Camwolf

by JL Merrow

  CRACK HAD lurked around somewhere and accosted Tiff after she’d seen Julian off. He was now lying stretched out on Tiff’s bed, his pointy black boots thoughtfully hanging off the end so as not to mark the duvet cover. Clearly his mum had at least attempted to bring him up properly.

  He yawned, showing annoyingly perfect teeth. “Do you think they’re shagging now?”

  Tiff spilled half the coffee she was spooning into a mug and cursed under her breath. “Why? Bi-curious, are you?”

  Crack laughed and shuddered theatrically. She half expected to hear his bones rustling like dry twigs. “Nah. I’m straight as an arrow, me.”

  Give him a pointy hat and you could probably use him as one, she thought maliciously. You’d need a bloody big bow, though. She paused, carton of milk in hand. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “Dr. Pawlaczek and Marjorie are a really sweet couple, aren’t they? I’d like to have a relationship like that someday.”

  Crack’s face fell, and Tiff sniffed at the milk to hide her grin. “White? I think it’s all right.”

  “Nah, leave it if it’s a bit iffy. Black’s fine.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that was your favorite color. Hunting pink not your thing, Caractacus?” She held out the mug of coffee.

  Crack blushed as he sat up to take it. “Look, you’re not going to tell anyone about that, are you?”

  “Now come off it! Are you seriously trying to tell me you’re ashamed of being posh?”

  He shrugged. He was almost sweet when he was embarrassed, in a weird, skeletal kind of way. “It’s just—I’ve always been, well, my parents’ son, you know? I thought coming here would give me a chance to get away from the whole public-schoolboy thing. Be someone different.”

  Tiff was still for a moment, then sat next to him. “Yeah. I know what that’s like. Not the public-school bit, obviously, but yeah.” She stared down at his bony knees. “So, how’s that working out for you?”

  He shrugged again. “Squatting’s not all it’s cracked up to be, to tell the truth. The neighbors all hate us, and the girls never clean the bathroom. The drain’s all clogged up with their hair. It’s disgusting.” He looked up suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Course not,” Tiff lied, trying to straighten her face. “I bet you’re going to tell me you’re not even a drug dealer.”

  Crack stared. “What? Of course not. That stuff’s really bad for you.”

  “You do realize you’re destroying all my illusions, don’t you?” She grinned. “Want a biscuit?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  NICK LAY curled around Julian under the duvet. He couldn’t have explained the desperate need he felt for as much skin-on-skin contact with Julian as he could get. He could only feel it and be profoundly grateful Julian seemed to feel the same way—not that he’d have been able to distance himself from Nick greatly without actually falling out of bed. Fellows being generally supposed to be dry, sexless creatures who used beds only for sleeping, it was so narrow they were pressed together as much out of physical necessity as emotional. Nick thought he’d be happy to stay like this for the rest of his life.

  Unfortunately his stomach had other ideas. It grumbled loudly to remind Nick he hadn’t catered to it all day.

  Julian kissed him. “It is about time for Hall, isn’t it? Perhaps we should get up.”

  “It’s about time these colleges discovered room service,” Nick said drowsily. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’ll live,” Julian answered quietly.

  Nick sighed, cursing his sense of responsibility. “No, I suppose we should get up. Let’s not go to Hall, though. I’d rather be somewhere we can at least sit at the same bloody table. What kind of food do you like? Greek all right?”

  “Anything.”

  “Julian….”

  “I mean it. I like all kinds of food. Greek would be fine.” Julian shifted and stretched. Nick found his libido stirring once more at the sight of those long, pale limbs. Unthinking, he reached out and grabbed Julian by the hips, pulling him close again.

  Julian gave a little hiss of pain. Christ, the bruises. How could he have forgotten?

  “It’s all right,” Julian said too quickly, his voice thin.

  “No, it’s not.” Nick’s throat felt suddenly tight. He wanted to thump the headboard, the wall—anything—but he could imagine how Julian would flinch at that. God knows, he didn’t want to frighten him. Would that bastard ever be truly dead?

  He forced himself to take a few deep breaths. It was over. He’d won. “Come on. Let’s go and get dinner.”

  THESSALONIKI WAS a small, family-run restaurant that served excellent food in an intimate atmosphere. It was also a touch too pricey for most students, meaning there hopefully wouldn’t be anyone there they knew. Not that Nick gave a damn anymore whether anyone knew about him and Julian—which, admittedly, was just as well, seeing as most of the college population at least had spent the last couple of days half convinced he was not only Julian’s lover, but his murderer to boot. He just wasn’t in the mood to deal with people trying to conceal their nosiness under a mask of concern. He asked for a table downstairs in the cellar room with its whitewashed walls and archways.

  The mingled aromas of cinnamon and garlic flooded Nick’s nostrils as they walked down the spiral staircase and across the tiled floor, their tread curiously quiet next to that of the waiter who led them to their table. Nick’s stomach clenched plaintively, and he barely managed to cover its embarrassingly loud rumble by pulling out his chair with an earsplitting scrape over the tiles.

  If he was honest with himself, Nick thought ruefully as he opened the menu, the place was a touch pricey for college fellows as well. But damn it, didn’t they deserve a celebration?

  He certainly needed food. He was feeling a little light-headed.

  “Are you all right?” Julian asked.

  Startled, Nick looked up. “Why?”

  “You haven’t spoken.”

  Nick gave a tired smile and reached over the table to take Julian’s hand. “I think it’s all catching up with me. Plus, I realized earlier that I haven’t actually eaten today.”

  “Then perhaps we shouldn’t have wine?” In that pale face, Julian’s smile was almost mischievous. “I don’t want you falling asleep on me later.”

  “Oh?” Pleased to see some of his old spirit returning, Nick raised an eyebrow. “That’s a shame, as that was exactly what I was planning to do later.” He paused significantly. “Much, much later.” Worried he might have gone a little too far with the teasing, he squeezed Julian’s hand. “But we won’t do anything unless you want to.”

  Julian seemed to be struggling with his reply. “I…. Nick, this is different. You’re different.”

  Nick was afraid to ask what he meant. He settled for “Good, different?” and Julian looked relieved.

  “Yes.” He looked down at his menu, reminding Nick that they were supposed to be choosing their food. Nick cast his eye over the list and picked the first dish that caught his eye, lamb kleftiko with rice. “Oh, to hell with it. Let’s get a bottle of merlot. You’ll just have to kick me if I fall asleep.”

  “You may come to regret saying that,” Julian said, one eyebrow arched in an elegant bow.

  Nick grinned. He’d missed that eyebrow.

  NICK HAD finished his kleftiko and was watching Julian fork up the last of his salad when his mobile phone rang. About to just switch it off, he noticed the caller ID. Herrscher.

  The pleasant warmth the meal and the wine had imbued him with was gone in an instant. Steeling himself, Nick flipped open the phone.

  Herrscher didn’t waste time with greetings. “Doctor Sewell, I think we should meet.”

  Nick felt his fingers tighten on the phone. “I thought we weren’t going to see each other again?”

  “Things have changed.”

  Nick turned away from the table, as if by doing so he could prevent Julian hearing what he was about to say. “You mean Jul
ian came back to college, rather than staying with his mother where you could get at him without involving me?”

  A sharp clatter signaled a fork being laid down abruptly on a plate.

  “You are an intelligent man, Dr. Sewell.”

  “Yes, well, the university does tend to prefer that in its lecturers.” Another couple was descending the stairs to the cellar. The woman, her heels loud on the iron stairs, sent Nick a startled glance. He froze for a moment, wondering frantically if his other nature was showing—then realized she was simply shocked at how appallingly rude he appeared, pointedly ignoring his dinner companion for a phone call.

  He took a breath to calm himself as she click-clacked across the tiles in her stilettos. “What do you want, Herrscher?”

  “I told you. To meet. We need to discuss Julian’s future.”

  He could say no. But somehow he doubted Herrscher would simply fade away back to Germany, leaving Julian alone. “Not tonight.” He needed time to think.

  “Tomorrow, then. At the house in Fen Ditton?”

  “No.” Nick’s stomach twisted at the very thought. He’d never be able to think of that place without seeing blood disappearing down the plughole in the shower. “There’s an area of woodland, just outside of town. It’s called the Godolphin Estate. We’ll meet there, after dusk. Say, around eight o’clock. Come alone—I don’t want your thugs there.”

  “You have directions for this place?”

  “Google it.” Jaw clenched, Nick snapped his phone shut.

  Julian’s eyes were troubled. Worse than that—there was the same deadness Nick had seen in them when he’d found him in the cellar. “Nick… you mustn’t do this. He will fight you, and he will win. I don’t want you to… I don’t want you hurt.”

  “There isn’t any option!” Nick said a bit more harshly than he meant to. He sighed. “I don’t want to fight him, but I’m not sure… I need time to think about this. At least we’ll be meeting on my terms, on my territory. And there has to be another way to settle things than fighting like animals.” Nick wasn’t even sure if he could fight Herrscher. He might be a bastard, but he was Julian’s father, for God’s sake. It was one thing to put down a monster like Schräger—quite another to contemplate killing a man who, for all his faults, was a rational being. You’re not just the sum of your baser impulses, Nadia had told him. Maybe it was time to stop thinking with them.

  Julian nodded, a little of the color coming back to his face. “You don’t regret…?” he said awkwardly.

  Nick captured Julian’s hand once more in his own. “No,” he said firmly, smiling despite Herrscher’s unwelcome interruption. “I don’t regret a thing. Come on, I’ll get the bill and we’ll go home.”

  They left the restaurant hand in hand. The woman from earlier gave them a fond look, although Nick was fairly certain her male companion muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath. Once out on the street, they opted for discretion and abandoned the physical contact. Nick almost laughed. If he ended up being arrested for getting into a fight with some of the ignorant bigots that still made up a regrettably large proportion of the population, Detective Inspector Phillips would probably think all his Christmases had come at once….

  He stopped dead.

  “Nick?” Julian’s face was concerned as he turned back to look at Nick, caught in a streetlamp’s unnatural glow.

  Nick gave a slow, savage smile, excitement rising in his belly. “I think I have an idea. Come on. Let’s get back, and we’ll talk about it in my rooms.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  WHEN THE knock came on her door at ten o’clock in the morning, Tiff was still in bed. She tumbled out, checked her pajamas hadn’t shifted to reveal anything she’d prefer to hide (like muffin tops, for instance), and answered the door, expecting Crack.

  “Julian!”

  He smiled at her and picked a feather out of her hair. “Lazybones. Are you going to let me in? I could murder a coffee.” It was just like old times. Weird. Tiff stepped back and went to put the kettle on.

  “Um. Is everything all right now, with you and Dr. Sewell?” she asked, grabbing a couple of mugs and taking them to her bathroom for a wash.

  “Yes. Are you sleeping with Crack?”

  “Yeah, right. He may be skinny, but I still think you’d notice if he was in my bed.” Tiff couldn’t find a tea towel so she dried her hands on her bath towel and let the mugs fend for themselves. “He helped find you, you know.”

  When she came out of the bathroom, Julian was just standing there, looking serious. “I know. I….” He hugged himself and looked away. “Thank you. For all that you did.”

  Tiff’s heart clenched. “Don’t be daft. You don’t have to thank me for anything. You’re my best friend! Of course I bloody did everything I could to help you.” She hugged him awkwardly, one hand still holding two dripping mugs. “Right. Coffee-mate?”

  Julian nodded. “And then you can tell me what you are doing with Crack.” His smile thinned. “He may seem all right, but he’s got a bit of a reputation, you know.”

  “Says the bloke who’s had more boyfriends than I’ve had hot dinners.”

  Julian grinned. “Certainly more boyfriends than he’s had hot dinners.”

  Tiff frowned. “He’s just got a really high metabolism, all right? He can’t help it if he’s skinny. And don’t look at me like that. We’re just friends, all right?”

  “Right.” Julian’s tone was so bloody sincere she could have decked him. She pointedly didn’t offer him a biscuit.

  “So, are you going back to lectures and stuff now?” she asked round a mouthful of Hobnob.

  “Soon.” He played with the teaspoon in his mug, scooping up spoonfuls of coffee and then trickling them back in again. “Nick and I have to do something today.”

  PARTING WITH Julian that morning after waking up in bed with him had been extraordinarily hard. But Julian had wanted to see Tiffany, reassure her that everything was all right. And Nick had phone calls to make in any case.

  Walking down to the Porter’s Lodge for his mail, Nick still felt like part of him was missing. He hadn’t planned to visit the SCR afterward, but found himself needing a bit of Nadia’s no-nonsense company to shake him out of it.

  She was there, thankfully, her expression slightly strained as she tried to ward Angus Lemon off with a chocolate biscuit. “Ah! Nick Sewell, just the man,” she exclaimed the moment she saw him. “Do excuse me, Angus. Important matters to discuss.”

  Nick found himself seized by the arm and marched straight back out into Main Court once more. “Nadia?”

  “That’s the last time I do you any favors, Nick Sewell. Ever since I popped round to see old Lemon on your behalf, I haven’t been able to get rid of him.”

  “Doesn’t he know about Marjorie? And that you’re a, er, follower of Sappho?”

  “Oh, he knows all right. Unfortunately the silly old sod doesn’t actually believe in followers of Sappho. Thinks all it’ll take is one good—”

  Nick coughed loudly to cover up her words as a gaggle of first-years streamed past.

  “—man, I was going to say,” she continued. “And seriously, dearie, if the little blighters haven’t heard the word by now, then it’s high time they did in any case. Can’t wrap all your students in cotton wool, you know. This way.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Your rooms, obviously. I had to leave my coffee in the SCR. If I don’t get my daily dose of caffeine, I’ll never be able to face the students.” She gave him a roguish look. “Am I about to be facing one of them now?”

  “He does have his own room, you know,” Nick said mildly. “And lectures to go to, for that matter.” Not that he would be today. Nick had told him in no uncertain terms to stay within the college gates until matters with his father were resolved.

  They made their way up to Nick’s rooms, Nadia puffing a bit after the climb. While she sank gratefully onto the sofa, Nick put the kettle on and cast hi
s eye around hurriedly for any signs of his and Julian’s activities the previous day.

  “So, all’s well that ends well, is it? You and your young man, I mean. All sunshine and roses once more? Or are you still being pestered by young Phillips?”

  Nick mustered a smile. “Well, the last time I spoke to him, he seemed to imply he’d given up on me.”

  “Good. I told him he was barking up the wrong tree with you. Still, you have to see it from his point of view—a bit of a coincidence, our Mr. Lauder going missing the same night as that dreadful—”

  “Milk?” Nick broke in.

  “Don’t be silly, dearie, you know how I always have my coffee. Now, where was I?”

  “To be honest, I’d rather not talk about it anymore, if you don’t mind, Nadia.” Nick gave a shaky laugh. “Bit of an unpleasant memory.”

  She nodded. “But things are all right with you and Julian?”

  “Yes.” Nick found he was smiling without any effort. “Yes, I think they are now.”

  “Good. In that case, you can bring him round for tea next weekend. Marjorie’s just gagging to meet the lad.” She frowned. “As long as he doesn’t turn out to be a vegetarian like that young man the other night. Tiffany Meadows’s new beau? Marje was horrified. He turned down a helping of her Hungarian goulash! No wonder he’s so damned thin.”

  Nick suppressed a chuckle. Turning down Marje’s Hungarian goulash was very nearly sacrilege. “No, Nadia, I think I can safely say that Julian is very definitely not vegetarian.”

  HE’D ARRANGED to meet Julian back at his rooms at twelve o’clock for lunch, but by half past eleven, Nick was restless enough to wander down to Garden Court and climb those interminable stairs just on the off chance that Julian was in.

  He was. Julian opened the door in a pair of well-cut jeans and a soft cotton shirt, in a faded blue that brought out the color of his eyes. He’d obviously just got back from a shower: his hair was still wet. Nick’s breath caught at the sight. How in God’s name had he ended up with someone like this?