Master Wolf

by Joanna Chambers

  “The Wolfsbane in the poultice that he wears next to his skin will not be lethal to you—it’s bound up with other ingredients and some simple magic—but still, it’s best not touch it. It is under the bandages he wears, so leave it there.” He paused, tightening his grip on Drew’s fur, his gaze intense. “What you absolutely must not do is touch the undiluted tincture. There are several containers on his dressing table containing ingredients for the poultice. The tincture is in a blue glass bottle—it’s sealed but leave it alone. There’s enough in there to kill you a hundred times over. Do you understand?”

  Drew dipped his head in the best nod he could manage, an awkward, unwolflike gesture he hated making in this form. He was glad to have done so, though, when Wynne, appearing satisfied, got back to his feet and, finally, opened the bedchamber door, allowing Drew to enter.

  Drew padded into the bedchamber, nose in the air, scenting. A faint, almost imperceptible smell of profound sickness was everywhere, permeating everything. He had not detected it in his human form but as a wolf he found it obvious and distressing. He gave a soft, unhappy whine. Behind him, the door closed with a soft click.

  Lindsay lay on his back in the bed, heaped with covers. His breath was light and wheezy, though it was regular at least. Drew leapt up on to the mattress to investigate further. He was a large wolf and made quite an impact when he landed, his paws leaving muddy prints on the clean linen, yet Lindsay barely stirred, even when Drew padded closer and nosed at the blankets to uncover him a little more. He slept like the dead, his body motionless, his face waxy and pale. Against the translucent skin stretched over his cheekbones, the vulnerable fans of his dark lashes lay still, not even trembling. The only sign he was alive at all was those light, almost imperceptible breaths.

  And his scent…

  Drew whined, distressed. He could smell death on Lindsay.

  Was Lindsay dying?

  Drew seized the edge of the bedcover with his teeth and pulled at it, uncovering Lindsay’s torso.

  Lindsay barely stirred, even as Drew crept closer, nosing at his body.

  Everything about him was achingly familiar, the pale skin, the small, dusky nipples, the trail of dark hair that ran from his navel and disappeared under the bedsheet. But he was different too. Thinner and less well-muscled. Fragile-looking.

  Lindsay, fragile. God.

  Bandages covered most of his left arm, beginning just below his armpit and continuing all the way down to his wrist. His arm was turned wrist-up, and beneath the white linen, Drew could see the dark shape of the poultice stuff, though none of it seeped through the fabric.

  Drew growled to see it. And that was when Lindsay finally woke, coming to with a stuttering gasp, plainly startled by the beast looming over him.

  “What the—” he muttered, then blinked hard, twice, and seemed to calm. He levered himself up onto his right elbow before saying, his tone disbelieving, “Drew? What are you doing here?”

  Drew looked pointedly at his left arm and growled again, then shoved his head against the offending limb, moving it.

  Lindsay’s gaze softened. “I know,” he said, “But it’s necessary. I need to—”

  Drew growled again and Lindsay gave a sad smile. He leaned forward, pushed his right hand into the thick fur at Drew’s ruff and pulled him close, resting his forehead against Drew’s neck.

  “Drew,” he whispered. “It’s been so long since you came to me like this.”

  Drew whined softly, soaking up Lindsay’s presence with uncomplicated pleasure, nosing his short hair in search of those elusive rainwater notes, hating that all he could detect were the clamouring scents of sickness and death.

  After a few minutes, Lindsay detached himself and sagged back against the pillows again. He held his bandaged arm out to the side, probably trying to keep it away from Drew. But Drew only picked his way closer and nosed at the bandages, growling. When Lindsay tried to pull away, Drew nibbled at a bit of the linen at his wrist, tugging till he loosened a section.

  “No! You mustn’t!” Lindsay cried, shoving at Drew with his right arm and drawing his left one back. “You can’t get any of the poultice in your mouth—it will make you sick.”

  Drew gave him a look that would have involved raised eyebrows if he were in his human form, and that was probably distinctly odd on a wolf. Then he moved in again, going again for the loose bit of bandage with his teeth.

  “No!” Lindsay snapped and tried to shove him back, but he was weak, and Drew was a wolf, a big, powerful one, and he only pressed closer, ducking his big head under Lindsay’s right arm till Lindsay finally held his hand up in surrender and said, “All right, I understand. You want me to take it off.”

  Drew gave a short sharp yelp of agreement and Lindsay sighed. “Very well. Just tonight though, since you’re here. I’m putting it back on tomorrow morning.”

  Lindsay swung his legs over the bed and stood, straightening slowly, like an old man. Drew gave a tiny whimper of distress watching him.

  Lindsay turned and pointed at him. “Sit there and don’t move while I do this.”

  He sat himself down at the dressing table for the operation, pouring water into the washing bowl from the ewer, then laying out scissors and a large square of muslin. The dressing table was, as Wynne had said, crowded with jars and bottles, including a smallish bottle that—while it looked grey to Drew’s wolf eyes—was probably the blue one Wynne had mentioned that contained the Wolfsbane tincture. It struck him as a bluish sort of grey.

  So typical of humans, to describe everything according to human senses and expect everyone else to understand. Drew gave a canine huff, causing Lindsay to glance up briefly with a puzzled frown before returning his attention to his arm.

  Slowly, methodically, Lindsay worked. He had turned away a little so Drew couldn’t see much of what he was doing, but he did see Lindsay carefully laying the snipped-through bandages and the dried-up pieces of poultice inside the muslin square. Once Lindsay had removed all of it, he fastened the muslin square up into a secure bundle and got up to set it on the fire.

  He returned to the dressing table then and set about washing his arm. Drew couldn’t see what he was doing but he noticed Lindsay wincing from time to time as he worked. Finally, he wrapped the limb in a fresh bandage and got up from his chair. He didn’t come back to the bed though. Instead he fetched a large copper kettle from the fireplace and carried it back to the dressing table. He poured the used water from the washing bowl inside the kettle, replaced the lid and carried the kettle back the fireplace. Then he dried the bowl off with another bit of muslin and deposited that and the bundle of used bandages on the fire.

  “We have to be careful disposing of the waste,” he told Drew, turning back to him. “Humans are even more sensitive to Wolfsbane than us.” He seemed suddenly shy. “So. What now?”

  By way of answer, Drew stood, moving so that the side of the bed Lindsay had been sleeping on was free again. He dipped his head at the mattress.

  Lindsay’s lips twisted. “I’m to come back to bed, am I?” He didn’t argue though—he crossed the floor and obediently climbed back in.

  It felt good to have him like this, quiet and quiescent. There had been so much conflict between them over the years. It was a relief to be in harmony for once.

  Once Lindsay was laid down, Drew studied him. He looked better already, and it had only been minutes since he’d removed the Wolfsbane.

  “Are you leaving now?” Lindsay asked. His gaze was soft, his voice wistful.

  If he’d been in his human skin, Drew might have been flustered by that, unsure how to respond. He’d probably have said yes, that it was past time he was off. But his wolf self was made of different stuff. His wolf, in fact, considered it an asinine question and not worthy of a response. Drew turned his body three times, following his own tail, then sank down onto the mattress at Lindsay’s side, settling his big head on Lindsay’s thigh.

  Lindsay let out a soft huff of surprise. �
�You’re staying?”

  Drew just yawned, closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  When Drew awoke, it was dawn and he was human again—human and naked, his head still on Lindsay’s thigh. He sat up abruptly, staring down at a still-sleeping Lindsay in horror, his heart pounding. What was he doing here? What had his wolf been thinking to come here last night?

  Lindsay didn’t stir.

  Drew’s heart began to slow. He took the opportunity to study Lindsay. It was something he’d rarely had the chance to do over the years, so he watched Lindsay’s sleeping face for a long time. That familiar, beautiful, infuriating face. Drew’s fingertips itched to touch him but he resisted the urge, curling his fingers into his palms and clenching his hands into fists.

  At length, his gaze dropped, trailing over the too-sharp collarbones and the too-visible ribs, and finally snagging on that bandaged left arm. Lindsay hadn’t done the new bandage up tightly enough and the end had come loose as he slept. Drew knew he shouldn’t do it, but he found himself reaching forward and pushing the slack fabric looped around Lindsay’s forearm aside to expose what it hid.

  He blanched at the sight.

  Lindsay’s inner forearm was deeply ulcerated, the flesh red and raw and painful-looking.

  This was the gateway for the poison he was giving himself.

  “Don’t look at it!” Lindsay suddenly hissed, snatching his arm up to his chest. His voice was scratchy with sleep.

  “It looks painful,” Drew said slowly. Human speech felt awkward in his mouth after his shift. “Is that what the Wolfsbane does to you?”

  “Amongst other things,” Lindsay said tightly, sitting up and shifting slightly to hide his arm as he wrapped the bandage back around it with sharp, jerky movements. When he was finished, and he turned back to meet Drew’s eyes, his own were bleak.

  Drew knew he should say something, but he found speaking difficult after a shift. And besides, Lindsay took his breath away, sitting there, bare-chested in the dawn light. Even frail and too thin as he was, he was still the most beautiful man Drew had ever known. The painful concern that gripped Drew as he took in Lindsay’s spare frame warred with an almost desperate lust.

  How could anxiety and desire coincide like this? Surely he should feel one or the other? And why did he feel so saturated with sadness and regret at the thought of Lindsay’s wolf being suppressed? Drew was being given everything he’d ever wanted, wasn’t he? The eradication of the bond he’d always resented.

  Abruptly, Lindsay dropped his gaze and turned away to stiffly rise from the bed. As he had done last night, he crossed to the dressing table, opening one of the drawers and rummaging inside. He drew out a clean square of linen and laid it out.

  “What are you doing?” Drew said warily.

  “I need to reapply the poultice,” Lindsay said flatly without glancing up.

  “No.” Drew launched himself off the bed. Reaching for Lindsay’s shoulder, he whirled him around and Lindsay stumbled against him, his naked chest brushing against Drew’s, making Drew inhale sharply at the unexpected contact.

  His cock rose, brushing Lindsay’s linen-clad hip, but Lindsay gave no sign he’d noticed, only glared at Drew, his dark eyes sparking with anger. “No?”

  Lindsay only had to tilt his chin a little to meet Drew’s eyes. He was only a couple of inches shorter, though Drew had always felt much bigger, with his wider shoulders and larger frame.

  Lithe, elegant Lindsay.

  Slim as blade and twice as lethal.

  Drew stared at him, transfixed by that familiar, lovely face. He tried to detect the bond. At first he could feel nothing. The troubling compulsion to obey, to surrender his will to Lindsay, that he’d fought so hard for years, appeared to have disappeared. But then he felt a tiny thread of something, something familiar though far, far subtler than usual. Something vanishingly distant. The thread pulsed weakly, a tick of desire from Lindsay that tugged at Drew.

  Was that it? A tremulation of the bond?

  For some reason, he found himself thinking of the very first time he’d set eyes on Lindsay, a bewigged and rouged Macaroni. A little bit ridiculous and wholly, perfectly beautiful. In that moment, decades ago now, Drew had been thunderstruck, and he felt that same way now, his whole body thrumming with awareness, like a tuning fork, vibrating in the air.

  Unbidden, his eyes dropped to Lindsay’s mouth, his breathing quickening.

  “Drew?” The word was a whisper against his lips.

  Drew cupped Lindsay’s jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb as he lifted his gaze back to meet Lindsay’s own. The dark eyes were wide and pained.

  “What are you doing?” Lindsay said, a scratchy plea in the words that Drew understood even as he bent his head and pressed his lips against Lindsay’s own.

  For an instant, Lindsay froze beneath him, stiff with shock, but when Drew pulled back infinitesimally to whisper “Please” against his mouth, he made a sound that was half sob, half groan and yielded, his lips softening beneath Drew’s, his mouth opening to accept Drew’s tongue.

  It had been twelve years since their last kiss and all Drew could think was that he didn’t know how he’d survived without this. He pulled Lindsay closer, his hands mapping the smooth skin of his back, the too-prominent knobs of his spine, before dropping to Lindsay’s hips to tug him closer. Christ but his hipbones were sharp… A shaft of concern pierced the sensual fog in Drew’s brain until he was distracted by the press of Lindsay’s shaft against his own, making him groan into Lindsay’s mouth and Lindsay rock forward with a breathless gasp.

  “Christ, I’ve missed you,” Lindsay whispered. “So, so much.”

  Drew’s heart twisted at the pain in those words. He had known that his absence—and his repeated rejections—had hurt Lindsay. He hated that, but he had always told himself that he was not the architect of their circumstances. That it was not his fault that he was always torn in two over Lindsay, part of him craving the man and the other part determined to get away.

  The sharp staccato of knuckles on the bedchamber door broke the spell. Abruptly, they broke apart. Drew watched dazedly as Lindsay turned away, calling, “Come in,” in a tight voice.

  The door opened to reveal Wynne, who smiled at Lindsay then turned his gaze on Drew. “You’ve shifted back, I see,” he said, raising a brow.

  It was only then that Drew realised he was quite naked. His face flushed hotly and he quickly covered his still hard cock with his hands.

  Wynne chuckled and even Lindsay gave a short, hoarse laugh.

  Drew felt suddenly very foolish. What was he doing here? Why had he come?

  Inwardly, he cursed his wolf. When would he learn to defy his wolf’s demands?

  He swallowed, then said thickly, “It’s probably time I left.”

  He began searching the floor for his clothes, only to remember he had none. Clearing his throat, he said, “Might I borrow something to wear?”

  “I’m sure we can find you something,” Wynne said, walking past him to open the wardrobe doors. He riffled through the clothes inside, finally drawing out a suit of clothes which he laid on the rumpled bed. Then he delved into the dresser drawers, emerging with a clean shirt and underclothes.

  “There,” he said, setting them down next to the other things. “The suit might be a little tight on you, but you should be able to get into it. It’s certainly far too big for Lindsay these days.”

  It would be, Drew thought, eyeing Lindsay’s spare frame. He began to pull the clothes on.

  Lindsay turned to Wynne. “Would you mind asking the cook to make him some breakfast? He ran last night so he’ll need some fuel before he leaves.”

  “All right, but I’ll be asking her to make you something too.” Wynne warned, giving Lindsay a stern look.

  Lindsay sighed. “Very well. But not for another hour, dearest. I want to get the poultice on first and I can’t face eating straight after.”

  Wynne looked unhap
py at that, but he nodded and left the bedchamber.

  Drew’s gut was in knots. He hated the thought of Lindsay putting the poison on his arm again, but he could tell by his determined expression that there was no way of persuading him to leave it off.

  Even so, he tried.

  “Lindsay, don’t put that stuff on your arm again. Please.”

  Lindsay’s expression settled into mulishness. “Why?”

  “It’s… killing you.”

  The words were shocking said aloud. He could hardly believe he’d uttered them, but Lindsay only shrugged. “Look on the bright side. Once I’m out the way, you won’t have to worry about being compelled by me anymore.”

  Drew felt as though he’d been struck. “How can you say that?” he whispered. “I would never want you to—” He stopped, swallowing hard against a bolt of sudden nausea.

  “Die?” Lindsay asked. His gaze was bleak.

  “Stop it,” Drew croaked. He felt very odd—almost as though he wasn’t in his body at all. Inside him, the wolf was scrabbling, as though on a cliff edge desperately seeking safe footing.

  Lindsay said nothing, watching Drew.

  “I would never—have never wanted that,” Drew said urgently. “I just can’t bear that I have these feelings forced on me.”

  Lindsay dark eyes sparked with sudden anger. “I’ve never forced any feelings on you. And I can assure you, you’re not being forced now. The Wolfsbane is keeping my wolf entirely suppressed. I can’t feel my old hold over you at all—no more than I can feel Duncan’s over me—and the bond between us will very soon be entirely gone. In a matter of days, I think.”

  Drew blinked. “But I—”

  “What?”

  Drew stared at him. How to explain that he still felt something. Not the clamouring, almost physical force he was used to but something insidious and secret. A tendril, reaching out, delicately but tenaciously knotting Lindsay to him.