by JL Merrow
Grinning, panting, the wolf stepped out of the shadows. His Own stared—and then turned to run, his footsteps echoing down the alleyway, in the direction the other had gone.
The wolf growled. His blood heating with the thrill of the chase, he followed. He caught up with his Own easily—but then the other was there too, stinking of alcohol and humanity. The wolf’s muscles bunched, ready to pounce.
Wrong, his human mind told him. Not safe, to kill in this form.
Why? his wolf-brain asked, but already he was transforming.
The stench of urine was added to the reek, and a hoarse cry sounded and was cut off as the wolf-man took hold of the other and slammed it against the wall, crushing its skull and snapping its neck.
His Own cowered, as was proper.
Good. But he would still need to be punished.
The wolf-man would enjoy that.
Chapter Twelve
TIFF WAS starting to get a bit peeved. Three times she’d climbed those bloody stairs up to Julian’s room in the last couple of days, and each time he’d been out. And, all right, she’d known she’d be bound to see a bit less of him now that he was going out with Dr. Sewell, but she hadn’t expected to not see him at all. Especially for meals—and now she thought about it, how come Dr. Sewell had been in Hall for breakfast and Jools hadn’t? Still, maybe he’d needed a lie-in. Tiff blushed a bit as she thought about why he might need to catch up on some sleep.
It seemed like they were really serious. Tiff wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She knew how she ought to feel—glad Julian had finally found a decent sort of bloke. Not that she’d seen that much of any of Julian’s exes, but, well, that was the point, wasn’t it? If they’d been okay, Jools would have had them around a bit, taken them for drinks in the college bar, that sort of thing.
She’d wondered more than once if they’d been a bit like that bastard in Germany, Boris. Tiff shivered as she made her way back down Julian’s staircase. Jools hadn’t said a lot about him, but it sounded like he’d been a right piece of work.
They’d been in her room, just lazing about, and she’d asked Jools who his first boyfriend had been.
“His name was Timo,” Jools had said, a dreamy expression on his face, but sad too, somehow. “But we weren’t together long.”
“What happened?”
Julian’s face had sort of closed up, and he’d looked more like he was having a nightmare. “Boris.”
“Who was he? Did he come along and steal Timo from you?”
Jools had turned away, so she hadn’t been able to see his face, but his shoulders were sort of hunched as he answered, “No. He took his place.”
“Turned out to be a bit of a bastard, did he?” Tiff had asked sympathetically.
He hadn’t answered. After a moment, she’d got worried and had walked up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Jools?”
“He… had a bad temper,” he’d said at last, so quietly she’d had to strain to hear him. Then he turned, and her hand slipped away. “But it is all over now.” He’d smiled at her, but she wasn’t so bloody stupid she couldn’t tell it was fake.
“What did he do? Did he knock you about or something?”
“Isn’t it time we went down for dinner? We don’t want to be late and find all the decent food’s gone.”
“Jools!”
He’d sighed. “Fine. He knocked me about, as you put it. Happy now?”
“Of course I’m not bloody happy! Did you tell the police?”
She’d been outraged that he hadn’t—but of course she hadn’t known then what she knew now. God, this Boris had probably been a werewolf too. She clutched Julian’s jacket around her more tightly. A cold wind blew across Main Court, carrying a few dead leaves to swirl and dance in the corners of the court and throwing up grit into her eyes. She scrunched them tightly shut, then blinked rapidly to clear them. Time for lunch.
Tiff headed up to Hall and grabbed a plate of lasagna and salad, with the vague idea that the green stuff would sort of counteract the calories in the pasta. She had a look round just in case Jools had snuck in without her, but there was no sign of him, so she flopped down in an empty seat next to Kate Cunningham, her supervision partner.
Kate looked pleased to see her, though a bit surprised. “Oh, hello, Tiffany!”
Tiff realized guiltily that maybe she should have made more effort to get to know the others on her course. But Julian was just so much more… fun. Kate was all right, but she was, well, nice. In that frightfully well-brought-up way that always made Tiff feel really awkward. Like she had to watch what she said around her. It was weird, really. Jools was posher than Kate was, but he was more, well, real. Tiff racked her brains to try to think of something to say.
“Um, have you finished that essay for Dr. Sewell?” was all she could come up with on the spur of the moment.
“Oh, I’m having so much trouble with that. I’m really not sure I’m understanding the question properly.” Kate waved her fork around a bit as she spoke, and a piece of tomato fell off onto the table. She looked mortified, while Tiff tried to hide a smile. It disappeared for real as she realized she was going to have to offer to help Kate with the bloody essay now.
She hadn’t planned on making quite this much effort.
“We could have a look at it together, if you like?” Tiff suggested dutifully.
Kate practically bit her hand off. “Would you? That’d be awfully kind. When would be a good time for you? I’m not doing anything this afternoon. You could come over to my room and have a coffee.” She blushed a little for no reason Tiff could see. “Unless, of course, you were planning to see Julian?”
“We’re not joined at the hip,” Tiff muttered.
“Is he all right? I haven’t seen him around lately,” Kate pressed on.
“Oh, he’s just been busy. Essays and stuff.” Tiff pushed at the last bit of her lasagna with her fork before deciding it’d be a shame to waste it even if she was already full. The salad sat on the side of the plate, untouched and looking reproachfully at her, so she put her knife and fork down on top of it. “I’ll see you later, all right? I’ll pop round when I get a mo.”
Pushing her chair back with a scrape, Tiff stood, then dumped her tray and set off back for her room.
At least she could get that bloody essay done.
APPARENTLY JULIAN wasn’t speaking to him. Nick hadn’t seen him since their ridiculous quarrel two nights ago. Not even passing through the college, which was unusual, but then presumably Julian had never been trying to avoid him before. Several times Nick had considered knocking on Julian’s door, but had thought better of it. After all, what would he say? He was determined not to back down—it was for Julian’s own good, damn it.
Not to mention your own, dearie. Nadia’s voice sounded disapproving in his head. Nick made an angry sound and threw down his pen. He really shouldn’t be trying to mark essays in this frame of mind. He’d end up giving some poor student an F just because he was annoyed at Julian. And his wolf side wasn’t helping either. It kept reminding him that Julian was his—his pack, his mate—and insisting Nick should go and find him, demand his submission.
Thoroughly restless now, Nick stood, determining to get changed and go for a run. But before he could take more than two steps across the room, there was a knock on the door. Hope flaring, Nick flung it open—then stood there fighting the urge to snarl. It wasn’t Julian. In fact, it was the last person Nick expected to see. Tiffany Meadows.
He forced himself to be polite. “Ah, Tiffany, if you’re after some help with your work—”
“No.” She cut him off abruptly. “It’s about Julian.” Her chin tipped up as she spoke. “I haven’t seen him in two days, and it’s just not like him. And I thought maybe you might just care—”
“What? You haven’t seen him at all?” Even to his own ears, Nick’s voice sounded sharp.
“No. And when I knock on his door, no one answers, and his curtains ar
en’t drawn at night, and there’s no light on….” She trailed off and thrust a newspaper at him. “And there’s this. If you know where he is, for God’s sake—”
His chest tight, Nick took the copy of the Cambridge News she held out, expecting to be confronted by a picture of a silver-white wolf, perhaps being muzzled by the RSPCA or whoever it was dealt with such things. The headline screamed his misconception at him: Youth Found Murdered: Hate Crime Suspected. Nick stared, unseeing, at the rest of the text.
“It’s not him, obviously,” Tiffany said hurriedly. “But all the same….” She broke off at his look, stepping back a pace. “I’m sorry—I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have seen it. Sorry.”
Nick forced his breathing to calm, his face to relax. “It’s all right, Tiffany. I just—no. I haven’t seen Julian since Saturday night. And you’re right, this is concerning.”
Tiffany looked Nick straight in the eye. He admired her bravado even as her residual fear pricked at his nostrils. “You were out with him Saturday night, right?”
Nick flushed. “Yes. We came back around midnight.”
“You went to his room?”
“I hardly think—no, I didn’t. We, er, we had a bit of a disagreement.” An icy feeling crept through Nick’s insides. That time he’d seen Julian having sex in the alley—that had been after an argument with his boyfriend. Was that what Julian did when things went badly? Went to find someone he knew would want him, even if all they really wanted was his mouth around their cock? Christ. His heart ached for Julian even as jealousy flared.
“What?” Tiffany gave him a sharp look. “You thought of something. What was it?”
Nick took a deep breath. Just how close were she and Julian? Would his… activities be news to her? The fact that she knew about his relationship with Nick suggested not. “I think maybe he might have gone out again after we quarreled, and tried to, well, pick someone up.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened. “He said he wasn’t doing that anymore. He said….” She flushed and didn’t complete the sentence. Nick had a strong suspicion it had something to do with him, and there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach he was afraid to identify.
“But it’s the sort of thing he’d do, isn’t it?” he asked softly.
“Yes. He told me you get some rough types round there. Round Green Street, I mean. I didn’t think—” She bit her lip. “I think that’s where it happened. The murder, I mean. ‘Two streets away from a popular gay bar in the city center’ is what they say in the article, but it’s not like there’s a lot to choose from, is it?”
Nick scanned the report. The phrase “Sometime in the early hours of Sunday morning” jumped out at him. In other words, shortly after he and Julian had parted. “It doesn’t say how he died.” He looked up sharply. “You can’t possibly imagine Julian had anything to do with it!”
“What? Of course not! But what if he saw something? What if he, I don’t know, knew the bloke or something? He might have run away, been too scared to come back to college.” She straightened her shoulders. “Look, it’s just too much of a coincidence. I think we have to tell someone about this.”
IT ALL seemed to happen so quickly. One minute Nick was reporting his concerns about Julian, the next he was watching Sands, the head porter, use his master key to enter Julian’s room. Which was empty, of course, the only signs of life a carton of milk turning pungently to cheese upon the windowsill. And then the whole college machinery seemed to whir into motion, and before Nick knew it, he was being summoned to an interview with a police officer in the Master’s Lodge.
Detective Inspector Phillips looked to be in his late thirties, with a mostly unlined face but sandy hair that had noticeably thinned on top. He looked like a man who ran regularly, or possibly cycled competitively—there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. His pale blue eyes were intelligent and distinctly unfriendly. Nick was hazy on police procedures, but he somehow doubted that an officer of his rank usually got involved with missing persons. Which meant they must be taking seriously the possibility of a connection with the murder case.
Phillips waved him to sit down and then leaned forward on the battered wooden desk that separated them. The light from the small window behind him shone through his hair and gilded it into a halo as though he were some kind of angel of righteousness.
“Now, Mr. Sewell, this isn’t a formal interview, and you’re not under caution. We just need to ask you a few questions. I understand you were, ah, friendly with the young man who’s disappeared?”
It was clear what he was implying. Nick wondered if the omission of his academic title had been deliberate too.
“Yes.” Nick forced his voice to be calm. “Yes, we’re both members of the University German Society, and we, ah, sort of got to know each other through that.” It wasn’t quite a lie. Nick drew a deep breath. “And we’re rather more than friends,” he admitted—and from the look on the policeman’s face, Phillips clearly felt it was an admission.
“I see. Mr. Lauder is just eighteen, isn’t he?” The tone was so damned bland Nick wanted to scream.
“Nineteen, actually,” Nick corrected, wincing internally as he recalled Nadia’s comment about that. “And yes, that is quite a large age gap, but it’s hardly that unusual and it’s certainly not illegal.”
Phillips looked at him for a moment, then scribbled a few words in his notebook. No doubt something along the lines of “suspect became defensive under interrogation.” “Indeed not, sir. Not these days. Now, can you tell me about your last meeting with Mr. Lauder?”
Nick felt himself flushing. “We went for a drive in the country.”
“At night, sir?”
“Well, they do say moonlight is romantic, don’t they?”
Phillips sniffed. “Did you meet up with anyone else?”
What, for kinky group sex in car parks? “No,” Nick said shortly. “We didn’t.”
“How long did this drive last?”
“Well, we went soon after Formal Hall, so I suppose we were on the road by nine-ish. We went out along Hills Road—toward the Gog Magogs—and parked by some woodland for a walk.”
“In the dark, sir?”
“As I said,” Nick snapped.
“And how long did this walk take you?”
“We were back in college by midnight.”
“And you parted on good terms?” This was the question Nick had been dreading. Briefly he considered lying, but he had an awful feeling if he did, Phillips would be bound to dredge up a witness from somewhere. The slam of the window replayed itself in his mind.
“No, I’m afraid we didn’t. We had… words.”
“You argued, in fact, didn’t you, sir?”
God, he had found a witness. How the hell had he managed that already? Or was it just a bluff? “We disagreed, yes. But it was nothing serious.” Suddenly Nick snapped. “Look, I had nothing to do with whatever’s happened to Julian, and I’m out of my mind worrying about him! Can’t you just concentrate on trying to find him? He’s not—he’s vulnerable….” Nick trailed off, aware that this outburst had probably not helped him in the least.
Phillips was looking like a hound that had just caught the scent. “Vulnerable, sir?”
Nick took a deep, calming breath. “He had—at least I believe he did, he didn’t really talk about it—he had an abusive boyfriend back in Germany.” Nick hated giving away Julian’s secrets like this, but he had to make the man see.
“And you’re suggesting this boyfriend might have had something to do with his disappearance?”
“Christ, I don’t know—I mean, it was, what, two years ago? But it couldn’t hurt to look into it, could it? But what I really meant was that he—Julian—he doesn’t fight. If someone’s taken him….” Nick found he couldn’t go on. Tears were pricking at his eyes, and he hated himself for feeling so mortified at the prospect of crying in front of a bloody homophobic police officer. All he should be caring about now was Julian, not what anyone thoug
ht of him.
“I see, sir.” Phillips paused. “And you have reason to suppose he might have gone into town after you left him?”
Nick swallowed. “He—he was upset. He might have, yes.” It was his biggest fear: that Julian might have gone somewhere seedy looking for comfort and found…. Nick didn’t want to think of what he’d found. “He did occasionally use to visit gay nightspots in town.”
“Did Mr. Lauder have any particular favorites?”
He’s not dead, Nick wanted to scream. Stop talking about him in the past tense! “I don’t know. It wasn’t something we ever did together, and I thought he’d stopped all that when we… when we started our relationship.” He hesitated. “But before he and I got together, I used to see him with a lot of different men.” Which implies you were watching him, you idiot. As if they don’t have you pegged for a pervert already. “I know he went to the Rat & Ferret at least once, but I don’t suppose that’s much help,” he added uselessly.
Phillips made another note in his book and grunted noncommittally. “Can you tell me what your… difference of opinion with Mr. Lauder was about, Mr. Sewell?”
Nick looked down. The worn carpet at his feet was no help whatsoever. “I’ve decided to move out of college. Rent a house in town, or just outside. Julian wanted to move in with me, when I find somewhere.”
“And you didn’t want that?” Phillips’s tone was pointedly bland.
“I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to cut himself off from the other students in his first year here.”
“Mm-mm. Was he very… upset?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say very upset, but—you know how it is, sometimes these things get blown out of proportion.” Nick hesitated. “Julian’s not very good at dealing with what he sees as rejection.”
Phillips looked at him shrewdly. “So you’d broken things off?”
“No! No, not at all. It was just a difference of opinion. We’d have sorted it all out next time we saw each other.”
“But now you won’t be able to,” Phillips said so sympathetically that for a moment his words didn’t sink in. As they did, Nick felt his stomach lurch.
