They waited another hour, till it was profoundly dark. Then, donning their oldest clothes, they walked down the Canongate, past Holyrood Palace and into the King’s Park. In a copse of trees, they stripped, hiding their things in the damp undergrowth, and shifted.
Lindsay’s transformation was instantaneous, a swift, intense ripple of sensation that overtook him with the suddenness of diving into water. His wolf claimed his body with joyful ease and bounded off into the night, Francis close on his heels.
They ran for the joy of running. Then, disturbing rabbits, for the joy of the chase. Catching a fat buck, they made a quick meal, then trotted uphill, making for the summit of Arthur’s Seat. Francis set a tidy pace, his sleek black body moving with economic grace, and Lindsay followed at his heels. When they reached the top, they basked in the strong, pale light of the moon, lifting their muzzles to howl.
They ran all the way over to Duddingston, skirted the fields at Peffermill and woke a sleeping flock of sheep to nervous bleating. Continuing onwards, they made their way back to the King’s Park tackling a steeper path to the top of Arthur’s Seat. Through it all, Lindsay’s heart beat for Drew, and his blood sang for him, and the song it sang was mate, mate, mate. His human self might be afraid of that truth, but his wolf brimmed with joy over it.
Francis was true to his word and stuck to Lindsay’s side, sensing his distraction. But though he stayed close, keeping Lindsay’s attention on the run with playful nips and nudges, he could do nothing to block Lindsay’s aching desire for Drew.
As they descended the hill, they came upon a tiny stream—little more than a trickle of water over stones—and stopped to drink. While Lindsay was lapping at the water, he detected a familiar, enigmatic mineral scent. It was the scent he associated with Drew, subtle as a whisper.
Nosing around the wet rocks and grass, Lindsay frantically sought out that scent, flinching when the cold water struck his sensitive nose. He found the source of his excitement at last, a small and ordinary-looking stone with a faint glitter on its rough surface. Lifting it gently between his teeth, Lindsay closed it in his mouth, ignoring Francis’s silent amber stare. And then they were running again, back to the city.
When they came to the spot where they’d left their clothes, Lindsay whined and paced, yearning for his mate, reluctant to change back to his doubtful human self. Francis, though, wouldn’t let him rest. He worried at him, barking and nipping till at last Lindsay gave up and lay on the ground to let his human self resurface.
When he came to, he was cold and dirty and exhausted. He spat the stone out into his hand and stared at it. It was small and dark in his hand.
“What’s that?” Francis asked.
“Nothing,” Lindsay said, his tone discouraging further questions. Turning away, he reached under the leafy branches of the undergrowth to pull out his clothes. Once dressed, he tucked the stone in his breeches pocket, even though he knew he should probably throw it away.
By the time they were on their way, dawn was prodding the sky with pale, tentative fingers. It wasn’t a dramatic sunrise. In fact, it was little more than a gradual lightening of the sky from midnight blue to azure, just a tint of rose at the horizon.
In their human skins, they trudged home. Wynne answered the door on their second knock, still in his nightshirt.
“I’ve left food out in the kitchen,” he said.
“Good lad,” was all Lindsay could manage, his voice rusty, his mind still struggling with the change.
Wynne had left out pie and sawster and cold beef on the kitchen table. They ate hungrily, messily, without washing, wiping their greasy fingers on their dirty breeches. They only stopped when every scrap of food was gone, sitting back in their chairs, sated. When Wynne entered the kitchen again he was fully dressed. He set the kettle on for tea and informed them he was heating water so they could bathe.
“Thank you,” said Francis, who’d returned more quickly to his usual self than Lindsay. “We’re both filthy.”
“Tea first though,” Wynne said briskly.
Lindsay just smiled tightly. He knew he’d be thee-and-thou’ing Wynne if he tried to speak, and it troubled him. He didn’t usually find it so difficult to regain his human self after a transformation.
Putting his hand in his breeches pocket, he touched the little stone. In a way, it soothed him, but it made him think of Drew too, and that was anything but soothing. Whenever he thought of Drew, he wanted to go to him. To go there and grab hold of the man. Just to touch him again.
Why? Why was he so obsessed? It was entirely unlike him. Ridiculous and lowering.
He let Francis use the bath first, promising solemnly not to go anywhere in the meantime. When it was his turn to wash, he stayed in the stout wooden tub till the sadly shallow bathwater turned cold, scrubbing every inch of his skin and combing out his long dark hair till it was smooth and tangle-free. Then he climbed out and sat, naked, in front of the fire and let his hair dry off.
After a while, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called, adding as the door swung open, “I haven’t a stitch on, but I don’t care if you don’t.”
It was Francis. He snorted amusement at Lindsay’s welcome and sat down beside him, stretching his stockinged feet out to take advantage of the heat.
“You’re in a bad way of it,” he said after a while. “Is it Nicol that has you all upside down?”
Lindsay nodded. “I can’t understand it,” he said. “I’ve never known anything like it. Not with anyone.”
“You feel compelled to go to him?”
Lindsay nodded.
Francis was silent for a while, his gaze fixed on the flames. Then he said flatly, “The compulsion can be overcome—to a degree. Only distance will do it, though. And it never really goes away completely. The only thing that makes it stop is being with your bond-mate.”
Lindsay stared at him—at Francis’s profile—and whispered, “I hate it, but I’m not sure I want to overcome it.”
Francis turned his head and smiled sadly. “I know. That’s the worst part.” He sighed. “It’s only two more days till you leave. As soon as we’re done with Cruikshank, you’ll leave town. You’ll feel much better once you put some distance between you and Nicol, I promise.”
Lindsay nodded, but he found it difficult to believe, and as the day wore on, he felt worse and worse. His wolf was growing desperate and erratic, gnawing at the edges of his self-control more or less constantly as it tried to force him to shift. Lindsay couldn’t eat, couldn’t rest. He paced his rooms like a madman, muttering to himself, clenching his fists so tightly his fingernails cut half-moons into his palms, grinding his teeth until his jaws ached.
Francis had Wynne make him a tisane that Francis thought would calm him, but it did no good, and by the evening Francis looked truly worried.
“I did not think I would say this, but I think you should visit your Mr. Nicol,” he said. “You cannot call upon Cruikshank in this state on Monday—and you’ll probably be worse by then.”
Lindsay ground out, “You trust me to see him like this?”
Francis sighed. “I can only judge by my own experience, but I’m hoping you will find your wolf calms when it gets close to him. I will go with you to be sure.”
Lindsay growled, low in his throat, and Francis chuckled, though the concerned expression he wore did not ease. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll leave you alone as soon as I can—assuming you’re in control of yourself that is. I’ll want to keep watch outside anyway.”
Lindsay flushed, embarrassed by his loss of control. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Francis assured him. “I understand.”
“Is this how it was with you and Marguerite, when you first met?”
“Something like,” Francis said lightly. “Now, go and get dressed. If we’re calling on Nicol, you can’t be going out in a banyan.”
IT WAS JUST AFTER SEVEN in the evening when Lindsay and
Francis turned into Brodie’s Close, a reasonable enough time to go visiting. As they strolled through the narrow close, Lindsay detected a faint trace of Drew’s now-familiar scent. Thankfully, it did seem to calm his wolf, as Francis had hoped it might. The wolf ceased its agitated pacing at least, allowing Lindsay to paste a normal expression on his face as they approached the tenement. Before he could rap the door though, it swung open and a boy of around twelve barrelled out, crashing into him.
“Ooof!”
“’Scuse me, sir,” the boy said quickly and ran off, leaving the door carelessly open in his wake.
Lindsay met Francis’s gaze. “Well, we may as well go straight up.”
Francis nodded and they set off up the stairs, finally coming to a stop at the door to Drew’s rooms. There was a pause after Lindsay’s knock, then the sound of footsteps, and finally the door swung open, revealing Drew, lit by a single candle. He looked rumpled, his neckcloth tugged at and several waistcoat buttons undone. Hair escaping from the queue at the nape of his neck.
He looked—wonderful. Immediately, Lindsay felt calmer than he had all day, his wolf settling back into his skin as Drew’s unmistakable flinty scent surrounded him.
“Drew—” Lindsay said. Then remembering Francis beside him, quickly added, “That is, Mr. Nicol, I hope you don’t mind us calling without warning?”
Drew’s eyes had widened on seeing Lindsay, but now he seemed to notice Francis too, standing at Lindsay’s side. His gaze shifted between them in puzzlement.
“I—of course not,” he said at last, stepping aside to grant them entrance. “Come in. I’m afraid my rooms are rather a mess though—I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
They followed him inside, down the corridor and into the parlour. Every available surface was covered in drawings and Drew quickly gathered them up, rolling them into cylinders.
“How may I help you?” he asked once he’d moved the drawings aside.
“Oh, it’s—just a social call really,” Lindsay said. “We were passing and thought we’d see if you were home.” He felt his cheeks flush at the lie.
Drew didn’t look convinced by that, but he said, politely, “I see. Well, may I fetch you a glass of wine? Or ale?”
Lindsay cleared his throat. “Some wine would be very pleasant.”
“And you, Mr. Neville?” Drew asked.
Instead of answering him, Francis turned to Lindsay and set his hand on his arm. “Good lord, I’m a dolt! I’ve just remembered, I’m supposed to be dining with Iain MacIntosh tonight. And I’m late! May I leave you here with Mr. Nicol?”
Evidently, Francis was satisfied that Lindsay was capable of controlling himself with Drew, if he was making his apologies this quickly.
Francis turned to Drew. “I’m so sorry, this is terribly rude. Will you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Drew replied with a polite smile. Then, looking at Lindsay, he added a little more stiffly, “Are you also leaving, Mr. Somerville?”
“I—may stay for a little while,” Lindsay murmured. “If that’s all right?”
He caught the swift sharpening of Drew’s scent, though the man’s expression didn’t change. Did he want Lindsay to go? Or stay?
“Of course,” Drew said mildly. “Let me see Mr. Neville out, then I’ll fetch us some wine.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Francis said with a friendly smile as they left the room. “It’s the absolute height of rudeness to foist yourself on someone, then announce you have other plans. You must think me the most awful flibbertigibbet.”
While Drew saw Francis out, Lindsay paced the rug before the parlour fire, unsure what to say when the man returned.
Moments later, the front door closed and Drew was back. He stood in the doorway of the parlour, watching Lindsay with a curious expression.
“I’m sorry we disturbed you,” Lindsay said at length. “Though I’m not sorry to be alone with you now.”
Drew stepped into the room then. Closed the door then leaned against it. He appeared troubled and Lindsay wished he knew why.
“Why are you here?” Drew asked. “Really?”
“To see you,” Lindsay said. “I—wanted to see you one last time.”
“One last—” Drew frowned. “Are you leaving?”
Lindsay nodded. “First thing on Tuesday.”
Drew stared at him for several long moments and when he spoke his voice was hoarse. “Why so soon?”
“I expect to finish up my business here on Monday evening.”
Silence.
Drew turned and went to the sideboard. Poured two glasses of wine. But instead of lifting the glasses, he just stood there, his hands resting on the wood. “Where are you going?”
“The Low Countries, for a while. Then Paris when”—it’s safe—“the weather improves.”
Drew gave a short laugh. “It’s quite the exciting life you lead, isn’t it? Travelling all over.” He reached for the wine glasses, then turned and walked back to Lindsay, passing one to him.
Lifting the other glass to chin height, he toasted Lindsay. “To a safe and pleasant journey.”
Lindsay lifted in his own glass in a counter-salute and they both sipped the wine, then stared at one another for long, painful moments, till Drew finally said, almost angrily, “What exactly is it you want of me?”
Lindsay drained his glass then set it down with a snap. “I want you to fuck me,” he said. “I want you to fuck me so hard I still feel you when I leave.”
Drew swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. “Christ, Lindsay. The things you say.” He set his own glass aside and paced closer, till only inches separated them.
“Well?” Lindsay said. “Will you?”
Drew’s gaze was fierce. “Yes. God, yes.”
They stared at each other. Lindsay’s heart was racing, his blood hot with need. Worried about scaring Drew off with the strength of the lust that was consuming him, he forced himself to maintain an outward calm, and clearing his throat, said with absurd formality, “If it’s convenient, could you fetch some oil or grease? It makes things easier.”
Drew blinked dazedly, then said in a thick voice, “I’ll see what I have.” He stepped towards the door then stopped, looking over shoulder. “Go to the bedchamber while I look.”
“All right.”
His limbs felt clumsy as he walked down the shadowy corridor to Drew’s bedchamber. It was as cheerless as last time, and as cold. As before, there was no fire in the grate nor any other comforts. All in all, it was quite the monk’s cell, though at least the bed was a decent size. In the distance, Lindsay could hear Drew quickly opening and closing cupboards and drawers. It made him smile. Such a frantic search.
Lindsay began to undress, removing the clothes he’d barely looked at as he donned them. He hadn’t powdered his hair tonight, simply tying it at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. Now he pulled that ribbon free, letting the dark locks fall to his shoulders.
When Drew arrived, he was down to his drawers.
“I found—” Drew began, then stopped abruptly, coming to a halt in the bedchamber doorway at the sight of Lindsay, standing all but naked in the middle of the room, dark hair brushing his shoulders.
Drew stared at him, his scent sharp and urgent in the air.
Slowly, deliberately, Lindsay pulled the tie of his drawers free and let the linen fall away, kicking the final garment aside with casual ease. Fully naked now, he stood, letting Drew look his fill, his cock thrusting urgently towards the man as though demanding his attention.
Drew was holding a blue glass bottle in one hand and Lindsay nodded at it. “You found what you were looking for then?”
Drew blinked at him, then said. “Oh—yes.” He held up the bottle. Inside it, some liquid moved with oil-like heaviness.
“Excellent,” Lindsay said. His voice was husky and, uncharacteristically, nervous. He realised with some astonishment that he was nervous. Which was utterly absurd for a man who’d
done this so very many times before.
“Come here, then,” he said, beckoning Drew closer.
Drew did as he was bid, tossing the bottle onto the bed as he closed in on Lindsay, his intent gaze fixed on him. When he was close enough to touch, he lifted a hand and gently ran his fingers through the length of Lindsay’s hair.
“Hmmm.” A murmur of approval as Lindsay’s hair slid through his fingers. A murmur, and his eyes soft with wonder.
“I like this,” he whispered. “Your hair down, like this. Long.”
“It used to be much longer,” Lindsay said. “To the middle of my back.”
Drew gave him a quizzical look. And well he might. It had been many a year since Lindsay—or any other man—had worn his hair as long as that. But then he smiled sadly, and said, “I should have liked to see that.”
“I should like to see you naked,” Lindsay replied looking down the length of Drew’s body, and Drew’s gaze followed his. He was rumpled and shoeless, but nonetheless fully clothed. Clothed while Lindsay was bare. And God, but that was a thought that made Lindsay’s cock pulse with fierce desire, thrusting futilely into the air between them. Drew’s gaze was helplessly drawn to the plain evidence of Lindsay’s need, his breath hitching audibly in his throat before he looked up again and met Lindsay’s gaze.
Lindsay leaned towards him. When he was close enough to graze Drew’s lips with his own, he paused, whispering, “May I kiss you?”
“Yes. Please.” Drew’s eyes were fixed on Lindsay’s, watching as Lindsay closed the tiny gap between them, setting his lips delicately upon Drew’s. They both had their eyes open, each watching the other as Lindsay slowly, sweetly, parted Drew’s mouth with his own and touched the tip of his tongue to the tip of Drew’s.
Drew moaned at the contact and closed his eyes, his hand lifting again to shakily comb through Lindsay’s loose hair, as Lindsay breathlessly deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue fully into Drew’s mouth. Stepping closer, he brought the length of his naked body into contact with Drew’s clothed one, loving the rough texture of the man’s worsted breeches and waistcoat against his skin. Drew’s hands went to his hips, yanking him even closer, then snaking round to stroke and squeeze his buttocks.
Gentleman Wolf (Capital Wolves duet Book 1) Page 18
