily at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Tiff wondered how long it took to learn to lie like that. “You should be an actor. You know bloody well what I mean. He saw you kissing me—which, by the way, I don’t remember agreeing to—and he flipped. He fancies you, doesn’t he?”

  Julian rolled over to lie face down on her bed. “No. Maybe.”

  “So why were you making such a show of kissing me in front of him? Has he tried it on or something?” She couldn’t imagine it. Not Dr. Sewell. He always seemed so, well, fatherly to her, although she knew some of the other girls fancied him and liked to look out for him coming back all sweaty from a run.

  “No.”

  “So why, then?” Tiff was furious, and not just on Dr. Sewell’s behalf. That kiss had been…unsettling.

  “He’s confusing,” Julian told her pillow.

  “No, he’s not,” Tiff objected. “Not like you are, at any rate. And he’s nice. And confusing isn’t a reason to be horrible to him, anyway.” She paused, suspicion growing. “You like him, don’t you? And you were using me to try and make him jealous.”

  Julian didn’t answer. With anyone else, that’d be as good as a signed confession, but with Julian, you just never knew. “Why are we even friends?” she asked angrily.

  He did look up then. “I like you.”

  And maybe it was just Julian being, well, Julian, but the hurt in his voice just got to her, like it always did. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, joining him on the bed and wrapping a regrettably sisterly arm around him. “But don’t do that to Dr. Sewell again, all right? I like him too—although not in that way, obviously—and he probably hates me now.” She paused. “What’s going on with you two, anyway?”

  “Gar nichts.”

  “In English? I don’t speak Kraut, you know.”

  “Xenophobe.”

  “Not my fault. I was raised on the Daily Mail. Bloody foreigners should go back where they came from. Even if they have been here three generations.”

  Julian grinned, his mood seeming to have flipped back to cheerful. “And wogs start at Calais?”

  Tiff smiled back. “You know, you’ve got to meet my dad sometime. He’d love you, the old bigot.” She thought about it. “Well, apart from the gay thing, obviously.”

  Nick’s supervision the next day did not get off to a good start. Mainly—well, if Nick was honest, wholly—because it was Tiffany Meadows’ group. And honestly, what girl with an ounce of self-respect came up to Cambridge without changing a name like that the minute she’d kissed her moronic mother goodbye? It wasn’t like it even suited her. Audrey Hepburn she most certainly was not. She was propounding some ridiculous theory on the dissolution of the monasteries, some rubbish about the King having been frightened by a monk whilst at an impressionable age.

  Nick cut her off. “Very interesting, Tiffany, but I really don’t think so. Now, Kate, did you have any ideas on the subject?” Kate Cunningham (minor Surrey public school, rather average intelligence and sod all imagination) gave him a startled look. Had he been a bit abrupt? Oh, bloody hell. “Sometime today would be good,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

  The girls exchanged looks, and Kate hurriedly started waffling on about some idea she’d pinched from a textbook and only half-understood. Nick could feel a headache coming on.

  An hour or so later, having taken a couple of Nurofen washed down with a mug of viciously black coffee (Nadia’s patented cure for headaches) Nick was filling in a research grant application at his desk when the knock came at his door. Rather relieved at the interruption to his tedious task, Nick experienced an abrupt change in his mood when he opened the door to find Julian standing there.

  There was no trace of the mocking smile he’d worn on their last encounter. “Dr. Sewell, I brought you some books,” Julian said quietly—respectfully, even. He held up a small pile of German paperbacks.

  Realising he was just standing there gawping at the boy like an idiot, Nick hurriedly pulled himself together. “Oh—that’s very thoughtful of you, Julian. Thank you.” He held out a hand, but Julian made no move to give him the books.

  “Can I come in?”

  The only thing worse than a repeat of what had occurred in Julian’s room, Nick decided, would be to be discovered in the corridor discussing why he didn’t want a repeat of what had happened in Julian’s room. At least, he told himself that was why he stood aside and motioned Julian in. Was it just his imagination that Julian was careful not to let any part of his body brush against Nick as he walked past?

  “These are just some books I thought you might enjoy. To keep up your German.” He placed them carefully on Nick’s desk. There was something…off about his manner, but Nick couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “Thank you,” he said again.

  Julian looked out of the window for a moment, making no move to go, then slowly turned, but didn’t quite meet Nick’s eye. “I need to know. How many of us are there, here?”

  Nick stared. “What? Gay men?”

  Julian took a step back, flushing slightly. Nick had the strangest feeling he’d said something to hurt the boy, and unconsciously took a step towards him. “I’d better go,” Julian said, looking at the floor.

  “No,” Nick told him. His voice sounded hoarse. Damn it, what was the matter with him? “No. You’re going to stay and tell me what you meant.”

  Julian looked at him then, and the look of confusion in his eyes was, Nick thought, the most genuine expression he’d seen the boy display. Confusion? Nick watched, mesmerised, as Julian bit his lip. “You’re mocking me,” he whispered.

  What? “No, I’m not. I wouldn’t do that, Julian.” He took another step towards the boy, his heart thumping fiercely. There was just one other thing Julian could have meant—but could it really be true? Could he really be…? God, if he was wrong, he was about to make the biggest idiot of himself. “You’re a werewolf,” he heard himself say, wonderingly.

  “Yes, of course! I thought—I thought you knew. That was why…” Julian stopped, frowning.

  “Why what? Why you threw yourself at me that night?” It still didn’t make sense.

  “Yes! Look, you’re obviously an alpha, and I thought you wanted me, all right?” He looked away again. “I thought if I—it doesn’t matter.” Julian’s head was turned away from Nick, showing that pale, slender throat. His eyes were downcast, making those long lashes look even more beautiful.

  And he was a werewolf. Nick was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else right now. Another werewolf. God, he’d been so alone, so very alone. And it had to be Julian.

  If Julian was a werewolf too, Nick would have to stay away from him.
It wasn’t safe—his time with Carl had proved that. No wonder Nick wasn’t able to control himself around Julian, as the moon waxed full and his instincts started to take over. Like now?

  Taking a deep breath, Nick stepped back, trying to think. He might not be able to turn Julian, but he could still harm him. Images of Carl covered in his own blood shot through his head.

  “How long?” Nick asked, more in an attempt to gain time to calm down than anything else.

  “Since I was fourteen.” Julian looked troubled.

  Well, it was hardly likely to be a pleasant memory. “Was it someone you knew?”

  Julian’s lips quirked in a bitter smile. “My father.”

  “What?”

  “He felt it was time I joined the pack.”

  Nick couldn’t believe it. How could any man do that to his own child? “Wait—a pack? There are more of you? Of us, I mean?”

  “About thirty. In our pack, that is. I know there are other packs, elsewhere.”

  Nick’s head was reeling. “That’s—that’s amazing! God, if only I’d known. It must be wonderful!”

  Julian flinched visibly. “No. It is not.”

  He sounded suddenly a lot more German, and when he thought back, Nick wasn’t sure which language he’d actually used. He looked at the boy. Julian was hunched over. Was he trembling? Without meaning to, Nick found himself gripping Julian by the shoulders. “What did they do to you?” he growled, hardly recognising his own voice. Damn it, this was not the way to treat someone who’d been abused. And he was increasingly certain that was what had happened to Julian.

  Bizarrely, however, Julian seemed reassured. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now,” he said with a much firmer voice. He paused, and then spoke again. “You don’t have a pack?”

  “No! I don’t even know any other werewolves. Apart from the one who turned me—and I haven’t seen him for close on three years—I’ve never even met another werewolf.”

  Julian was silent a moment. “It’s lonely, isn’t it?” he said at last.

  Nick stared. “Yes,” he said finally.

  “But it is good to know that you are here.” He still wouldn’t meet Nick’s eye. “I am sorry for my misunderstanding. I will go now. Enjoy the books.”

  After he’d gone, Nick sat and looked at the door for a long time.

  There was nothing unusual in that Nick sought out Nadia’s company later. They frequently met up in the SCR for a coffee at around this time. And they’d chatted for at least a quarter of an hour before Nick even brought up the subject of her troublesome student. Even so, he felt his cheeks grow warmer as he broached the matter.

  “Um, I wondered—how much do you know about Julian’s family background?”

  Nadia shrugged, the movement causing her generous bosom to suffer a medium-sized earthquake. “Oh, bugger all, really. I just mark his essays. He doesn’t come round for tea and crumpets, you know. I know some things, of course. Let’s see…he grew up in South Germany and came over here a year or two ago when his parents split up. His mother’s English, I think.”

  “Presumably Lauder is his father’s name, then. Could you find out? I mean, not just about the name. About, well, his family in Germany, and the break-up, and so on.”

  “Well, I suppose I could pop round for a sherry with Angus,” she said with a faint tone of reluctance. Angus Lemon was the admissions tutor, and he had appalling taste in sherry.

  “Nadia, you’re an angel,” Nick told her sincerely.

  She gave a roguish grin. “Tell that to my third-years, dearie—I’ve just assigned them an essay on the significance of Hamlet’s line For O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot!”

  Nick laughed. “Well, as long as you give top marks to anyone who addresses the question of whether or not it has a wooden dick.”

  Chapter Six

  A couple of days after Julian’s visit with the books, Nadia squeezed into the chair next to Nick’s in the SCR with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “Well, dearie, I have found out the odd little snippet. Your young man took his A Levels at Kingsbury—”

  “Where?”

  “Oh, you know, dearie. Private school, rather pricey. Takes a lot of boys in at sixth form—the ones who aren’t doing well where they are.” She took a dismissive bite of her custard cream.

  “Some sort of remedial crammer?” Nick frowned, sipping at his coffee. “I’d hardly have thought Julian needed that kind of thing.”

  Nadia raised an eyebrow. “Idol showing feet of clay, is he?” She grinned at Nick’s discomfort. “No, apparently he missed a fair bit of school in his last two years in Germany. Ill health, Angus said, although he didn’t go into details. Cagey old bugger. Anyway, by all accounts this place does rather well. Most of the boys seem to end up with us or at the other place.”

  “You’re sounding remarkably partisan these days for someone who took her degree at Oxford,” Nick pointed out, smiling.

  Nadia’s expression turned roguish. “Shush! Don’t tell the students, dearie, they’ll be horrified. Enemy in their midst, and all that. Anyway, it turns out old Angus was at school with Hugh Markham’s father.”

  “Hugh—I mean, who?”

  “Julian’s stepfather. Do try to keep up. Apparently they’re still rather good chums, so I think in fact your Adonis’ A Levels were a bit of a formality. Although to be fair to the young man, he’s a damned good student. Could be on for a First—if someone doesn’t take his mind off his studies.” Nick could have done without her knowing leer.

  “But was there any hint of, I don’t know, any difficulties in his family background? You said something before about him seeming a little dark.”

  Nadia raised an eyebrow. “Well, his parents are divorced, which is never a picnic, is it? And there was the health thing, of course. Anyway, this was all before he came over to England. Far as I know, his life’s been boringly normal since then. Although Angus did hint that the remarriage came as a bit of a surprise. Apparently Hugh Markham had always had a bit of a pash for Lili Lauder, and she’d hardly set foot in the old country before he was down on one knee.”

  “Does Angus know Julian’s mother, then?” Nick was rather curious as to what sort of woman she might be.

  “Only from what old Markham used to tell him about the girl. Lauder was her maiden name, by the way, she’s only half English, although she was brought up in Kent, which is where Markham knew her. Used to carry her books back from school, or something equally old-fashioned. Apparently the way young Hugh used to go on about her, she was Venus incarnate. Still, I suppose our Adonis had to get his girlish looks from somewhere.”

  Nick frowned, a little put out. “He’s not at all girlish, actually.”

  She grinned. “No, dearie. Of course he isn’t,” she reassured him with the utmost insincerity, patting his cheek with slightly crumby fingers.

  “Ah! Dr. Sewell. I wonder, might I have a brief word?”

  Walking back across Main Court, Nick gave a guilty start as he was accosted by Angus Lemon. Surely Nadia hadn’t told him who’d wanted to know about Julian? “Oh! Yes, of course, Dr. Lemon. Shall we go to my rooms?”

  “No, no, mine are closer.” They were also rather more spacious and comfortable, Nick was reminded as he walked through the low door. Still, the old man needed the space for interviewing students, of course. “Glass of sherry?” Lemon offered.

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink a great deal,” Nick explained.

  Lemon sniffed his disapproval. “No? Well, I’m sure you shan’t mind if I have one.” Pouring a generous glass of Sainsbury’s own brand with one hand, Lemon waved Nick into a high-backed armchair with the other. “Now, young man, I’m afraid this is a somewhat delicate matter. I fear I have been neglecting my responsibilities, in short. Very remiss of me. But when there are so many calls on one’s time… I’m sure you understand, Sewell?”

  Clearly this was why he had been appointed Admissions Tutor. No need for any fancy psychometric testing; simp
ly admit those prospective students who were able to cope with a conversation with old Lemon without having a nervous breakdown. “Er, perhaps if you told me what this was all about…?”

  Lemon frowned. “Yes, of course,” he said with an annoyed tone, seating himself in the other armchair and placing the sherry on a little table by his elbow that seemed to have no other purpose. “It’s about young Lauder.”

  Bugger. Nick was fervently regretting having asked Lemon to get to the point. “Ah, and in particular…?”

  “Well, you must know that the boy’s a flaming—that he shares your, ah, peculiar predilections. Meaning that not in any pejorative sense, of course.”

  Of course, Nick thought dryly.

  “Which is where you come in.” Lemon leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and looking at Nick expectantly.

  Nick was beginning to wish he’d accepted that sherry. “Er, come in how, precisely?” he ventured, trying to ignore all the images his mind was supplying of just how the words come in could be applied to him and Julian.

  “As a mentor, of course!” The way Lemon was looking at him now, Nick was glad he wasn’t a student here for interview as he would most certainly have failed. “Fact is, Sewell, the boy’s stepfather asked me to keep a close eye on him. Incidents at his boarding school of a somewhat delicate nature—I trust I don’t have to spell it out?”

  “Perhaps, for the avoidance of all possible doubt…” Nick hoped the man couldn’t see just how fixed the smile on his face was.

  Lemon huffed impatiently. “The boy showed a certain lack of discrimination, let us say.”

  “Found himself a bit of rough, did he?” Nick suggested in the hope that a touch of coarseness might jolt Lemon into actually telling him something.

  Lemon gave a short bark that Nick realised belatedly must be laughter.

  “If it had happened just the once, I daresay Markham wouldn’t have been so concerned. A little free with his favours, that young man. Caused quite a stink at the school, I don’t mind telling you. Not the sort of thing that encourages prospective parents at all. Now, we’re all quite aware of the kind of shenanigans that go on at boarding school—it’s just part of growing up, after all. Boys will be boys and it doesn’t mean a damn thing, as I’m sure you—ah, yes. Well, Markham gave the boy a good talking to, of course, but he was still worried young Lauder might fall back into bad habits up here. I’ve been intending all term to ask you to keep a fatherly eye on the boy—having, as you do, a certain insight into his, ah, problems—but I’m afraid it just slipped my mind. Work, you know. So many calls on one’s time. Wasn’t until a colleague brought up the subject that it occurred to me, must see to it. So I trust we are in agreement?”