by JL Merrow
“It’s a SpongeBob duvet. Spilling coffee on it would only improve it.” He took a sip from the mug and put it carefully on the floor, by the bed, next to the Andrex Puppy slippers Tiff’s mum had given her last Christmas. “And what was what all about?”
Tiff’s sigh was a little more audible this time. Also a little more exasperated. “You. Me. Holding hands in the Plodge this afternoon. What am I, some kind of beard?”
“What?” Julian’s English was usually better than hers, but every now and then, she was able to come out with an expression that floored him.
“I mean, are you using me to try to convince people you’re straight?” she explained patiently, giving her coffee a stir, and sucked the spoon clean before putting it on the desk.
Julian gave her one of his indecipherable looks. At least, Tiff couldn’t bloody well decipher it. “Would it bother you if I were?” he asked after a noticeable pause. “You’re not going out with anyone. As far as I know, there isn’t even anyone you fancy.”
“Well, no.” Not apart from you, she didn’t add.
“So it’s all right, then?” He rolled over and leaned on his elbows, looking shyly up at her from beneath his eyelashes. Tiff wondered if he’d practiced in front of the mirror.
She could ask him why he was suddenly so bothered about appearing to be straight—but then, Tiff was pretty sure he didn’t need any more practice at lying. “All right,” she agreed, knowing it was bound to be a bad idea. But the smile he gave her made it all worthwhile.
Well, almost.
Maybe.
Chapter Five
NICK WAS damned glad the next day that Nadia had forewarned him about Julian and his girlfriend. When Nick emerged from his staircase for lunch, they were sitting on a bench in Main Court where anyone might see them. Kissing. For a moment, all Nick could hear was the blood rushing in his ears—and then Julian looked up, directly at him, and Nick’s heart seemed to stop.
Was that little bastard doing this deliberately? Nick could hardly see, hardly breathe, for sheer fury. He turned on his heel and strode blindly out of college.
He’d walked the length of Silver Street, passed Sheep’s Green, and was halfway to Newnham before his head finally started to clear. If Julian was doing this deliberately, then why? Simple spite, after Nick’s rejection of him—or could this be an attempt to make Nick jealous because Julian, for whatever bizarre reason, actually wanted him? You’ll look after me? he’d asked. Was that really what he wanted? Someone to watch out for him, to teach him, to care for him? Nick’s mouth went dry at the thought. God, he’d take such good care of him. Protect him. Love him.
And when the moon got too full, when Nick’s instincts were going crazy, he’d what? Lay hands on him as he had with Matthew, the last person he’d dared to attempt a relationship with? Knock him around? Turn him, as Carl had done to him all those years ago? Either way, Julian would end up hating him. And he was far too young to have his life ruined like that.
By the time Nick had retraced his steps, Julian and Tiffany were nowhere in sight. Probably up in Julian’s room, shagging, the poor girl desperate enough to let the little prick fool her into thinking he actually cared for her. Nick closed his eyes briefly, trying to let the bitterness drain away. Julian did care about Tiffany—he’d seen them together often enough to know that she was his closest friend in college. Which was precisely why he was getting so bloody worked up about it. It wasn’t like Julian having a one-nighter with some bloke from the pub. This—if it was real—actually stood a chance of lasting.
Damn it.
“RIGHT. MY room,” Tiff ordered, once the stiff figure of Dr. Sewell had disappeared from view.
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 man a medal. 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 startled at that. Tiff wasn’t sure why. Still, 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 facedown 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.”
“It means nothing. And don’t be xenophobic.”
“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. At least, if you listen to my dad, the old bigot.”
Julian grinned, his mood seeming to have flipped back to cheerful. “I guess he voted for Brexit?”
“Too bloody right. Total UKIP supporter. I’d be worried he had some creepy crush on that slimy git Nigel Farage, if he wasn’t, you know, rabidly antigay as well.”
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’s 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 while 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, rath
er average intelligence and sod all imagination) gave him a startled look. Had he been too 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.
Realizing he was just standing there gawping 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 getting overheard 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 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 him, and unconsciously took a step forward.
“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 confusion in his eyes was the most genuine expression they’d displayed yet. But why was he confused? Nick watched, mesmerized, as Julian bit his lip.
“You’re mocking me,” he whispered.
What? “No, I’m not. I wouldn’t do that.” He took another step toward Julian, 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, showing that pale, slender throat. “I thought if I—it doesn’t matter.” Julian cast his eyes down, making those long lashes look even more beautiful.
And he was a werewolf. Nick couldn’t concentrate on anything else right then. Another werewolf. God, he’d been so alone, so very alone. And it had to be Julian.
If Julian was a werewolf too, there was even more reason 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 took 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 did you know what I am?”
Julian frowned as though Nick had said something that didn’t make sense. “The same way you recognized me.”
Nick didn’t like to admit he hadn’t. “How long have you been… like this?”
“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. 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 recognizing 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.”
“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 Senior Combination Room 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 breakup, 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 Sir Richard’s in Kent—”
“Where?”
“Oh, you know, dearie. Private s
chool, 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 first 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 Mr. Gray’s 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.”