by JL Merrow
What on earth had possessed him? He hadn’t lost control like that since… well, since the last time he’d had a lover. A familiar sense of shame washed over him at the memory. But no matter how much Nick might inappropriately crave him, Julian was not his lover and never would be. Particularly not now.
As he walked into the lecture theater, Nick braced himself. A couple of students were whispering in the front row, and as he shuffled his notes, one of them laughed out loud and was frantically shushed by her friend. Schooling her features, she quickly gave a none-too-successful impression of avid attention.
It was a damned good thing Nick made such meticulous preparations for his lectures. Some of his more hidebound colleagues prided themselves on making it all up as they went along, scribbling formulas and proofs for the students to copy down if they could. Nick preferred to do it all on PowerPoint and produce comprehensive handouts, so he at least had the comfort of knowing his students wouldn’t go away completely empty-handed after the worst lecture he’d ever given. He constantly lost his place, repeated himself, missed out chunks—all hope that it might have passed unnoticed was dashed when a couple of students lingered to ask him if he was feeling all right.
Embarrassing as that was, it ended with a faint glimmer of reassurance. He’d merely mumbled something about having had a bad night, then winced as he realized he was laying himself open for smart remarks. None, however, were forthcoming—so perhaps they didn’t know? Perhaps Julian hadn’t spread the tale? After all, it had been a somewhat sordid affair even before he’d arrived on the scene. Nick winced again as he registered he’d crushed his lecture notes in his hands and smoothed them out again as best he could.
FOR THE rest of the day, Nick found himself unable to escape the tense feeling that he was about to be unmasked as a monster.
That evening, naturally, was worse than the preceding one. Nick paced in his rooms feverishly, unable to sit, unable to eat. Drink, yes, he could have done that. God alone knew what he’d do if he gave in to that impulse, however. He hadn’t precisely been showing astounding restraint the previous night even without the addition of alcohol.
Unable to stand it any longer, he pulled on some jogging bottoms and his trainers and set out for a punishing run along the Backs. After all, what were the odds he’d meet Julian again?
Trouble was, it was a mild night and the Backs were full of couples exploring each other’s tonsils—and more interesting areas—on the banks of the Cam. The reek of pheromones in the air was playing merry hell with his instincts, so, sighing, he jogged back through Jesus College and into the town. As he didn’t usually run this way and had no set route, he simply ran wherever his feet led him. At least dodging all the maniac cyclists kept his mind off his problems. He was careful to avoid the Rat & Ferret this time, and returned to college sweating, tired, and a damn sight more relaxed than he had been when he’d started.
Until he practically ran Julian down just outside the Porter’s Lodge. Julian blanched, breathing fast. Nick would have sworn he could hear his heart pounding. “Julian…,” he began—then stared, horrified, as Julian turned tail and ran once more.
Christ. What the hell had he done?
Nick fought the urge to go after him, to try to explain.
What on earth would he say, after all?
IN THE Senior Combination Room the next day, Nick made a beeline for Nadia, or Dr. Pawlaczek, as she was known to the students. She was one of the English fellows and a good friend. Five foot two of boundless energy that belied her girth, she had dark eyes, dark hair, and a positively Stygian sense of humor. She’d sussed him out for a fellow nonconformist, as she put it, within five minutes of meeting him, and had winkled out most of his life story within the next ten.
With one important omission, of course.
Nadia gave him a wicked smile. “So, dearie, what have you done to our young Dorian?”
She’d been referring to Julian as Dorian or, for variety, Mr. Gray ever since Nick had most unwisely confessed his ridiculous crush to her. The worst of it was, Nick could see her point.
“I haven’t done anything,” he protested guiltily.
Clutching a ream of essays to her ample bosom, Nadia raised a bushy eyebrow. “Oh? So why has he started looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights every time he catches sight of you? And don’t give me that look. I’ve run over enough of the little buggers to recognize the expression.”
Despite himself, Nick smiled. “I wouldn’t be so open about it if I were you. Animal rights groups get a lot of support from students, you know.”
Nadia snorted formidably. “Bleeding-heart liberals, the lot of them. And don’t try to change the subject. What have you done to the poor boy?” There was a certain steeliness in her expression that suggested she wouldn’t be put off.
“Nothing. Honestly. I merely came across him—” Nick winced at her comically widened eyes, and cursed his unfortunate choice of words. “I mean, I just happened to see him the other night. With a man. That’s all.”
Nadia’s eyes widened for real. “Come on, tell Aunty Nadia. I want a blow-by-blow account.” The elbow in his ribs left him in no doubt the double entendre was entirely intentional.
Nick gave her a crooked smile. “You know, one day you will have to explain this fascination with gay men having sex to me. You don’t even like men.”
“Oh, you’re not so bad, old thing.” Nadia grinned roguishly.
“You know what I mean. And I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. Tell you about it, that is.” Nick sighed and looked away. It genuinely hurt, remembering the sight of Julian with someone else. He was surprised to feel an arm slipping around his waist.
“You silly old sod. He’s much too young for you, you know.”
“I know, I know. Not to mention too pretty.”
“Bugger that. You’re not that hideous, you know. If I wasn’t strictly into the distaff side, I’d shag you myself.”
Nick laughed, as he was supposed to.
“Still, I think you ought to say something to him,” she continued. “Poor little sod probably hasn’t told his parents he’s gay. Must be worried you’re going to out him.”
Nick looked at her. Could that be it? “I—yes, of course I will. God knows I wouldn’t want him to be worried about that sort of thing.”
“Good. Now, I’m not one to gossip—” She acknowledged the lie with a devilish twist to her mouth. “—but judging from his essays, that young man’s seen entirely too much of the darker side of life for a lad his age. Wouldn’t want to be adding to his troubles, would we? Coffee?” She didn’t wait for an answer, simply pouring him a cup. “And don’t forget you’re coming round for dinner next week. Marjorie’s got a new recipe she’s simply gagging to try out on you.”
Nick smiled. “How could I forget? I’ll be there, Nads.”
She winced. “Nick, darling, please don’t call me that. It makes it sound like you’re talking to your testicles.”
“JOOLS!”
Tiff knew bloody well Julian had heard her; his shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look around.
Cursing under her breath, Tiff ran around Main Court to catch up with him, her feet slipping on the cobbles as she cut the corner as much as she could without actually committing the unpardonable sin of walking on the grass. “Jools, you sod, what are you ignoring me for? I’ve hardly seen you the last couple of days.”
Julian was always pale, but he looked ghostly in the weak morning sun, the dark shadows under his eyes almost bruise-like. Tiff’s annoyance turned to concern. “Are you all right? You look bloody awful.”
His lips twitched a bit, as if he was trying to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “I’m fine,” he said shortly, not looking at her.
Tiff rolled her eyes. “I’m over here, Jools, not the other side of Main Court.”
That got her a proper smile. “Yes. Sometimes I forget…. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”
“You know you might as
well have said all that in German, for all the sense it made, don’t you?” Tiff grinned at him. “Apart from the sorry bit, which I should bloody well think so. So, are you going to tell me what it’s all about?” She bit her lip, suddenly worried again. “It’s not—bad news from home, is it?”
At least Julian’s look of surprise seemed genuine. “No. No, my mother is fine. It’s just—sometimes people are not what they seem, that’s all.”
Oh. Bloke trouble, then. Tiff slipped an arm around his shoulders, although it was a bit of a stretch. “Fancy a coffee? So you can not tell me all about it?”
Finally he seemed to relax a bit. “All right. Mine or yours?”
“Mine, definitely. Too many bloody stairs up to yours. And I’ve got chocolate Hobnobs.”
“Chocolate Hobnobs? Why didn’t you say so before?”
Tiff laughed as he swung her round and half dragged her back through Main Court.
Tiff’s room was in E block, one of the newest college buildings. It was square, boxy, and with about as much architectural merit as the average public toilet, but it had a private bathroom and for that reason Tiff adored it. She put the kettle on and spooned coffee into her favorite mugs, the ones that actually matched.
“Coffee-mate or milk?” she asked, giving the milk carton a sniff. It seemed all right, so she tipped some into her own mug. “Jools?”
“Oh—sorry. Coffee-mate.”
“Does anyone else know you like that tacky stuff?”
Julian smiled at her. “No. You know you’re the only one I tell my secrets to, don’t you?”
“Yeah, right.” Tiff made it sound sarcastic so he wouldn’t know she was pleased. “So come on, then, what’s that Mark bloke done to upset you?”
“Mark?” Julian shrugged and relaxed back on her bed, his weight on one elbow. “Nothing. We split up.”
Which, in Tiff’s book, wasn’t exactly nothing, but Julian didn’t look like he was bothered about it. “Well, someone’s got your knickers in a twist. Who is he?”
She watched Julian closely as he placed his mug on the floor and stretched out languidly upon the bed. Probably aware of the effect it had on Tiff, the bastard. “You know, I’m sure I remember you promising me chocolate Hobnobs,” he complained piteously.
Tiff sighed and threw the packet at his head.
He caught it effortlessly, of course.
Chapter Three
NICK WAS almost relieved when the day of the full moon finally came around. As the sun sank lower in the sky, he slung a bag into the boot of his Mini Cooper and set off down Trumpington Street toward Hills Road. There was a wooded area a few miles out of town that was just about adequate for his purposes, with the advantage of an almost redundant country lane along one edge leading to a clearing where he could park his car. Time to get in touch with his animal side.
It was ironic, really. He’d managed to scare Julian off completely without even mentioning the fact that he really was a monster—at least, for one night a month. Although his behavior in that bloody alleyway made Nick wonder whether the mere fact of him being in human form for the other twenty-seven days wasn’t just an arbitrary distinction. He shuddered at the thought that he might be getting worse. No, it was simply that he’d forgotten, for a moment, the cardinal rule and had allowed himself to contemplate the thought of no longer being alone.
He felt his solitude keenly at this time of the month. So much for the oft-held theory that werewolves must be pack animals. He’d never even met another werewolf—apart from Carl, of course. Carl, who’d fascinated him, fucked him—and then turned him into a werewolf and, guilt-stricken, left him to deal with it alone.
Nick grimaced. God alone knew how many others there were. Were there any female werewolves? For that matter, were there even any straight werewolves? For all he knew, lycanthropy might be the latest Gay Plague. He snorted. There were quite a few religious fundamentalists who’d no doubt be delighted to hear it.
After turning into the clearing, Nick parked the car close in to the trees, making sure it was as hidden as possible from the road, even though the chances of anyone passing were slim. The woodlands belonged to an old country estate that was slowly sinking into decay, presumably while English Heritage wrangled with the owners as to how best to preserve it for an indifferent nation. Nick had never seen another person there.
He pulled off his shirt and flung it into the back of the car, to be swiftly followed by the rest of his clothes. God help him if the police happened by. They’d probably think he was preparing for an evening of pervy outdoor sex. Actually, maybe he should be more worried about the exhibitionists finding his little glade and staging an orgy. Talk about places going to the dogs…. Nick stifled a bitter laugh and donned his collar. He’d bought it from a pet shop and attached a smartwatch after the first few months of dismally wandering around naked, trying to find where he’d left his clothes and car. He was never sure if the side effect of making his wolf form look more domesticated was a good thing or not. Good for him, perhaps, but less so for anyone he might run into.
Nick always felt utterly ridiculous at this stage of the proceedings—standing in the middle of nowhere next to his car, starkers and in a dog collar, waiting for darkness to fall completely. At least his sense of the absurd distracted him somewhat from the anticipation of the pain to come. Just thinking of it made his body tense, his gut clench. By all accounts childbirth was pretty bloody awful, but Nick would have bet that it didn’t even come close to the agony of a transformation.
And nobody had to give birth every month.
A shudder racked through him—it was coming. Nick tried to fight it, as always. He couldn’t quite rid himself of the desperate hope that if he was strong enough, he could resist it, control it. Surely a man was stronger than a beast? Mentally, at any rate. If he could only be human enough….
The pains started, and Nick fell to his knees. Agony shot through his hands and feet as they clenched and shortened, turning into paws despite his efforts. God, he hated this bit, loathed it with every fiber of his being: seeing himself turn into something less than human, a feral beast.
It was almost a relief to feel the fire in his face as the bones shifted, cutting through flesh like so many serrated knives, as his face deformed into a muzzle. The agonized screaming he’d been unable to stop became a bestial howl that tore through his throat like a whirlwind of broken glass. His body convulsed and changed, skin aflame with the growth of a hairy coat. The howls turned to whimpers, and he staggered about on all fours, trying to find his balance.
Grudgingly, the aftershocks of the pain receded, and Nick’s vision cleared. He sniffed the air, breathing in the rich scents of the forest. His nostrils filled with the aroma of damp earth, oak and beech, and the heady smell of prey.
Softly, Nick padded into the woodland to begin the hunt.
At times like this, he almost felt that it was worth all the pain and the loneliness.
At times like this, he felt truly alive.
NICK WOKE up in a clump of bracken the next morning, filthy and scratched but with the bone-deep feeling of relaxation and peace he only seemed to get the morning after a full moon. It was one of the few upsides of this time of the month. His collar hung loosely around his human-sized neck, and the smartwatch was still attached. Good. Sometimes the wolf managed to tear it off—he’d only been able to guess at the size, after all. Nick undid the Velcro, switched on the GPS and made his way back to the car, always alert for any early-morning ramblers or dog-walkers that might have discovered the woods since last month.
It was easier to think, now. Easier to come to a decision regarding Julian Lauder. They would have to talk, get things straight between them. Then, perhaps, Nick could work on putting his ridiculous crush behind him.
However, deciding to speak to Julian about their embarrassing encounter was one thing. Actually getting the opportunity to do so was another. In the end, Nick decided he’d just have to go and knock on Julian�
��s door. Which might sound simple, but really, when did fellows ever go visit students? If he had a friend there, it was bound to look odd. Nick just had to hope that, if he went first thing in the morning, nobody would have yet thought of making social calls.
Like all first-years, Julian had a room in college. It was right at the top in one of the older college buildings, and had the twin disadvantages of neither an attractive location nor any of the modern conveniences of the newest blocks. Which, in practical terms, meant six flights of stairs from the nearest bathroom. It was common knowledge that to walk under the windows of Garden Court late at night was to risk an early shower from some drunken student lacking the energy, the inclination, or possibly just the coordination to walk down to the loo.
Nick tried his best not to look furtive as he climbed the winding stairways and was relieved to pass no one on the way. Julian answered the door after three knocks, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging bottoms, obviously hastily thrown on. God, he looked good enough to eat—at least until he saw who it was and visibly flinched. A muscle twitched at the side of his jaw, but he didn’t say anything.
“Um. Can I come in?” Nick asked. After all, this was hardly the sort of thing he could talk about in the corridor.
Julian stood aside without a word. His silent acquiescence did nothing to calm Nick’s nerves as he stepped into a small room, made more cramped by the slope of the roof. Nick hadn’t seen a great many student rooms since his own undergraduate days, but this one seemed rather barer than most, with a distinct lack of posters on the walls or cuddly mascots on the bed and desk. It could have been a hotel room, just after the maid had cleared away all signs of the last occupant.
