
To Penni and Anna, for keeping me going---and more importantly, for keeping me (moderately) sane while doing so.
His dark coat swallowed by the shadows, the wolf waited. This was the place. So many people---but he would know that scent among ten thousand. It called to him softly but insistently, whispering of sweet submission and bloodied flesh. It wafted to him now upon the light breeze that stirred the trees and bushes dotted sparsely around the vast iron gates. It mingled with the stench of alcohol that clung to the laughing groups as they jostled one another along the lamp-lit street, and was almost overpowered by the traffic fumes and the reek of a thousand sweating cyclists.
Almost, but not quite.
Soon he would reclaim his Own. His blood quickened with the thought.
Yes.
His Own.
To be marked as his for all to see.
Forgetting himself for a moment, carried away by the anticipation of their reunion, the wolf howled.
He was a pretty boy, all translucent skin and silken hair falling oh-so-casually over the collar of his expensive leather jacket. A student, of course, which added a nice touch of seediness to Nick's hopeless, pathetic crush. At least he wasn't one of Nick's own students---Nick could feel a cold sweat breaking out at the very thought. Julian was reading English, not History. God, if he'd had to supervise the boy...it was bad enough as it was, seeing him practically every day, striding through Main Court on his way to Hall or loitering in the Porter's Lodge with his friends as they checked for post and talked about whatever students talked about these days.
Nick gave a wry smile. It was barely a decade since he'd been an undergraduate, but already they seemed a different species to him. This new generation had a sophistication his had aped in vain, and an ease with matters sexual he'd have given his right arm for at a similar age. And they were all so damned good-looking.
Not that it had been a problem for him before. Not until Julian Lauder had sauntered into college with his blond hair and his cashmere sweaters and his cut-glass accent. All Saints was a small college, not one favoured by the major public schools, and Julian's way of speaking stood out here, where at John's, or Magdalene, it might have been lost in a sea of similar accents. Although actually, Nick mused, that wasn't quite true. Julian's voice might be confident, even arrogant, but it had none of the braying quality that was all too evident in the average Old Etonian. Julian's voice was clear, musical, and...and God, Nick sounded like a love-sick schoolgirl. A man his age, making himself ridiculous over a boy who, despite showing an interest in certain of the male undergraduates, wouldn't look twice at a dusty old fellow.
It was all hopeless, in any case. There was a reason Nick hadn't had a relationship in three years, and that reason wasn't going to go away. Ever.
He sighed and tried to tune back into the conversation. They were sitting round one of the large wooden tables in the comfortingly dingy atmosphere of The Ship in Silver Street, they being the University German Society, which met here every Wednesday at eight o'clock simply to chat in German. Nick had been a member in his undergraduate days and had popped his head in once or twice since becoming a fellow. Not so much, of late. He was quite aware that his presence here tonight was entirely due to having heard a third-year calling to Julian "See you at the Stammtisch---mach's gut!" as he walked into college this afternoon.
There were about a dozen die-hard members who came here every week come hell or high water, and a shifting population of usually five or six more, depending on how close they were getting to exams. Tonight was rather crowded, it being only a few weeks into Michaelmas term. There was a variety of accents, ranging from flawless Hochdeutsch to broad Schwitzerdütsch. And, of course, faltering attempts at joining in with a hideous English inflection from a few whom Nick knew from experience wouldn't outlast the first evening.
Julian, of course, was very much at the Hochdeutsch end of the scale, and seemed to be completely fluent. Not so very surprising, with a surname like Lauder, Nick supposed. He thought he could detect just a trace of a Southern softening of the final consonants. Nick rather liked South German accents. He had one himself, he was reliably informed. At the moment, Julian had his end of the table in fits over his cruelly accurate impersonation of one of the English lecturers---Nick marvelling at how the boy managed to capture the old man's dithering speech patterns so precisely whilst speaking an entirely different language. He looked the very picture of arrogant youth, but Nick was convinced there was more to him than that. Perhaps Nick was deluding himself, but he'd been watching the boy. In an entirely non-stalkerish way, of course. When Julian was alone---which was rather more often than one might have expected of one so outwardly attractive and entertaining---his face took on a much more open, vulnerable expression.
Nick remembered clearly the first time he'd seen that look on Julian's face. It had been a bright, warm morning in the first week of term, while he was still trying to get his head round the names and faces of the latest influx of students. He'd seen Julian before then---he was hard to miss---but he hadn't really noticed him. Nick had gone to the Porter's Lodge to check his pigeonhole and found the place almost deserted. For some reason, the hairs on the back of his neck had prickled, and he'd looked around to try to work out what on earth was causing him to feel so uneasy. His eyes had fallen, naturally enough, on the only other occupant of the little room where the pigeonholes were housed.
Julian had been holding a letter. From whom, Nick had no idea, of course. But clearly, someone Julian cared about very much. There had been an expression of such softness on his face as he looked at the envelope before impatiently ripping it open and reading the letter there and then, oblivious to the sudden rush of students pushing past him to get at their own post. Nick had been unable to tear his gaze away from the half-smile on the boy's face that somehow seemed so sad. He'd watched helplessly until, with a toss of his head, Julian broke the spell, carefully refolding the letter and putting it in his pocket.
When his eyes had met Nick's as they passed, the amused, supercilious mask had been firmly back in place.
Nick had spent more than a few restless moments since then wondering who Julian's correspondent might have been and engaging in the odd guilty fantasy of his or her untimely, not to mention imaginatively painful, death.
"Wo hast du dein Deutsch gelernt?" Nick was wrenched back to the Stammtisch in the Ship as an owlish-looking first-year asked him clumsily where he'd learned German, having obviously given up trying to follow the general conversation in fast-flowing dialect.
"In Stuttgart," Nick explained. "Ich war Au-Pair Mädchen," he added mischievously. "Vor einigen Jahren, natürlich."
He obviously shouldn't have bothered adding the bit about how many years it'd been since he was an au pair, as the first-year simply stared at him blankly.
Apparently Julian had overheard, as Nick found a sly smile directed his way. "Mädchen?" the boy queried, raising a pale, elegant eyebrow as he leant across the table. "It looks like you've changed a bit since then," he added in his impeccable German.
Nick was rather grateful he no longer blushed as easily as he had in his adolescence. At least, he hoped he didn't. "Ah, I may have been teasing about the girl part. But I was actually an au pair. During my year off, before I came up to Cambridge as an undergraduate."
Julian looked at him with an expression Nick couldn't quite interpret. "Stuttgart is a lovely city," he said flatly, instead of the surprised or mocking comment about male au pairs Nick had been rather expecting. And then those bewitching eyes turned away as Julian resumed his conversation with his neighbour, leaving Nick strongly suspecting he'd just made an arse of himself, but at a complete loss to explain how.
Cutting through Garden Court next day on his way back to his rooms, Nick couldn't have said precisely what caught his eye about the figures in the doorway to one of the staircases. Except that one of them was Julian, and Nick seemed to have a sixth sense for noticing the object of his hopeless affections even when said object was crowded into a dimly-lit doorway and shielded by a much bulkier young man.
They seemed to be arguing, Nick was guiltily pleased to see. Another of Julian's boyfriends on his way out, he supposed with rather more satisfaction than was proper. God knew the boy had had enough of them in the short time he'd been up at Cambridge. At least, Nick had regularly seen him with young men from out of college, half of whom he recognised from the Student Union lesbian and gay society. None of them seemed to hang around for more than a day or two.
Nick had often wondered about that. The only person who seemed to be a constant in Julian's life was a first-year historian, Tiffany Meadows, but he was fairly sure they were nothing more than friends. She was a state school girl, a bit quiet, and nothing much to look at. But a nice girl, he thought. She certainly deserved better than being saddled with that godawful name.
The dark-haired stranger was gesticulating dramatically, whereas Julian had his hands in his pockets, avoiding the other boy's gaze. It seemed odd somehow, although Nick couldn't have said why. Abruptly the darker boy seemed to tire of his hand waving and grabbed Julian by the shoulder. Julian's eyes snapped up to meet his companion's, and the boy dropped his arm as if he'd been burned and, shaking his head slightly, walked away.
It didn't seem to be the reaction Julian had been hoping for. His jaw clenched visibly, making Nick ache to comfort him, and he stared after the boy for a long moment.
And then Julian turned and looked directly at Nick. Their eyes met for a painfully long moment---until the sound of students approaching jolted Nick back to reality, and he looked away hurriedly and continued back to his rooms, feeling not only as if he'd once again behaved like a fool, but also somehow worried about Julian's state of mind.
Later that night, Nick was restless. It was hardly surprising, the date being what it was. He itched for a drink, but he knew from experience that alcohol would only make things worse. He tried to read, but his brain refused to focus on the words on the page and his eyes turned instead to the moon, only three days from full, shining brightly through the window of his rooms on Main Court. Throwing his book aside in disgust, Nick decided to go for a run to try to burn off some nervous energy.
The light of the moon was not so obvious on the streets, overpowered as it was by the streetlamps that lent everything an unreal, too-warm colour. Nick could feel himself starting to relax. Physical exertion always calmed him when he was like this. It also had the not unwelcome effect of toning his body, ridding him of the stereotypical softness of the academic. His sandy hair might be showing the first signs of grey at the temples, but his abdomen was lean and flat, and he'd be willing to bet he was fitter than half the teenagers who filled the college. Well, the NatScis and CompScis at any rate, he thought with a grin. Although with their workload, the Natural Scientists (the University remained remarkably resistant to using such trendy modern terms as "chemists", "physicists" and "biologists") at least had an excuse for not taking a lot of exercise.
Every year it was the same: first-year NatScis finding out to their absolute horror that Cambridge's shorter-than-average terms meant they were expected to attend nine o'clock lectures six days a week. Of course, if they were rowers they'd have been up for hours by then in any case. Being rather more of a night owl than a lark, Nick had never understood the appeal of crawling out of bed at six a.m. for a long bike ride down to the boathouse, then a miserable hour of physical exercise on a bloody cold river. Still, the college eights filled up every year, so clearly not everyone agreed with him.
Julian hadn't succumbed to the mystifying siren call of the boat club either, it occurred to Nick idly. Of course, he was probably too slender for a decent rower, and too tall for a cox, only a couple of inches shorter than Nick was. Although of course, not all college rowers were as muscle-bound as the Blues squad seemed to be these days. Those long, elegant limbs might be just the thing for propelling the streamlined shapes of the boats through the clear waters of the Cam.
Nick stopped that line of thought hurriedly, before he got into rather murkier waters that were entirely unsuitable for anyone wearing jogging bottoms in public. At least, anyone who didn't fancy making a spectacle of himself.
Suddenly the rhythm of his stride faltered. There was something...interesting ahead. Not for the first time, Nick cursed his senses for providing the alert yet failing to interpret it. He quickened his pace, following his nose round a corner into the dark, rubbish-strewn alleyway behind The Rat & Ferret on Green Street. Two figures were there, one standing, one kneeling before him.
Nick's pulse throbbed in his ears. Julian. The kneeling figure was Julian.
No.
No.
Nick shook with the effort of not charging in, grabbing Julian---his Julian---and hauling him away from this scum who dared to take---
No. He couldn't do it. Couldn't expose himself that way. He'd be a laughing stock. Julian was nothing to him. They'd barely even spoken, for Christ's sake.
But he couldn't tear his gaze away, either. Couldn't stop watching as Julian sucked that bastard's cock, as that filth stroked his hair, as he looked up---
Nick realised that while he was busy thinking no, his body had ignored him. Had walked up to the pair. Was standing three feet away.
"What the fuck do you want?" Belligerence stared him in the eye---and then turned almost comically to fear. Nick realised he was growling---worse, that he couldn't stop it. "You mental or something?" Nick didn't need the tremor in the stranger's voice to know that it was all bluster. "Fuck off!"
Apparently he'd killed the mood, for the man was pulling away from Julian, was zipping up his trousers. Was backing away. Nick felt a fierce surge of triumph and stepped forward. He was vaguely aware of Julian clambering to his feet, turning to look at him in shock. But for now, all his attention was on the usurper who had dared to lay hands on his property. Not even trying to stop himself this time, he growled once more---a low, threatening sound that warned of blood and pain and vengeance.
The man stared at him for a moment longer---and then bolted. Nick was alone in the dingy alley with Julian.
Abruptly Nick became aware of just how inappropriate---how insane, for Christ's sake---his actions must appear to the boy. He tensed as he met Julian's eyes, not sure what he expected. Anger? Mockery?
It was the third option. Fear. The boy had gone a deathly pale that seemed almost inhuman in the weak light of the streetlamps. He looked up at Nick with wide, horrified eyes---and fled.
Waking up the following morning, Nick experienced for a few blissful seconds a strong sense of satisfaction, of having defended his territory---and then the memory of what had actually happened crashed back into his skull with the force of a Varsity scrum half. It was too much to hope that Julian had kept mum about the whole sordid business. God, by now half the college probably saw Nick as some kind of deranged peeping tom.
And as luck would have it, Nick had a lecture first thing---well, at ten o'clock, which was as near as damn it first thing unless one had the misfortune to be a Natural Scientist. As he reluctantly exited his rooms, Nick glanced at his door. He half expected to find a note, or worse, a humorous drawing of some kind, pinned up to forewarn any visitors they were about to enter a pervert's lair. It was scant comfort to find the wood bare of adornment---it probably just meant that Julian and his friends were not particularly early risers. Arts students seldom were.
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. Still, no matter how much he might inappropriately crave the boy, Julian was not his lover and never would be. Particularly not now.
As he walked into the lecture theatre, Nick braced himself. A couple of girls 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 an attentive student.
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 formulae 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 female 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 realised 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 realised 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.
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 and 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. Nick stared at the boy, who blanched and seemed to be breathing fast---in fact, Nick would have sworn he could hear his heart pounding. "Julian..." he began---then watched, horrified, as the boy 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?
Walking into the Senior Combination Room next day, Nick made a bee-line 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 humour. 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 Adonis?"
She'd been referring to Julian like that ever since Nick had most unwisely confessed his ridiculous crush to her. "Nothing," 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 recognise the expression."
Despite himself, Nick smiled. "I wouldn't be so open about it if I were you. The Animal Liberation Front has a sizeable membership amongst the 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, I mean." 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 a poof. Must be worried you're going to give him away."
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 sort of stiffened, but he didn't look round.
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 appearing 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 favourite mugs, the ones that actually matched. "Coffeemate 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. Coffeemate."
"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 quite 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.
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 towards 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 behaviour 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 here.
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 always felt utterly ridiculous at this stage of the proceedings---standing in the middle of nowhere next to his car, starkers, 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 hands and feet as they clenched and shortened, turning into paws despite his efforts. God, he hated this bit. Loathed it with every fibre of his being. Watching himself turning 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 agonised 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.
Slowly 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.
Waking up in a clump of bracken next morning, filthy and scratched but with an odd feeling of peace in his soul, Nick found that he had come to a decision regarding Julian Lauder. He would have to talk to the boy. Get things straight between them. Then, perhaps, he could start to put this whole thing 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 the boy's door. Which might sound simple, but really, when did fellows ever go visit students? If the boy had a friend there, it was bound to look odd. Nick decided in the end to go first thing in the morning, hopefully before anyone had 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 of the 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 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 more bare than most, with a distinct lack of posters on the walls or cuddly mascots on the bed or the desk. It could have been a hotel room, just after the maid had cleared away all signs of the last occupant.
"Look, I just wanted to, well, reassure you, really. About the other night." Nick stopped. God, this was difficult. "I mean, I'm sorry I, er, interrupted you---and I've no intention of, well, saying anything to anyone."
Julian stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. He ran a hand through his hair. Nick found himself envying that hand. "I know what you are," he said finally, and it was so far from what Nick had expected that he couldn't process it at first.
"What?"
"I know what you are," Julian repeated. "You're---like me. I don't---" He broke off and slumped onto his bed. Somehow, he managed to make even dejection look alluring. "What do you want?"
Nick stared. "What?" he said again, stupidly. He could think of quite a few things he wanted right now, starting with him on that bed with Julian with a damn sight fewer clothes, but he couldn't for the life of him think of a single reason why the boy should be offering him anything.
Julian's hair was messier than he'd ever seen it, and Nick's fingers itched to smooth it back to silken perfection once more---or, even better, to muss it up completely. He was suddenly acutely aware that they were alone together. Damn it, what was happening to him? It was past the full moon; surely these aberrant impulses should be waning like the moon that controlled them? "I'm not after anything," he said into the silence.
Julian gave a crooked, bitter smile. "Then why are you here? I'm not stupid. After all, you're hardly the first---"
Nick was appalled. Just what the hell was Julian implying? "I don't want anything from you," he lied angrily. "And if someone has been...taking advantage of you, you need to tell me now." He almost growled the last and struggled to get himself under control.
Julian was staring at him. Slowly, he rose from the bed and stepped closer. "You'll look after me?" he asked in quite a different tone.
"Yes," Nick said, barely aware that he was speaking. Julian was only inches from him now. Nick could feel the heat from his body, and the scent of him was strong in his nostrils. It spoke to him in a way he didn't quite understand. Unbidden, his hands rose to Julian's waist. Julian didn't back away. On the contrary, he moved in, until their bodies were touching lightly.
Nick could hardly breathe. Slowly, that beautiful face came towards him and tilted, until Nick could feel hot breath upon his throat. He felt he must be dreaming as Julian nuzzled into his neck---God, started to kiss him gently. He was rock hard in an instant, pressing Julian's body into his own. So beautiful. His scent was intoxicating. Nick had never known anything like this---and then Julian dropped gracefully to his knees, and Nick was wrenched back into the alley behind the pub. "What the hell are you doing?" Nick thrust the boy from him and backed away, appalled at what had been about to happen.
Julian flinched as though Nick had slapped him. "What do you want?" he asked angrily, scrambling to his feet, not quite meeting Nick's eyes. "You said you'd look after me, and now---"
Nick was feeling increasingly out of his depth. "That doesn't mean you have to...offer yourself to me. I don't know---look, something like that would be entirely improper." He winced at his language. God, he sounded like a Victorian maiden aunt, absolutely appalled to discover that sex even existed.
Julian's eyes flickered. Nick was certain his arousal was all too visible and tried to calm his thoughts. Nadia, naked, he thought a little hysterically. Nadia, naked with the Master. Dr. Earle, Master of the College, was seventy-two, bald and stooped, with a rather annoying manner of speaking that never failed to set Nick's nerves on edge. As his erection subsided somewhat, Nick reflected he'd never thought he'd be so grateful to the man.
"Why are you here, then?" Julian asked.
Nick wished the boy would look at him. The downcast eyes were having a very confusing effect on his instincts. "As I said, to reassure you that I have no intention of revealing anything you may wish to keep secret," Nick said firmly.
Julian did look up then. "And I suppose you want me to promise the same?" he asked, this time with a hint of challenge that was even more confusing.
Nick flushed. "Well, it's no secret that I'm gay, but I must admit I'd rather the student body as a whole wasn't regaled with stories of me spying on students---or anyone else, for that matter. Honestly, it was entirely a coincidence that I happened to be there. And it was inexcusable for me to have lingered once I saw that you were, ah, engaged in a private activity. I can't apologise enough for that."
Julian flashed him an odd look and then gave a sort of lopsided shrug. "He wasn't anyone. No one I knew, I mean. I doubt I'll ever see him again."
Now why the bloody hell did he see fit to volunteer that kind of information? "Don't you think it's a little dangerous to be engaging in sexual activities with strangers?" Nick said shortly.
Julian looked directly at him then. "He wasn't dangerous. I know danger when I see it."
Nick had the strangest feeling this was directed at him. But Julian couldn't know. Could he? No, he'd simply been affected by Nick's mood that night. After all, the man Julian had been with had clearly been afraid of Nick at the time.
Nick swallowed. Half of him was appalled that he'd terrorised the pair. The other half wanted to seize Julian by the shoulders and give him a damn good shake for---for what? He breathed out slowly, trying to calm his suddenly racing heartbeat. He should not be reacting like this to the boy. Not at this time of the month. "Right. Well, I'd, ah, better be going."
"Goodbye, Dr. Sewell," Julian said, and there was a mocking tone in his voice that Nick didn't like one bit.
Over the course of the next few days, Nick saw Julian, for the most part only from afar. It was just as well; the image of the boy on his knees before Nick, and the memory of their bodies pressed together, refused to leave him. During the day he could, to some extent, thrust them from his mind, with the aid of lectures and supervisions and interminable faculty meetings that never seemed to accomplish a damned thing.
But at night his subconscious seemed to delight in showing him images of things that would never, could never be.
Only once did he find himself alone with Julian. They happened to be heading towards Garden Court at the same time, and were forced to wait together while a herd of foreign tourists filed through the gateway from Main Court with an irritating lack of consideration for anyone who actually had work to do in college. It took so long that Nick felt it incumbent on him to make some attempt at conversation, but at that moment Tiffany Meadows arrived on their side of the obstruction, clutching a packet of biscuits.
"Jools! Are you still here? I thought you'd have the kettle on by now."
Nick bristled at her tone of easy familiarity---then flushed as he saw Julian fix him with a look that was both amused and disconcertingly shrewd. "We've got plenty of time," Julian murmured, but his eyes were still on Nick as he spoke.
"Oh---hello, Dr. Sewell," Tiffany said hurriedly, as if she could possibly have missed him standing there before. And did she have to make a point of emphasizing the gulf between him and them?
"Dr. Sewell," Julian began, and Nick was in no doubt that the formality was deliberate. "Will you be at the Stammtisch on Wednesday?"
"I'm busy," Nick said tightly and pushed through the last of the crowd to get back to his rooms. Honestly, had the University been entirely relegated to a tourist attraction?
And then something else happened that put his romantic woes rather firmly in perspective.
"Ar-oooooo!"
Nick's blood ran cold as, walking through the Porter's Lodge, he heard an eerily accurate impersonation of a wolf's howl. What the hell? Surely no one could know...? Pulse racing, he forced himself to look around. Three second-years were huddled round a copy of the Cambridge Evening News.
Noticing his interest, one of them looked up. Peter Faulkner, Nick's mind supplied mechanically. He'd supervised him in his first year. Decent on interpretation, but too much imagination for his own good, Nick recalled. "Seen this, Dr. Sewell? Looks like we've got a new werewolf in town!" The boy grinned. "Better not go down to Coe Fen next full moon!"
"Not unless you fancy a bite!" one of his companions supplied, apparently overcome with mirth over his feeble joke.
Nick's heartbeat slowed to a possibly non stroke-inducing rate. Coe Fen was a rough area of partially drained marshland just across the Cam from Sheep's Green. Cattle were sometimes grazed there. Just another of the numerous pieces of land owned by the colleges, and thus preserved from building development to remain a green, almost wild space in the heart of Cambridge. Nick hadn't been within five miles of the place last night.
"Mind if I take a look?" Most likely it had just been some large dog let off the leash, only the coincidence of the lunar phase leading anyone to speculate that there was anything out of the ordinary about the beast. He forced himself not to snatch at the newspaper the boy handed him and scanned the article feverishly. There was a fuzzy picture of something that could have been either a dog or a discarded bin-bag, and once one stripped out the lurid fantasy padding the article there was very little in the way of cold facts.
Nick's imagination worked hard on providing fantasies of its own. If this were another werewolf---who might it be?
Carl? But Carl knew damn well where Nick lived, and Nick couldn't imagine him coming within twenty miles of the place, and certainly not on full-moon night. Someone else? Logically speaking, there had to be other werewolves. But Carl had become infected on the continent and had never mentioned others of their kind in Britain.
Nick found himself staring at the blurry photograph, obviously captured on someone's mobile phone. He tried desperately to discern any signs that it might indeed be a fellow wolf---and then noticed that the students were looking at him oddly, and handed back the paper with a wrench and a false laugh. He was heartily relieved to hear Nadia's strident bellow hailing him from the college side of the Porter's Lodge, the more so because with absolutely bloody impeccable timing, Julian and Tiffany had just walked in from the street.
"There you are, Nick. I trust you haven't forgotten our date for this evening?"
Nick turned to greet her with a smile, trying to ignore the strange prickling sensation along his spine. He was undoubtedly only imagining Julian's gaze boring into him from behind. "Don't worry, Nadia. I value my life far too much to risk standing you and Marjorie up."
"Glad to hear it." For a moment, Nadia's eyes darted behind Nick to where Julian presumably must still be.
Nick resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder. "Should I bring red wine, or white?" he asked hurriedly.
"Oh, red, definitely. You know Marjorie's cooking. All red meat and strong spices." She gave Nick a roguish grin. "Particularly when you're coming round. She thinks you need feeding up, you know." For a moment her smile wavered. Was she looking at Julian again? Nick wondered with a sinking feeling whether he should prepare himself for a lecture tonight. "Anyway, must dash---promised Marje I'd pick up some cardamom pods before the shops shut."
"I'll see you tonight, then." Without turning around, Nick walked briskly back to his rooms, unable to shake the absurd feeling of Julian's gaze upon him all the way.
Nick left his Mini Cooper to languish in the car park while he took his bike round to Nadia's that evening. He firmly intended to have a drink or several, now that it was no longer his time of the month and he was fairly certain he wouldn't be arrested for being drunk in charge of a bicycle. If the police started that, half the colleges would be empty by the weekend.
Nadia shared a narrow terraced house in Pennington Way with her long-term partner Marjorie, Marjorie's cats and Marjorie's knitting. Like many similar houses in town, it was deceptively large inside, having a habitable basement as well as two floors above ground. The front door opened directly onto the street, so Nick propped his bike up against the front wall and chained it up. At his knock, Nadia opened the door. Her eyes widened in exaggerated fashion at the flowers Nick had removed from his rucksack, only slightly the worse for wear.
"Those had better not be for me, dearie, or I'll be finding somewhere to put them you might find a bit inconvenient when sitting down to dinner."
Nick grinned. "Of course not. They're for your better half." He dumped his rucksack just inside the door, next to a collection of battered umbrellas and an antique lacrosse stick, and pulled out the bottle of wine he'd brought.
Marjorie bustled into the hallway and exclaimed when she saw the flowers. "Oh, you really shouldn't have, dear! Let me put them in some water. Come in, come in, you're letting in a draught." She bussed him affectionately on the cheek before heading back to the kitchen.
Nick shut the door behind himself and wrestled one-handed with his jacket, trying not to drop the bottle in his other hand.
Nadia came to his rescue. "I'll take that, dearie. Hm, Merlot again? You're a man of fixed tastes, Nick Sewell."
Nick sighed a little ruefully. "Don't I know it."
"Hmph. Still pining over your Greek god?" She hesitated, unusual enough in itself to make Nick sit up and take notice. "Look, dearie, I wasn't sure whether to say anything, but he's been fraternising with the enemy, if you get my drift. Seems to have got himself a girlfriend."
Nick's mouth was suddenly dry. "Oh?" he managed.
"Tiffany Meadows. One of yours, isn't she?"
Relief washed over him. "Oh, her. Yes, that's right. But they're just friends."
"Well, it looks like there have been developments on that front, I'm sorry to say."
"You're sure?" Nick cleared his throat, embarrassed at how his voice sounded.
Nadia gave him a rough hug. "'Fraid so, dearie. Saw them holding hands in the Plodge while we were talking this afternoon."
And what the hell sort of a place was the Porter's Lodge for exhibitionist displays? Nick drew in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.
"Oh, lovey, you're not taking this too well, are you? Come on into the front room, I'll mix you a G and T."
Nick allowed Nadia to lead him into the tiny living room and ply him with alcohol. "Marje, lovey, can we put off dinner for a tick? Nick needs a couple of drinkies first," she called down the hall.
"No, no, I'll be fine," Nick protested. He sank down on the sofa next to a bundle of fur. It opened one eye briefly, then pointedly went back to sleep. The cats had long ceased bothering to hiss at his approach, and had settled for ignoring him, so long as Nick didn't make the mistake of trying to stroke them. That usually resulted in multiple lacerations. Nick sighed. He'd been rather fond of cats---before.
"Don't worry, dear, it's lamb casserole, it'll keep," Marjorie assured him, bustling back and perching on the last free patch of sofa. "Let's get you sorted out first. It's that pretty young man Nadia told me about, isn't it?" She gave him a sorrowful look. "That's the trouble with young men---flibbertigibbets, the lot of them! Change their affections from one day to the next."
Nick smiled ruefully. "I never had his affections, anyway. All rather one-sided, I'm afraid." He flushed a little, remembering the scene in Julian's room that he still had difficulty believing had ever happened. Looking up, he saw that Nadia's eyes had narrowed, but mercifully, she said nothing. He put his glass down firmly and stood. "Anyway, that's quite enough of my romantic woes casting a dark cloud upon the evening. Why don't we go through to the kitchen and sample that delicious food of yours before it spoils, Marjorie?"
The food, as always, was indeed delicious, and the conversation did a lot to restore Nick's mood. Marjorie was a fount of salacious gossip about her Knitting Circle, apparently a hotbed of passionate intrigue and political infighting that would put many a soap opera to shame---and Nadia's caustic comments had Nick practically in tears.
All in all, Nick was in a much better frame of mind as he wheeled his bicycle through the Porter's Lodge late that evening. Not many students were about---the bar had already closed, so any further drinking would be going on in their rooms. No doubt the Porter would be breaking up a few illegal parties tonight. There was always a rush of them at the start of term, before the novelty of freedom from parental control wore off and the reality of studying kicked in.
Nick took the long way around to his rooms, walking through Garden Court. There was a light on in the room under the eaves---Julian's room. Nick tried not to think of him there with Tiffany. What the hell did he see in her, anyway? Nick caught himself. Not his business.
Julian was stretched out on Tiff's bed with his shoes off, looking stunningly gorgeous in a sadly untouchable sort of way. Tiff sighed soundlessly at the cruelty of Fate and handed him a mug of coffee. "If you spill that on my duvet, you're washing it. So anyway, what was that all about?"
"It's a SpongeBob duvet. Spilling coffee on it would only improve it." He took a sip from the mug and put it carefully on the floor by the bed, next to the Andrex Puppy slippers Tiff's mum had given her last Christmas. "And what was what all about?"
Tiff's sigh was a little more audible this time. Also a little more exasperated. "You. Me. Holding hands in the Plodge this afternoon. What am I, some kind of beard?"
"What?" Julian's English was usually better than hers, but every now and then she was able to come out with an expression that floored him.
"I mean, are you using me to try to convince people you're straight?" she explained patiently, giving her coffee a stir and sucking the spoon clean before putting it on the desk.
Julian gave her one of his indecipherable looks. At least, Tiff couldn't bloody well decipher it. "Would it bother you if I were?" he asked after a noticeable pause. "You're not going out with anyone. As far as I know, there isn't even anyone you fancy."
"Well, no." Not apart from you, she didn't add.
"So it's all right, then?" He rolled over and leant on his elbows, looking shyly up at her from beneath his eyelashes. Tiff wondered if he'd practiced in front of the mirror.
She could ask him why he was suddenly so bothered about appearing to be straight---but then, Tiff was pretty sure he didn't need any more practice at lying. "All right," she agreed, knowing it was bound to be a bad idea. But the smile he gave her made it all worthwhile.
Well, almost.
Maybe.
Nick was damned glad next day that Nadia had forewarned him about Julian and his girlfriend. When Nick emerged from his staircase for lunch, they were sitting on a bench in Main Court where anyone might see them. Kissing. For a moment, all Nick could hear was the blood rushing in his ears---and then Julian looked up, directly at him, and Nick's heart seemed to stop.
Was that little bastard doing this deliberately? Nick could hardly see, hardly breathe, he was so angry. He turned on his heel and strode blindly out of college.
He'd walked the length of Silver Street, passed Sheep's Green and was halfway to Newnham before his head finally started to clear. If Julian was doing this deliberately, then why? Simple spite, after Nick's rejection of him---or could this be an attempt to make Nick jealous because Julian, for whatever bizarre reason, actually wanted him? You'll look after me? he'd asked. Was that really what he wanted? Someone to watch out for him, to teach him, to help him understand his sexuality? Nick's mouth went dry at the thought. God, he'd take such good care of him. Protect him. Love him.
And when the moon got too full, when his instincts were going crazy, he'd what? Lay hands on him as he had with Matthew, the last person he'd dared to attempt a relationship with? Knock him around? Turn him, as Carl had done to him all those years ago? Either way, the boy would end up hating him. And he was far too young to have his life ruined like that.
By the time Nick had retraced his steps, Julian and Tiffany were nowhere in sight. Probably up in Julian's room, shagging, the poor girl desperate enough to let the little prick fool her into thinking he actually cared for her. Nick closed his eyes briefly, trying to let the bitterness drain away. Julian did care about Tiffany---he'd seen them together often enough to know that she was his closest friend in college. Which was precisely why he was getting so bloody worked up about it. It wasn't like Julian having a one-nighter with some bloke from the pub. This---if it was real---actually stood a chance of lasting.
Damn it.
"Right. My room," Tiff ordered, once the stiff figure of Dr. Sewell had disappeared from view.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Decided you can't keep your hands off me a moment longer?"
"If you mean am I planning to deck you, you're probably right." Grabbing Julian by the wrist, she made for her room in E block. As they passed through the archway that led out of Main Court, Julian dragged back.
"You're angry." He actually sounded surprised.
Tiff snorted. "Give the boy a medal," she said shortly. "Come on. We're not talking about it here." She stormed up the stairs and very deliberately didn't slam the door after they'd got to her room. Julian winced theatrically anyway.
"Sit," she told him, gesturing to the bed.
"Coming to join me?" Julian asked mockingly. He sprawled on the duvet, resting his weight on one elbow. The position seemed to exaggerate the supple lines of his body. Tiff would have said he looked feline, but somehow it just didn't seem to fit.
"No, I think I'll sit here," she said firmly, pulling out her desk chair. She could look down on him from there, which would make a nice change. "All the better to glare at you, my dear," she added sarcastically. Julian looked startled, God knew why. But that was good. It meant she could catch him while he was off balance. "Right. What have you got against Dr. Sewell?"
Julian looked steadily at her. "I don't know what you mean."
Tiff wondered how long it took to learn to lie like that. "You should be an actor. You know bloody well what I mean. He saw you kissing me---which, by the way, I don't remember agreeing to---and he flipped. He fancies you, doesn't he?"
Julian rolled over to lie face down on her bed. "No. Maybe."
"So why were you making such a show of kissing me in front of him? Has he tried it on or something?" She couldn't imagine it. Not Dr. Sewell. He always seemed so, well, fatherly to her, although she knew some of the other girls fancied him and liked to look out for him coming back all sweaty from a run.
"No."
"So why, then?" Tiff was furious, and not just on Dr. Sewell's behalf. That kiss had been...unsettling.
"He's confusing," Julian told her pillow.
"No, he's not," Tiff objected. "Not like you are, at any rate. And he's nice. And confusing isn't a reason to be horrible to him, anyway." She paused, suspicion growing. "You like him, don't you? And you were using me to try and make him jealous."
Julian didn't answer. With anyone else, that'd be as good as a signed confession, but with Julian, you just never knew. "Why are we even friends?" she asked angrily.
He did look up then. "I like you."
And maybe it was just Julian being, well, Julian, but the hurt in his voice just got to her, like it always did. "I'm sorry," she sighed, joining him on the bed and wrapping a regrettably sisterly arm around him. "But don't do that to Dr. Sewell again, all right? I like him too---although not in that way, obviously---and he probably hates me now." She paused. "What's going on with you two, anyway?"
"Gar nichts."
"In English? I don't speak Kraut, you know."
"Xenophobe."
"Not my fault. I was raised on the Daily Mail. Bloody foreigners should go back where they came from. Even if they have been here three generations."
Julian grinned, his mood seeming to have flipped back to cheerful. "And wogs start at Calais?"
Tiff smiled back. "You know, you've got to meet my dad sometime. He'd love you, the old bigot." She thought about it. "Well, apart from the gay thing, obviously."
Nick's supervision the next day did not get off to a good start. Mainly---well, if Nick was honest, wholly---because it was Tiffany Meadows' group. And honestly, what girl with an ounce of self-respect came up to Cambridge without changing a name like that the minute she'd kissed her moronic mother goodbye? It wasn't like it even suited her. Audrey Hepburn she most certainly was not. She was propounding some ridiculous theory on the dissolution of the monasteries, some rubbish about the King having been frightened by a monk whilst at an impressionable age.
Nick cut her off. "Very interesting, Tiffany, but I really don't think so. Now, Kate, did you have any ideas on the subject?" Kate Cunningham (minor Surrey public school, rather average intelligence and sod all imagination) gave him a startled look. Had he been a bit abrupt? Oh, bloody hell. "Sometime today would be good," he couldn't stop himself from saying.
The girls exchanged looks, and Kate hurriedly started waffling on about some idea she'd pinched from a textbook and only half-understood. Nick could feel a headache coming on.
An hour or so later, having taken a couple of Nurofen washed down with a mug of viciously black coffee (Nadia's patented cure for headaches) Nick was filling in a research grant application at his desk when the knock came at his door. Rather relieved at the interruption to his tedious task, Nick experienced an abrupt change in his mood when he opened the door to find Julian standing there.
There was no trace of the mocking smile he'd worn on their last encounter. "Dr. Sewell, I brought you some books," Julian said quietly---respectfully, even. He held up a small pile of German paperbacks.
Realising he was just standing there gawping at the boy like an idiot, Nick hurriedly pulled himself together. "Oh---that's very thoughtful of you, Julian. Thank you." He held out a hand, but Julian made no move to give him the books.
"Can I come in?"
The only thing worse than a repeat of what had occurred in Julian's room, Nick decided, would be to be discovered in the corridor discussing why he didn't want a repeat of what had happened in Julian's room. At least, he told himself that was why he stood aside and motioned Julian in. Was it just his imagination that Julian was careful not to let any part of his body brush against Nick as he walked past?
"These are just some books I thought you might enjoy. To keep up your German." He placed them carefully on Nick's desk. There was something...off about his manner, but Nick couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Thank you," he said again.
Julian looked out of the window for a moment, making no move to go, then slowly turned, but didn't quite meet Nick's eye. "I need to know. How many of us are there, here?"
Nick stared. "What? Gay men?"
Julian took a step back, flushing slightly. Nick had the strangest feeling he'd said something to hurt the boy, and unconsciously took a step towards him. "I'd better go," Julian said, looking at the floor.
"No," Nick told him. His voice sounded hoarse. Damn it, what was the matter with him? "No. You're going to stay and tell me what you meant."
Julian looked at him then, and the look of confusion in his eyes was, Nick thought, the most genuine expression he'd seen the boy display. Confusion? Nick watched, mesmerised, as Julian bit his lip. "You're mocking me," he whispered.
What? "No, I'm not. I wouldn't do that, Julian." He took another step towards the boy, his heart thumping fiercely. There was just one other thing Julian could have meant---but could it really be true? Could he really be...? God, if he was wrong, he was about to make the biggest idiot of himself. "You're a werewolf," he heard himself say, wonderingly.
"Yes, of course! I thought---I thought you knew. That was why..." Julian stopped, frowning.
"Why what? Why you threw yourself at me that night?" It still didn't make sense.
"Yes! Look, you're obviously an alpha, and I thought you wanted me, all right?" He looked away again. "I thought if I---it doesn't matter." Julian's head was turned away from Nick, showing that pale, slender throat. His eyes were downcast, making those long lashes look even more beautiful.
And he was a werewolf. Nick was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else right now. Another werewolf. God, he'd been so alone, so very alone. And it had to be Julian.
If Julian was a werewolf too, Nick would have to stay away from him. It wasn't safe---his time with Carl had proved that. No wonder Nick wasn't able to control himself around Julian, as the moon waxed full and his instincts started to take over. Like now?
Taking a deep breath, Nick stepped back, trying to think. He might not be able to turn Julian, but he could still harm him. Images of Carl covered in his own blood shot through his head.
"How long?" Nick asked, more in an attempt to gain time to calm down than anything else.
"Since I was fourteen." Julian looked troubled.
Well, it was hardly likely to be a pleasant memory. "Was it someone you knew?"
Julian's lips quirked in a bitter smile. "My father."
"What?"
"He felt it was time I joined the pack."
Nick couldn't believe it. How could any man do that to his own child? "Wait---a pack? There are more of you? Of us, I mean?"
"About thirty. In our pack, that is. I know there are other packs, elsewhere."
Nick's head was reeling. "That's---that's amazing! God, if only I'd known. It must be wonderful!"
Julian flinched visibly. "No. It is not."
He sounded suddenly a lot more German, and when he thought back, Nick wasn't sure which language he'd actually used. He looked at the boy. Julian was hunched over. Was he trembling? Without meaning to, Nick found himself gripping Julian by the shoulders. "What did they do to you?" he growled, hardly recognising his own voice. Damn it, this was not the way to treat someone who'd been abused. And he was increasingly certain that was what had happened to Julian.
Bizarrely, however, Julian seemed reassured. "It doesn't matter. I'm here now," he said with a much firmer voice. He paused, and then spoke again. "You don't have a pack?"
"No! I don't even know any other werewolves. Apart from the one who turned me---and I haven't seen him for close on three years---I've never even met another werewolf."
Julian was silent a moment. "It's lonely, isn't it?" he said at last.
Nick stared. "Yes," he said finally.
"But it is good to know that you are here." He still wouldn't meet Nick's eye. "I am sorry for my misunderstanding. I will go now. Enjoy the books."
After he'd gone, Nick sat and looked at the door for a long time.
There was nothing unusual in that Nick sought out Nadia's company later. They frequently met up in the SCR for a coffee at around this time. And they'd chatted for at least a quarter of an hour before Nick even brought up the subject of her troublesome student. Even so, he felt his cheeks grow warmer as he broached the matter.
"Um, I wondered---how much do you know about Julian's family background?"
Nadia shrugged, the movement causing her generous bosom to suffer a medium-sized earthquake. "Oh, bugger all, really. I just mark his essays. He doesn't come round for tea and crumpets, you know. I know some things, of course. Let's see...he grew up in South Germany and came over here a year or two ago when his parents split up. His mother's English, I think."
"Presumably Lauder is his father's name, then. Could you find out? I mean, not just about the name. About, well, his family in Germany, and the break-up, and so on."
"Well, I suppose I could pop round for a sherry with Angus," she said with a faint tone of reluctance. Angus Lemon was the admissions tutor, and he had appalling taste in sherry.
"Nadia, you're an angel," Nick told her sincerely.
She gave a roguish grin. "Tell that to my third-years, dearie---I've just assigned them an essay on the significance of Hamlet's line For O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot!"
Nick laughed. "Well, as long as you give top marks to anyone who addresses the question of whether or not it has a wooden dick."
A couple of days after Julian's visit with the books, Nadia squeezed into the chair next to Nick's in the SCR with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. "Well, dearie, I have found out the odd little snippet. Your young man took his A Levels at Kingsbury---"
"Where?"
"Oh, you know, dearie. Private school, rather pricey. Takes a lot of boys in at sixth form---the ones who aren't doing well where they are." She took a dismissive bite of her custard cream.
"Some sort of remedial crammer?" Nick frowned, sipping at his coffee. "I'd hardly have thought Julian needed that kind of thing."
Nadia raised an eyebrow. "Idol showing feet of clay, is he?" She grinned at Nick's discomfort. "No, apparently he missed a fair bit of school in his last two years in Germany. Ill health, Angus said, although he didn't go into details. Cagey old bugger. Anyway, by all accounts this place does rather well. Most of the boys seem to end up with us or at the other place."
"You're sounding remarkably partisan these days for someone who took her degree at Oxford," Nick pointed out, smiling.
Nadia's expression turned roguish. "Shush! Don't tell the students, dearie, they'll be horrified. Enemy in their midst, and all that. Anyway, it turns out old Angus was at school with Hugh Markham's father."
"Hugh---I mean, who?"
"Julian's stepfather. Do try to keep up. Apparently they're still rather good chums, so I think in fact your Adonis' A Levels were a bit of a formality. Although to be fair to the young man, he's a damned good student. Could be on for a First---if someone doesn't take his mind off his studies." Nick could have done without her knowing leer.
"But was there any hint of, I don't know, any difficulties in his family background? You said something before about him seeming a little dark."
Nadia raised an eyebrow. "Well, his parents are divorced, which is never a picnic, is it? And there was the health thing, of course. Anyway, this was all before he came over to England. Far as I know, his life's been boringly normal since then. Although Angus did hint that the remarriage came as a bit of a surprise. Apparently Hugh Markham had always had a bit of a pash for Lili Lauder, and she'd hardly set foot in the old country before he was down on one knee."
"Does Angus know Julian's mother, then?" Nick was rather curious as to what sort of woman she might be.
"Only from what old Markham used to tell him about the girl. Lauder was her maiden name, by the way, she's only half English, although she was brought up in Kent, which is where Markham knew her. Used to carry her books back from school, or something equally old-fashioned. Apparently the way young Hugh used to go on about her, she was Venus incarnate. Still, I suppose our Adonis had to get his girlish looks from somewhere."
Nick frowned, a little put out. "He's not at all girlish, actually."
She grinned. "No, dearie. Of course he isn't," she reassured him with the utmost insincerity, patting his cheek with slightly crumby fingers.
"Ah! Dr. Sewell. I wonder, might I have a brief word?"
Walking back across Main Court, Nick gave a guilty start as he was accosted by Angus Lemon. Surely Nadia hadn't told him who'd wanted to know about Julian? "Oh! Yes, of course, Dr. Lemon. Shall we go to my rooms?"
"No, no, mine are closer." They were also rather more spacious and comfortable, Nick was reminded as he walked through the low door. Still, the old man needed the space for interviewing students, of course. "Glass of sherry?" Lemon offered.
"No, thank you. I don't drink a great deal," Nick explained.
Lemon sniffed his disapproval. "No? Well, I'm sure you shan't mind if I have one." Pouring a generous glass of Sainsbury's own brand with one hand, Lemon waved Nick into a high-backed armchair with the other. "Now, young man, I'm afraid this is a somewhat delicate matter. I fear I have been neglecting my responsibilities, in short. Very remiss of me. But when there are so many calls on one's time... I'm sure you understand, Sewell?"
Clearly this was why he had been appointed Admissions Tutor. No need for any fancy psychometric testing; simply admit those prospective students who were able to cope with a conversation with old Lemon without having a nervous breakdown. "Er, perhaps if you told me what this was all about...?"
Lemon frowned. "Yes, of course," he said with an annoyed tone, seating himself in the other armchair and placing the sherry on a little table by his elbow that seemed to have no other purpose. "It's about young Lauder."
Bugger. Nick was fervently regretting having asked Lemon to get to the point. "Ah, and in particular...?"
"Well, you must know that the boy's a flaming---that he shares your, ah, peculiar predilections. Meaning that not in any pejorative sense, of course."
Of course, Nick thought dryly.
"Which is where you come in." Lemon leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and looking at Nick expectantly.
Nick was beginning to wish he'd accepted that sherry. "Er, come in how, precisely?" he ventured, trying to ignore all the images his mind was supplying of just how the words come in could be applied to him and Julian.
"As a mentor, of course!" The way Lemon was looking at him now, Nick was glad he wasn't a student here for interview as he would most certainly have failed. "Fact is, Sewell, the boy's stepfather asked me to keep a close eye on him. Incidents at his boarding school of a somewhat delicate nature---I trust I don't have to spell it out?"
"Perhaps, for the avoidance of all possible doubt..." Nick hoped the man couldn't see just how fixed the smile on his face was.
Lemon huffed impatiently. "The boy showed a certain lack of discrimination, let us say."
"Found himself a bit of rough, did he?" Nick suggested in the hope that a touch of coarseness might jolt Lemon into actually telling him something.
Lemon gave a short bark that Nick realised belatedly must be laughter.
"If it had happened just the once, I daresay Markham wouldn't have been so concerned. A little free with his favours, that young man. Caused quite a stink at the school, I don't mind telling you. Not the sort of thing that encourages prospective parents at all. Now, we're all quite aware of the kind of shenanigans that go on at boarding school---it's just part of growing up, after all. Boys will be boys and it doesn't mean a damn thing, as I'm sure you---ah, yes. Well, Markham gave the boy a good talking to, of course, but he was still worried young Lauder might fall back into bad habits up here. I've been intending all term to ask you to keep a fatherly eye on the boy---having, as you do, a certain insight into his, ah, problems---but I'm afraid it just slipped my mind. Work, you know. So many calls on one's time. Wasn't until a colleague brought up the subject that it occurred to me, must see to it. So I trust we are in agreement?"
"Perfectly," Nick lied through gritted teeth. "Well, I mustn't keep you any longer. I'm sure you are extremely busy."
"Oh, indeed, indeed. You young fellows, you don't know what work is." Lemon emptied his sherry glass, frowned at it and got up to give himself a refill.
Remaining there barely long enough for politeness, Nick stomped back to his rooms. After ten minutes of angry pacing, he swore, and changed into his running kit. If he stayed inside he'd go mad. And if he'd had to stay one more minute with Angus Bloody Lemon he'd have ripped his bigoted throat out.
His route, this time, took Nick both along the Backs and past the Rat and Ferret, but there was no sign of Julian. Nick wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.
Tiff sat alone in the college bar nursing her half of cider and black and wishing Julian would bloody well hurry up. She kept feeling like people were staring at her. Probably because they were staring at her. Either word had got round about her and Jools being an item, or she'd come out with her skirt tucked in the back of her tights. Tiff tried to make it seem like she was just twisting round to look at something on the other side of the room while she discreetly checked her clothes. Nope, she wasn't flashing her undies. Must be the gossip, then.
It was too early to be really busy, but there were a few groups sitting round tables, somehow making her feel even more like a sore thumb. The rugby club were in their usual corner, being surprisingly un-rowdy. Maybe they were still hung-over from yesterday. And at a table in the centre, surrounded by his fan club, the college drug dealer---at least, she'd always assumed that was why people called him Crack. His brand of seedy heroin chic seemed to act as a magnet for half the girls in the college. He played it up, too---skinny as a rake, his jeans so tight it was a wonder his bits didn't get gangrene and drop off. And he always wore black. Lots and lots of black. Tiff grinned as she looked at him. Maybe he'd just never learned to colour coordinate.
Tiff blushed as she realised Crack had noticed her smiling at him, and looked away hurriedly---right into Jools' teasing eyes. "Do I need to worry you're going to throw me over for some Goth you met in a bar?" he asked as he slid into the seat next to hers and took a swig from her drink without asking. "This stuff is quite disgusting, by the way. Why don't you drink wine?"
"Because you haven't bought me any," Tiff retorted, smiling sweetly and hoping her face wasn't still red. Julian sighed, but padded gracefully to the bar, returning with two large glasses of what would probably turn out to be extremely dry white wine.
"Aren't we going to hold hands or something?" Tiff asked as he sat down. Somehow he managed to look elegant even perched on a low bar stool. "You don't want people thinking we've broken up."
Julian looked up at her, surprised. "Oh. Didn't I tell you? We don't need to do that anymore. I've spoken to Dr. Sewell." He smiled far more smugly than anyone drinking that dry a wine had any right to. "I think things will work out very well."
"Good," Tiff said tightly. She took a large swallow of her wine.
Suddenly she didn't give a shit what it tasted like.
When the knock came on his door a few days later, Nick's heart started to race a little even before he called out "Come in." Somehow he wasn't surprised to see Julian walk into his room. Had he sensed him, without even being aware of it himself? A sort of werewolf gaydar? If so, it was a damned shame it hadn't kicked in a bit earlier.
It was the first time he'd seen the boy to speak to since he'd brought Nick the books. They'd been an eclectic bunch: a translation of Oscar Wilde, which he might have expected; a romance novel, which he most definitely had not; and a collection of short stories by Heinrich Böll. Nick had never really got on with Böll; reading his work always left Nick with the firm impression that one or the other of them was entirely lacking in a sense of humour. And then the biggest surprise of all: Erich Kästner's Drei Männer im Schnee. Not only did Nick already own a copy, it was in fact one of his favourite books; an old-fashioned story of two men from vastly different backgrounds who become unlikely friends whilst shoveling snow. It was a book he often turned to when he was ill or in need of comfort, and it had never failed him. The copy Julian had lent him was inscribed to Julian in his mother's elegant script, and was well-thumbed.
Nick found himself smiling up at the boy from his desk. Julian appeared a little flushed. As usual, he was rather more nicely dressed than the average student, in well-fitting jeans and a soft cream sweater Nick strongly suspected to be cashmere.
"I wanted to ask, have you enjoyed the books?" Once again, his tones were oddly formal and German-sounding.
"Ah, yes, thank you---although I should return this one to you," Nick said, handing over the Kästner with an inexplicable feeling of reluctance. "I already have a copy. It's a favourite of mine, as it happens."
Julian smiled. Nick wasn't prepared for the feelings that engendered in him, either. "I'm glad. I have read his other books, but I like this one the best."
Nick nodded, feeling a little foolish at not quite knowing what to say. "Ah---can I offer you a coffee?" he asked. Surely, even among werewolves, the offering of refreshment was traditional? Although, of course, a pack-raised werewolf might have very different ideas of what refreshment to offer. No. He was being absurd.
"Thank you. White, no sugar, please."
Well, if Nick wasn't behaving how a werewolf should, Julian at least seemed to be taking it into his stride. Perhaps Nick would pluck up the courage to offer him a digestive biscuit. Or, if he was feeling really brave, a Jaffa Cake. Nick grinned at himself under cover of boiling the kettle.
As they sat together with steaming cups of instant, Nick found himself hoping like hell Julian would take the conversational initiative soon, or any minute now he'd be saying "Well, this is nice, isn't it?" like a member of the Women's Institute taking tea with the vicar, and then he'd have to kill himself. He managed not to sigh in relief as Julian rested his mug on his knee and cleared his throat.
"We should go for a run together, sometime. You know, as wolves." Julian's manner was a little hesitant, and his finger traced a circle around the top of his mug.
Was he offering because he thought he ought, or because he wanted to? "I---well, are you sure that's wise?" Visions of Carl shot through Nick's head. God, there'd been so much blood...
"As long as we don't go to Coe Fen, why not?"
"You don't think we might, well, fight?"
From the look Julian gave him, one might have thought he'd just suggested they invite the Master and all the fellows along for the trip. "Of course we would not fight." He blinked. "You have places you like to go?"
"Ah, yes. Well, a place. Some woods out to the south of town."
Another sidelong look. "You think it's safe to go to the same place all the time?"
"Well, it's only once a month, after all."
"Once a month? You mean you don't change any more frequently than that?"
Nick was getting rather tired of Julian's incredulous expressions. "Since that is the approximate frequency of full moons, no, I don't," he told him rather shortly. "What on earth are you talking about?"
Julian stared at him in that curious way of his, tilting his head away and looking at Nick out of the corner of his eye. "You mean you've never changed except at full moon?"
"I wasn't aware that it was even possible," Nick said slowly. "In any case, why on earth would I want to? It's hardly a barrel of laughs. Why would anyone want that kind of pain any more often than they had to endure it?"
Julian drew in a sharp breath. "If you change more frequently, the pain lessens. Considerably. I can't believe you didn't know that."
"Well, forgive me for not having been brought up by werewolves!" Nick regretted his temper immediately, as Julian's face took on that closed look he'd seen all too often. "Look, I'm sorry," Nick forced himself to say. "It's just a little galling---I've been a werewolf for three years now, and here you are, telling me I've been doing it wrong all this time!"
Julian shifted position on the sofa, looking uncomfortable. He looked at the mug in his hand for a moment, then carefully placed it on the floor by his feet. "What about the one that turned you? Didn't he teach you anything?"
Nick snorted. "Apart from not to go sneaking round my boyfriend's house on full moon nights to see if he was cheating on me, no, he didn't."
He sighed, remembering. He'd met Carl whilst doing his PhD at Durham University, a place he'd chosen on a whim because he'd never really been up North and he'd fancied a change of scene. It hadn't hurt that it had something of a reputation as a home from home for Oxbridge graduates. Carl had been a postgrad Modern Languages student doing French and German.
They'd met at the Durham version of the CUGS Stammtisch, which Nick had been disappointed to discover involved rather less beer and rather more discussion of worthy topics than its Cambridge counterpart. They hadn't hit it off straight away, and in truth the relationship had always been a little uneasy, each of them seeming to feel a need to score points off the other. Nick had been rather appalled to discover this hitherto unsuspected side of himself.
And then one afternoon Carl had told Nick abruptly that he wouldn't be seeing him that evening. Somehow Nick hadn't been able to shake the feeling that Carl wasn't telling the truth about his reasons.
So, fired by motives he hadn't cared to examine too closely, he'd borrowed a friend's car and driven out to Carl's little rented cottage, way out in the back of beyond. There had been a light shining from the living room window. Nick had been planning to simply knock on the door---of course he had---but hadn't been able to resist just taking a look through the window. Just to reassure himself. As he'd made his way around the house, something had leapt at him. He'd been knocked flat on his back, looking into bloodthirsty eyes. Hot, reeking breath had flooded his nose, making him gag, and he'd been paralysed with fear. And then the creature had bitten him. Hard, on the shoulder, tearing his flesh and drawing blood---lots of blood. Nick had never known pain like it. He'd screamed with the agony of it, but there had been no one there to hear. And then the creature had howled, and he'd passed out.
He'd woken up on Carl's sofa, his shoulder feeling so bloody awful he'd actually checked to see if his arm was still there. Carl had been hovering around agitatedly. He'd had the gall to blame Nick for what had happened. Said it wasn't his fault Nick had come sneaking around. Had said a lot of rather confusing stuff about instincts and claiming that Nick hadn't understood at all. Not at the time, anyway.
These days, of course, he understood it all rather too well.
And then had been the worst part---Carl telling him he'd been the beast that had attacked Nick. That he was a werewolf---had been bitten by one during his year studying in Heidelberg and turned into one himself. Nick hadn't believed a word of it, of course. He'd let Carl drive him back to town, where he'd gone straight to the doctor's for a rather better patch-up job than Carl had managed, and a tetanus jab. They'd parted on extremely strained terms, as was only to be expected.
He hadn't seen much of Carl after that. He'd been aware that something was---not quite right, as the weeks went on, but he'd put it down to the trauma of being attacked by a ravening beast and the same night finding out his boyfriend was insane.
On the afternoon of the next full moon, Carl had turned up out of the blue and practically forced him into his car. Nick hadn't known what had appalled him more---Carl's almost violent manner, or his own reaction to it. He'd had to restrain himself from attacking the man, had felt a fierce urge to fight him, to dominate.
When they'd reached Carl's cottage...the angry wait for the moon to rise---after all, might as well humour the madman...the almost comical shock of seeing Carl strip in preparation for the transformation that Nick was firmly convinced would not happen...and the tearing, gut-wrenching agony of his own first transformation.
And then, it seemed, the wolf's instincts had taken over.
Julian was looking at him. As Nick registered this, the boy's eyes dropped once more. Nick took a deep breath, trying to control himself. Thinking about Carl when he was with Julian was, he decided, a very bad idea. Although the instinct involved was rather different.
Had Julian's father taught him this? All this submissive behaviour? Nick felt a surge of anger. "No," he repeated. "He didn't teach me anything. And we realised after the first full moon together that it wasn't safe for us to be anywhere near each other in wolf form."
"You fought?"
Nick felt a chill at the memory. He fervently hoped he'd never again be as close to committing murder as he had on that night. "Christ, pretty much all night, or at any rate it seemed like it. He---he wouldn't stop. I mean, it was clear I was---the stronger, but he wouldn't back down." He swallowed, guilt turning his stomach. Because he hadn't backed down, either. "We kept having to break off---we were both exhausted---but then it'd start again. And again." He'd woken up with Carl's blood in his mouth, barely able to stand. "I thought that was what it would always be like, with other werewolves. Until you said what you did about having a pack."
Julian shrugged, one-shouldered. "It just means you were both dominants. Both alphas. And both of you unused to the presence of other wolves. It was natural that you would fight. Where were you?"
It was an intelligent question. "At his cottage---on his territory, I suppose you'd say. I think that's why he wouldn't back down. Why he fought on so long," he added a little shakily.
Julian gave a strange smile. "And you won."
"I suppose I did. I assure you I took no pleasure in having practically ripped my ex-lover's throat out. If it hadn't been for the change back somehow healing the worst of it---" Nick trailed off. He still wasn't sure what he'd have done if Carl had died. And he was damned sure he didn't want to think about it now. He'd been thinking quite a lot about the existence of wolf packs, since Julian's revelation. About how individual wolves filled different roles within a rather rigid framework---at least, if true wolves were anything to go by. "And what about you?" he asked, tensing in anticipation of the answer. "I mean, you don't seem..."
Julian gave a bitter smile, not looking at him. "I'm not a dominant. I'm what is sometimes known as an omega. The lowest of the low. I should have thought you'd have worked that out by now."
"So...we would be safe, together?"
Julian gave a jerky little movement that would undoubtedly have spilled his coffee, had he still been holding it. "I would obey you."
Nick took a deep breath, feeling arousal spread through him at Julian's words. Julian would obey him. Would do anything he wanted. He found he was clenching his fists, trying to fight the feelings down. This was...not right. And the fact that Julian was so matter-of-fact about it only made things worse. "You had to obey the other wolves in your father's pack?"
Julian seemed smaller, somehow, as he answered. "Yes." It was barely more than a whisper.
"I would never expect that of you!" Nick told him fiercely.
Julian looked him directly in the eye, just for a moment. Nick could feel anger growing within him, until Julian's gaze fell once more. "Yes, you would," Julian said calmly. "It's all right. I trust you."
Nick was staggered by that simple statement.
That evening, Nick looked out of his window over Main Court. He realised he was only putting things off. Julian had said he could change whenever he wanted to. So Nick should be able to do so as well. Should he try it here? In his rooms? But what if he couldn't change back? What if he got stuck as a wolf until next full moon?
Get a grip, Sewell, he told himself, disgusted at his own cowardice. If you can do it one way, you can do it the other. Feeling a little foolish, he checked the door was locked, pulled the curtains and started to undress. Standing there naked, looking at his desk covered in third-year essays, he felt even more absurd. And how the hell was he supposed to accomplish this in any case? When he changed at the full moon, it just happened. It was beyond his control. And the pain---dear God, the pain. Why the hell would anyone invite that sort of agony? It was ridiculous, and unnecessary.
And he was being a coward again. Nick forced himself to calm down, and tried to---what? Think hairy? He got down on all fours and tried to imagine his limbs changing, face lengthening.
Nothing.
"Damn it!" he swore under his breath and pulled his clothes back on angrily.
Tiff trudged up the last flight of stairs to Julian's room, breathing hard. Maybe she ought to start going to the gym. On the other hand, maybe that'd just make her feel even more knackered. Julian had better bloody well be in after all this. She knocked on the door, and almost immediately there was a reassuring cry of "Come in!" rather than a curt "Yes!" That usually meant Jools was in a good mood.
He was sitting at his desk as she walked in. "So, are you going out with Dr. Sewell now?" Tiff asked bluntly, closing Julian's door behind her.
Julian looked up at her and smirked annoyingly. "No. But I will be."
"Oh, yeah? So I suppose this means you're not confused by him anymore?"
Julian seemed to decide on honesty, for now. "Not really. He's strange, but he's a good man." He gave a kind of sigh. "That's why I'm not going out with him yet. He thinks he'll corrupt me." He grinned at Tiff's involuntary burst of laughter.
"I thought you said he'd seen you with your mouth round another bloke's bits?"
Julian pushed back his chair, smiling. "He's in denial. For now. Are you going to put the kettle on?"
Tiff plonked herself down heavily on the bed. It creaked a bit. "No, but you are. I'm knackered after dragging myself up all those bloody stairs. God, I'd hate to live here."
"It'd be good for you," Julian teased. "Keep you fit. How else do you think I stay so slim?" He did a little twirl as he went over to the kettle.
Tiff frowned at his back. Was he saying he thought she ought to lose weight? Size twelve wasn't fat, though, was it?
"Biscuit?" Julian asked without turning. "I've got chocolate chip cookies."
Tiff gave a resigned sigh. "Not for me, thanks."
Checking through his pigeonhole early in the morning, Nick found a sealed envelope that was addressed in loopy German script. He tore it open to find a short note. "Heute Abend? Um 9?" It was signed with a J. Rather superfluously, Nick thought; after all, who else would be arranging assignations with him in German?
As it happened that this evening at nine o'clock would suit him rather well, Nick folded the note and wrote "Einverstanden" on it before placing it furtively in Julian's pigeonhole. He jumped as a couple of students burst into the room a moment later. God, he'd make a bloody awful spy. Even more so, he realised, as it occurred to him that they had a time for a meeting but not a place. Pretending to read a circular from the University Library with great interest, Nick waited until the students had left before retrieving the note and adding a quick direction to meet him at his car in the car park. Not a good idea to have Julian turning up at his rooms all the time. People might get the wrong impression.
Or worse, the right one.
That evening, Nick sat in the Mini Cooper, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited in the dark for Julian to turn up. He wondered if he should mention his humiliating failure to transform by himself, then dismissed the idea. Julian looked up to him. It wouldn't do to appear weak.
He jumped as the door opened, and Julian slid into the passenger seat. "Have you been waiting long?" he asked with a shy smile.
"No, not at all," Nick lied. "Did you have trouble getting away?"
"Not particularly." He hesitated. "There were some people I know, and I wasn't sure if you would want anyone to know I was meeting you."
Nick didn't quite know how to answer that. "Probably best not to arouse any suspicion," he said at last. "Anyway, we'd better be off now."
Nick drove without speaking, grateful that Julian didn't try to make conversation either. Tension coiled in his gut like a restless tapeworm, eating away at him from inside. Assuming that he did manage to make the change, and it wasn't just a hideous embarrassment, what if it was just a repeat of that first time with Carl? If Julian's wolf form bore any correlation to his human shape, he'd be half Nick's size. Nick would eat him alive. Quite possibly literally.
Julian seemed fascinated by the view from the car window. Of course, many students never made it out of Cambridge during term time---at least, no farther than they could punt along the river towards Grantchester. Hardly any of the students had cars, for the simple reason that there was nowhere to put the things. It was just as well. Traffic in town was bad enough as it was---Nick hated to think what it'd be like with twelve thousand extra cars on the narrow streets.
They passed by the railway station, then a spectacularly ugly new housing development, and after that it was green fields as far as the eye could see. Which was a considerable distance; the topography of East Anglia as a rule bore a close resemblance to a pancake. As they drove farther, however, the Gog Magog hills appeared to break the visual monotony---and all too soon, they were there.
Nick fought to control the bile rising up in his throat as he pulled off the lane and into the clearing. Jerking the handbrake on rather harder than necessary, he switched off the engine.
"It'll be all right," Julian said softly.
"You don't know that."
"Better than you do," Julian told him, but the tone held no arrogance.
They got out of the car, and Julian looked around at the woodland, seeming to approve. Nick felt absurdly relieved---almost as if this were some kind of date. It was quiet here, the rush of traffic from the main road only a murmur, and the smell of damp earth and intriguing small creatures rose to meet Nick's nostrils, calming him with its familiarity.
"What is this place?" Julian asked.
"It's called the Godolphin Estate. An old country manor, built on top of an Iron Age hill fort, but it's all gone to wrack and ruin, now." Nick couldn't keep the disapproval out of his voice at such wanton disregard of historical relics. "You can still see the remains of the fort---there's a huge ring-shaped ditch in the middle of the woodlands."
Julian nodded and with a complete lack of self-consciousness, began to strip, slinging his discarded clothes through the open door of the Mini Cooper. His skin seemed almost blue in the moonlight as long limbs were revealed. Nick found his heart beating faster, his breath quickening. Julian looked like some spirit of the forest, all slender lines and pale, perfect skin. Despite himself, Nick found his eyes falling to the boy's groin. Silvery curls surrounded the most beautiful cock he'd ever seen, and Nick drank in the view as it began to rise slowly, as if resisting the force of his gaze. He could feel an answering pressure in his own groin and took an involuntary step forward.
All at once Julian's form shifted. Confusing in its swiftness, the body he was scrutinising so eagerly seemed to twist, to writhe, but there was no convulsing in agony, and Julian didn't even whimper as he became a wolf.
He was beautiful. Still slender, seeming half-grown, his fur shimmering in the moonlight. He trotted over to Nick and gave him a cautious sniff. Nick was appalled to realise he was still hard, aroused by the boy even in this form. For a moment he thought Julian was about to lick him---intimately.
Nick drew a deep, shuddering breath---and suddenly Julian was human again, smiling at him with mischief in his eyes, and the proximity was too much for Nick. He grabbed Julian's hips and pulled the boy to him, hard. Julian moaned and seemed to melt against him, his cock hard against Nick's groin. Incensed by the barrier of his clothes, Nick let go of Julian and tore off his shirt, tossing it heedlessly to the ground. Pale, delicate fingers were already undoing his trousers, pushing them past his hips. Nick slammed Julian's body back against his own, letting out a hoarse cry as flesh met flesh. It was glorious---but it wasn't enough.
Dimly recognising with part of his brain that he was gripping Julian far too hard, that the boy would be bruised in the morning, Nick slammed him back against the side of the Mini Cooper. One hand pulled Julian into a savage kiss, all tongues and teeth. The taste of him was intoxicating. Nick had never felt such hunger, such need. He frotted feverishly against the boy---and then a slender hand crept between them and wrapped round both their cocks, working them together. Nick knew he was groaning into the boy's mouth, but was utterly unable to stop himself. He'd never felt anything so intense, so wonderful it was almost painful. Julian was his, would always be his. He'd kill anyone who tried to take him away.
He could taste blood in his mouth where a tooth had raked skin. Tearing his mouth from the boy's lips, Nick dropped it to Julian's neck, to the junction with his shoulder, and bit down savagely. The metallic flavour of blood flooding his mouth seemed to send a signal straight to his groin and he came, shuddering, dimly aware of Julian convulsing too.
As his vision cleared and his breathing slowed, Nick was disturbed to find he felt only mildly horrified at what he'd done. He'd had sex with a student. Damn it, he'd bitten the boy. But it was hard to feel so very appalled when the hormones were still coursing through his veins and Julian was standing there with that fey smile upon his face.
"I knew it'd be good with you," Julian murmured happily.
Feeling a sudden rush of anger, Nick thrust the boy from him. "This is not what we came here for."
Julian stared at him silently for one long moment, then dropped his eyes. "Then change," he said petulantly.
Nick felt like an idiot. "I don't know how!" he admitted angrily, stepping out of his trousers and trying to ignore their mingled semen coating his stomach.
There was another pause, and then Julian's voice came again, much softer this time. "You have to concentrate on the moon. Feel its power. Surrender to it." The boy's face was shining in the half-light.
Surrender. He should have known. Nick gazed upwards at the gibbous moon that crested the treetops. He tried to imagine it as full, tried to open himself to its power.
"It's not far from full, still. Let it pull you into your inner form," Julian whispered from a long way away.
Nick's eyes didn't waver from that pale, cold light. He thought he could feel a tug in his chest, his bowels. Surrender. He let the moonlight bathe his naked form, and his skin seemed to tingle with it. Let it pull you. His inner form? Was that what he was, now? A wolf in man's clothing?
Nick took a deep breath, and tried to banish his misgivings. Surrender. It had been so easy for Julian---surely if he could do this, so could Nick?
And this time, it seemed to happen quite suddenly. He could feel the wrenching in his face, his limbs, and he forced himself not to fight it. Determinedly, he allowed his body to rearrange itself, to reform---and was astonished to find the change rushing upon him with the force of his earlier orgasm. It wasn't pleasure, precisely, but neither was it the searing pain of every other transformation.
Nick stood there on all fours, panting. He was wolf.
And there before him stood the Julian-wolf, back arched, eyes lowered. Nick felt almost giddy in his sense of rightness. This was his wolf, his pack. Submitting to him as was proper. He howled his approval to the moon. The Julian-wolf watched him---and then jumped away playfully. Nick growled in mock disapproval, a wonderful lightness in his chest.
The smaller wolf grinned at him for a moment, then darted into the forest. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Nick followed. They sprang through the trees in a swift slalom, not bothering with stealth---chasing rabbits could wait. Another wolf was a far worthier prey, even if it was all in sport. Julian's slender form was as agile as a gazelle, and Nick had to work in earnest to keep up with him.
He had a feeling Julian knew it. Nick's eyes narrowed. Perhaps the smaller wolf needed a lesson in who was alpha here.
He got his revenge when, without warning, they arrived at The Ring. Julian yelped as his paws skittered on the steep slopes that led down to the ancient ditch, and he barely escaped the ignominy of sliding down on his rump. Laughing inside, Nick followed at a more cautious pace. Julian growled at him, presumably for the lack of warning---and then cowered at Nick's answering growl. Good humour entirely restored, Nick jerked his head at the younger wolf and set off along the ditch.
Julian was quick to catch on and sped along beside him. The Ring could have been tailor-made for two wolves racing along beside one another---and since the trees had not yet spread over it, was a clear racetrack. Here, Nick's more powerful muscles came into their own. He outstripped Julian easily, his legs working and his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Running as a wolf was nothing like running as a human---at times like this, Nick wondered that he could ever accept that pale imitation, tottering about on two legs, his upper limbs almost useless. Now, his whole body was a machine built for speed, working with perfect efficiency. Had he the breath to spare, Nick would have howled his joy to the skies.
He stopped when he reached the break in the Ring. There was a path here that led to a grassy central clearing that was practically an all-you-can-eat buffet for a wolf---provided the wolf didn't mind a fairly monotonous diet of rabbit, rabbit or rabbit. Nick waited for Julian to catch up and led the way to the centre of the Ring, his priority now stealth, not speed.
Julian followed his lead, and together they slunk through the trees, bellies low. As expected, the clearing---presumably once some kind of garden feature---was teeming with furry bodies nibbling moronically at the grass. Feeling a not-really-deserved but nonetheless real pride in the provision of this bunny buffet, Nick held back, allowing Julian the first kill.
Like lightning, the pale wolf darted into the clearing and seized a rabbit in his jaws. At the sight of its blood, Nick could hold back no more and leapt after its fleeing, terrified cousins.
The first taste, when it came, was as always the sweetest.
The warmth of Nick's front contrasted sharply with the chill of the rest of him as he woke up next morning to find himself lying naked in the bracken, curled protectively around an equally nude Julian. "It's getting too bloody cold to do this," he muttered to cover his embarrassment as he stretched aching muscles. Memories of the previous night flooded back in a rising tide of shame. He'd taken advantage of the boy, knowing how vulnerable he was. He'd lost control.
Nick disentangled himself from Julian's drowsy form hurriedly, then shook him by the shoulder. "Come on, wake up. We need to get back."
Julian stretched, cat-like, and gave him a Cheshire smile to complete the image. "Morning," he purred.
Nick flushed. "Come on, you'll freeze," he said roughly, finding himself unable to look the boy in the eye.
"Nick?" Julian's voice was quiet, worried, the smile having faded away leaving only the boy behind. It should have been the other way around, Nick noted dully. He turned away and didn't answer.
There was an audible sigh, and Julian's lithe form padded past him, looking all around as if trying to sniff out the location of Nick's car. Nick couldn't help looking. He gave a sharp intake of breath. "Christ, what happened to your back?"
Julian started and then slowly turned. "Discipline."
In the grey morning light, the scars across his chest showed up easily as well as those on his back. "What?"
"In the pack. It was felt I was in need of discipline."
Nick's head whirled. "Your father did this?"
Julian flinched. "No." It was almost a whisper. "His beta. I was...given to him. To be trained."
"Trained for what? Trained to be beaten bloody? Christ, those look like whip marks!" Nick could barely control his anger. "And what the hell do you mean, given to him?"
Julian's back was hunched, his gaze firmly on the ground at his feet. "I was his. To discipline, to---do you really want to hear this?"
No. "Yes, by God, Julian, tell me! What do you mean, his?" As Julian remained silent, Nick's temper got the better of him and he grabbed hold of Julian's shoulders, giving him a rough shake. "Tell me."
Julian looked up, then. "We fucked, all right? Happy now? Glad you heard that? Pleased you were right about what a filthy little slut I am?"
Nick's hands clenched convulsively, and part of him knew he'd be leaving bruises on the boy's pale shoulders. A larger part of him didn't care. "You are not a slut! And you are nobody's but mine!" Suddenly his fury was exhausted, and he let go.
Curiously, Julian seemed to straighten at that. Neither of them talked much on the drive back to college, however, and they parted in the car park with barely a word.
It was around midnight when Tiff walked through Garden Court. It wasn't exactly on her way back to her room from the impromptu gathering in a fellow History student's room---but, well, she felt like a walk. Julian's window was dark, the curtains open.
Turning on her heel, Tiff decided she'd take the direct route after all. Back in her room, she pulled off her boots and then looked in the bathroom mirror. The face that stared back at her looked utterly drab---no make-up, round face, straight mousey hair. Rummaging in her desk drawer, Tiff found her pair of scissors. Very deliberately, she pulled her ponytail round to the front and cut it off, just below the band. The face in the mirror was still staring.
Tiff made a rude gesture at it and went to bed.
Julian wasn't in Hall at their usual breakfast time. Tiff latched on to a group of first-years she knew a bit and tried to join in the conversation, uncomfortably aware they were staring at her hair and being far too well-brought-up to mention it.
She didn't see Jools until lunchtime, in fact, when he dropped into the seat next to hers in Hall looking irritatingly cheerful. "What happened to your hair, Tiff?" was all she got in the way of greeting.
"It fell off. Have a good night, did you?"
"Mm," he answered annoyingly vaguely, taking a forkful of jacket potato.
"Was it---" she paused, and looked around with involuntary caution, "---you know who, or did you just go down the Rat & Ferret and meet someone there?"
"It was who you think it was." Somehow she'd expected him to be more, well, smug about it. "You know, it looks a bit weird at the back."
"What?"
"Your hair. It's all ragged and different lengths. Are you busy after lunch?"
"Not 'til four. Why?"
"You'll see."
He remained irritatingly secretive all through lunch. Then he took her arm and led her out of college and into town. Tiff balked when they reached the expensive salon on Mill Road. "Jools, I can't afford this place!"
"You don't have to. I'll pay. Think of it as a late birthday present."
Tiff felt awkward. She hated being reminded he had so much more money than she did. "Julian, my birthday was in March. You didn't even know me then."
Julian shrugged. It wasn't fair, Tiff thought. How could the way someone shrugged make your heart hurt for wanting them?
"But if I had known you, I would have bought you a present. Come on---let's see if I can sweet-talk them into fitting you in."
Forty-five minutes later, Tiff had to admit that sometimes, you got what you paid for. Or, in this case, what your best friend paid for. She couldn't stop looking in the mirror. With her hair like this, she looked almost...pretty.
Julian's satisfied face appeared in the mirror next to hers, and suddenly she was back to being plain old Tiff, a stone overweight and with a name that didn't suit her. "There. Isn't that better?"
She couldn't not smile back in the face of his obvious pleasure. It wasn't his fault he was so bloody gorgeous.
As they left the overheated salon and were hit with the chilly East Anglian breeze, Tiff shivered.
"Here, take my jacket," Julian said at once, gracefully shrugging out of it and presenting it to her like he'd been reading some 1920s etiquette manual.
"Don't be daft, I'll get it all hairy."
Jools just shrugged again. "It'll brush off."
Tiff didn't resist as he slipped the soft, expensive leather around her shoulders. It was warm with the heat of his body and carried his scent---almost, but not quite, like getting a hug. Feeling her smile grow brittle, Tiff straightened her shoulders. "Come on, we'd better get back to college. I need to get my stuff together for Dr. Sewell's supervision."
Nick looked impatiently out of his window. It was only just four, but he was fed up with students arriving late for supervisions. And he knew damn well Tiffany bloody Meadows was in college; he'd seen her walking in with Julian not half an hour ago, thick as thieves.
He started at the knock on the door, and let Kate in. She was followed thirty seconds later by Tiffany, who looked somehow different, but Nick couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Oh! I like your hair!" Kate sounded equally shocked and admiring as she turned to Tiffany.
Tiffany blushed. "Thanks," she mumbled. "It was all Jools' idea, really."
So that was what they'd been up to. Her hair was cut into a sort of bob that Nick vaguely recognised as fashionable, and he was fairly sure the colour was different. Now he really looked at her, it actually made quite a difference to her face. She was wearing Julian's leather jacket too, Nick realised with a stab of annoyance.
"When you young ladies have quite finished with the mutual admiration society, might I remind you that this is supposed to be a supervision?" he told them sharply.
He wasn't sure, but he thought Tiffany tsked under her breath as she sat down dutifully.
God, Dr. Sewell had been in a right mood during the supervision. As she walked back along Main Court, Tiff drew Julian's jacket more tightly around her, as if it could ward off the evil eye of the jealous boyfriend. Stupid sod.
It was still an hour to Hall, and Tiff was nearly out of coffee, so she decided to pop into the shops rather than waste the hour trying to study while she was still pissed off about Dr. Sewell. Remembering to take her lamps, she grabbed her bike from the underground bike sheds and set off across town.
By the time she got back, it was nearly six and already almost dark. It always seemed so creepy at this time of day, just after the clocks had gone back---dark when it shouldn't be, as if there was a storm coming. And Tiff had the weirdest feeling she was being watched as she locked her bike in the bike sheds and turned to go back to her room. She was weighed down by shopping bags in both hands---because by the time you'd gone all the way to Sainsbury's, you were never going to come out with just coffee, were you?---and it made her feel more vulnerable somehow, as if there was a bloody big target painted on her back and she had no hands free to defend herself.
She jumped at the sound of a low growl. There, in the shadows at the far end of the shed. Was there something moving? Putting both bags into her left hand---the floor here was damp and disgusting and probably covered in rat poo, no way was she putting her food down on that---Tiff pulled her bike lamp out of her pocket and switched it on. The beam didn't really reach far enough, but Tiff thought she saw something...there! Over in the corner---God, what was that? Huge, amber eyes...
"Bloody hell, Sab! You didn't!" Tiff jumped a mile as a gaggle of braying third-years burst into the sheds. "I just can't believe you did that! And in front of Jonathan! What did he---?" They fell abruptly silent on realising they weren't alone, then burst out laughing as they pushed past Tiff to park their bikes.
The next time she looked, there was nothing there. Tiff shivered. Maybe she was imagining things?
Or maybe she'd been right about the rat poo. With an odd feeling of disgust, Tiff followed the third-years back into college.
The wolf growled again, this time under his breath. This was not the one. Not his Own, although it wore his scent. The wolf would have liked to have ended it just for that, but, despite the cloaking darkness, there were too many people around.
But there would not always be.
Nick wasn't quite sure what to say when Julian knocked on his door the following evening. Things between them had been a little...strained when they'd parted on arriving back at college after their night together. And then there had been all that business with Tiffany.
"Come in," he greeted Julian, falling back on social formulae. "You weren't thinking of, well, going for a run, were you?" The words were so innocuous. As if he were merely suggesting Julian might want to go jogging with him. Not desperately trying to hold himself back from taking him somewhere secluded, by force, if necessary, and debauching him once again, making damn sure the boy knew who he belonged to.
Julian gave him a curious look and smiled guilelessly. "I just wanted to spend some time with you as human."
The innocent words hit Nick like a kick in the gut. And again there was that curious German phrasing. Once more Nick felt there were rules to this encounter that Julian wasn't bothering to tell him. He couldn't decide whether to kick the boy out or slam him up against the wall. "Drink?" he asked abruptly.
"Please."
Halfway to the kettle, Nick changed his mind mid-stride and grabbed a bottle of Merlot. Uncorking it swiftly (he refused to buy screw-tops as a matter of principle) he poured the wine rebelliously into a couple of coffee mugs and handed one to Julian.
There was a strange half-smile on the boy's face as he took the mug and raised it to his lips, muttering, "Your health," en route.
Zum bloody wohl, Nick thought sourly, taking a hefty swallow. "Are you sleeping with Tiffany Meadows?" he demanded.
He thought for a moment Julian was about to drop his wine. The boy started violently and seemed to hunch into himself. "No," he whispered.
Nick felt like the biggest bastard in the history of bastardy. "Sorry. You...spend a lot of time with her, that's all."
Julian looked up, eyes wide. "You believe me?"
"Shouldn't I?"
"Of course!"
The tension lessened, a little. "I'm sorry," Nick said again. "I..." I know I don't own you, he'd meant to say, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say the words.
Startling him slightly, in one graceful movement Julian put his mug on the floor and knelt before Nick. "For me there is no one except you," he said softly, laying his head on Nick's knees.
Nick froze. Julian's throat was visible, its pale, perfect skin gleaming. If he didn't move...
Julian moved. Raising himself, but still on his knees, he looked at Nick from under his lashes. Shyly. Submissively. "I belong to you," he said simply.
It wasn't a matter of conscious thought. Thought of any kind didn't enter into it. Nick simply became aware that Julian was stretched out on the floor beneath him, and Nick's teeth were in his neck again. Julian shuddered as Nick bit down. "Please," he whispered, and the last shred of self-control was gone. Nick tore savagely at the boy's clothes, scarcely allowing Julian's more nimble fingers to assist. Garments were pulled off without regard for their seams or even for their owner.
When the slender form was finally revealed, Nick grasped Julian's cock tightly enough to cause the boy to cry out. "Mine," he growled.
Julian's only reply was to bare his bloodied throat once more.
Nick almost hit him.
Thrusting himself back from the boy, he tried to control his ragged breathing. Julian stared at him, shocked. "You don't want...?"
"I want," Nick assured him grimly. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, then opened them once more. "Never do that again. Never offer yourself to me, like a lamb to the bloody slaughter." I might just take you up on it.
Understanding seemed to flood into those clear blue eyes. Julian visibly struggled with himself for a moment. "I won't," he said finally. He sat up, then scrambled to his knees once more. His cock, Nick couldn't help but notice, was still pointing skyward. Nick didn't back away as Julian moved towards him. Didn't do a thing to stop the boy, as he reached up to undo Nick's trousers.
Certainly didn't utter any complaint as Julian eased his aching cock out of the confining clothes and guided it into his mouth.
Nick groaned harshly at the first touch of those teasing, pouting lips. It took all he had not to grab the boy by the hair and fuck that mouth violently, savagely erasing the memory of him doing this to another man. He held on to Julian's shoulders instead, dimly aware he must be bruising the boy. Blood seemed to rush in his ears, and his vision faded...and then Julian pulled off. Nick groaned again and blinked to clear his eyes. Julian was still on his knees, but now he faced away from Nick. God, he was fingering his own arse, his weight braced on his other arm.
It was quite clear what he wanted.
Nick didn't make him wait. Dropping to his knees, he pulled Julian's hand out of the way. His hole, barely stretched, seemed to mock Nick for his hesitation, but instead of thrusting straight in, Nick bent and licked along the length of Julian's crack.
Julian's sobbing moan seemed incongruous, too great a reaction. "Please," he whispered once more.
Nick's fingers tightened upon the slender hips, but nevertheless he bent his head once more. He had to tighten his grasp still further as Julian bucked with every swipe of the tongue. The scent of him... God, Nick would never forget that scent. He'd be able to pick it out in a crowd of thousands, that he was sure of. The smell of Julian, the feel of him, drove Nick wild. Straightening, he lined himself up with Julian's saliva-slick hole and pushed in.
Julian's cries became more high-pitched, and he pressed his hips back against Nick's groin, demanding that Nick go farther, take him more deeply. Nick thought he heard another "please", but he couldn't have sworn to it. His whole attention was focused on his cock and on the boy he was making his own. The scars on Julian's back meant nothing now; it was Nick he'd remember. He slammed into the boy again and again, the force of his thrusts jolting Julian forward on the rug.
It couldn't last. Nick's balls tightened and, as he sank his teeth into Julian's shoulder, his climax rushed upon him with unstoppable force. He had just enough presence of mind not to roar his triumph to the world as he felt Julian's thin frame shudder beneath him, caught in his own completion.
Chest heaving, Nick collapsed half on top of Julian, rolling to one side so as not to crush him. They should probably have used the bed, he thought, but the rug was soft enough not to make it worth moving. Chilly, though. Reaching up, he dragged the throw from the sofa down over them and curled himself around Julian's slender figure.
They lay there for a long time, neither sleeping nor fully awake.
Finally, Julian spoke, his voice hesitant. "I was surprised, you know."
"Mmm?" Nick murmured. God, he felt good. Warm, languid, relaxed, Nick felt like he was floating in golden syrup. Mmm, maybe he and Julian could try something with that some time.
"That you didn't have anyone."
Oh. Some of the warmth seemed to seep away. "I---no. I haven't for a while." He sighed. "I tried seeing someone when I lived in Nottingham, the year after---after Carl, and it didn't end well."
"You didn't turn him." Julian sounded confident of that.
"No, but...damn it!" Nick sighed again and rolled over onto his stomach, staring at the fireplace. "I found that towards the full moon, I became...possessive."
"What happened?" Julian asked, his tone neutral. Nick felt a soft hand stroking his back.
"I---Julian, you must understand that I would never lift a hand to you," Nick demanded, rolling over again to face his young lover. Cool blue eyes met his own calmly.
"You hit him?"
More than once, actually, but Nick couldn't bring himself to tell Julian that. "Yes. Matthew---that was his name---he was, well, chatting with another man. I accused him of flirting and things got out of hand."
He'd beaten Matthew to the ground, in point of fact. A miracle he hadn't caused any serious injury. He'd been damn lucky Matthew had listened to his guilt-stricken, pleading apologies the next day and refused to press charges.
All it had cost him was his boyfriend, most of his friends and any hope of ever finding love. Until now.
Or was he just fooling himself? Did whatever it was he had with Julian bear any relation to love? In some ways it seemed more like a marriage of convenience, with Julian trading sexual favours for what he perceived as Nick's protection of him. God, that was fucked up.
Nick knew he should end it---but damn it, it wasn't like Julian would take a vow of celibacy if Nick dumped him. From what he'd seen and heard, quite the opposite, in fact. Surely if anyone was going to be fucking the boy it might just as well be him?
Nick sighed. "You should probably be going."
The boy nodded and rose. As he collected his clothes, Nick watched the slender, scarred form with an odd feeling of regret.
Julian turned when he reached the door. "Tomorrow evening," he began.
"You'd like to go out?" Nick finished for him. "I mean, for a run?"
Julian smiled. "Yes. I'd like that very much."
Around eleven o'clock, just as she was thinking of having an early night, Julian walked into Tiff's room without knocking as per bloody usual.
"Some of us have essays to write, you know," she muttered, not looking up from her notes.
She heard the flump as Julian threw himself down on her bed. "I could probably put in a good word for you with your supervisor, you know," he suggested, his tone teasing.
"Yeah, right," she said sarcastically. "The more you ask him to go easy on me, the more he's likely to fail me out of spite. He hates me now, or hadn't you noticed?"
There was a pause. Tiff underlined a couple of key points in her notes.
"He doesn't hate you. He has no reason to."
Sometimes, men were so bloody clueless. Tiff threw down her pen. "Tell him that, then. Maybe he'll lay off the sarcasm in supervisions."
"It's not his fault," Julian said. He was silent for a moment. Tiff ripped off the last sheet of notes from her pad and filed it with a snap of the ring binder. "Maybe you should start seeing someone?"
Like it was so bloody easy. "Like you said before, there isn't anyone I fancy. And besides, everyone thinks I'm going out with you. I'd have thought you'd want to keep it that way---or are you and Dr. Sewell planning to go public?"
Silence.
"Jools?" Tiff asked, turning round. Julian was sitting on her bed, all sort of curled up into a ball. "What's wrong?"
"You think we should do that? Tell people what we are?"
Tiff frowned, confused. "You're not making sense. Everyone knows you've had boyfriends, and I don't s'pose Dr. Sewell turns up to LGBT meetings in disguise."
"Doch."
"What?"
Julian ran a hand through his hair. "English. It doesn't have a word for it." He sounded like he was talking to himself. "He is in disguise. He is always in disguise. I too."
Tiff got up from her chair. "You're being really weird." She stopped halfway to the bed, wanting to sit and give him a bloody good cuddle, but getting the crazy impression that if she got any closer, he'd bolt. "Is there something wrong?"
He didn't answer---and she couldn't have said what it was, but just something about the way he was all huddled in on himself sent a splinter of ice into her heart. "He's not hurting you, is he?" she asked, her chest tight.
Her breathing eased as Julian looked up with a ghost of a smile on his lips. "No," he said, sounding almost surprised. His eyes were wide and didn't look away from her. "Would you turn the light out?"
"Er, why?"
"I want to show you something. But I don't want---" He broke off. "Please?"
"Well, all right. But this had better not be some stupid joke." Tiff went to the door and flicked the switch. For a moment the room seemed absolutely black, but gradually her eyes adjusted and shapes became more visible in the faint light that came in through the thin cotton curtains.
The Julian-shape moved. "You see me?"
"Yes. Sort of. Jools, what is all this?"
"I want to show you something," he said again. "My disguise."
Tiff watched in shock as he began to take off his clothes. "Couldn't you just tell me?" If he turned out to be transgender and handed her some bloody prosthetic cock, she didn't think she'd be able to stop herself screaming.
"For this, telling is not enough." His pale skin showed up faintly in the dim illumination, like some fuzzy black-and-white film. He was down to his pants now. Tiffany braced herself as he slipped his thumbs into the elastic and pushed them down.
Well, if he was post-op they'd done a bloody good job. It certainly passed muster in this light. Tiff didn't have a bloody clue what the done thing was in such situations---were you supposed to offer compliments? She was about to say something, though God knew what---and then her breath caught in her throat. Julian was changing.
It was horrible. It was a bit like that scene in a film she'd once seen where a bloke got irradiated and turned to jelly and then liquefied. Julian seemed to flow from one shape into another, his limbs shortening, his back contorting---and God, his face... His face seemed to stretch, as if something was trying to force its way out from inside his skin. Tiffany felt her elbow crash into something and realised she'd backed into the door.
Door. Light switch. Tiff fumbled for it frantically, her gaze riveted to what, five minutes ago, had been Julian. The light came on, blindingly bright, making her eyes water.
There was a wolf sitting by her bed.
"J-J-J..." Tiff swallowed, and tried again. "Julian?"
The wolf got up off its haunches and approached her slowly. It wasn't until its nose was six inches from her jeans that Tiff remembered the door opened inward and she was trapped.
Not that she'd be able to move if she tried.
The wolf sniffed at her, then butted its massive head against her leg. Its tail was wagging. That was good, right?
Or was it just happy now that dinner was served? Tiff heard a whimper escape her.
The wolf backed off a bit and sat back down on its haunches. Its head was about level with her chest. Were wolves always this bloody big? It jerked its head towards the door. "Oh, no. No bloody way am I taking you walkies!" Tiff found she was giggling, and she couldn't seem to stop. The wolf tilted its head. It was quite beautiful, Tiff thought, its fur a grey so pale it was almost white, with delicate markings around large, amber eyes. Almost against her will, her hand crept out to touch the creature's fur. It was softer than she would have imagined, and warm against her fingers. She was suddenly very aware of the flesh-and-blood animal beneath the thick coat---and she jumped as the wolf moved, leaning into her touch.
As her hand fell back to her side, the wolf jerked its muzzle again, towards the door---no, the light switch. "Bugger that," Tiff told it. "That light's staying on this time."
The eyes narrowed, and Tiff tensed, but the wolf simply turned and padded to the other side of the room. And did the whole stomach-churning transformation thing again.
God. It really was Julian.
She'd always wondered what he'd look like naked; bit of a pity she wasn't in any sort of condition to appreciate the show when it was in front of her. But God...were those scars? Where the hell had he got those? And those bruises on his hips, and the marks on the junction of neck and shoulder...
Fuck it. He'd just turned into a bloody wolf in front of her. She couldn't cope with worrying about his obviously kinky sex life as well.
"Julian?"
He paused in the act of putting his trousers back on and looked up at her in that weird way he had sometimes, like he didn't really want to meet your eyes. "So. You've seen all of me now."
What the fuck was she supposed to say? Julian just sat on her bed doing up shirt buttons and was no bloody help whatsoever. "You nearly made me piss myself, you bastard!" Feeling a bit too wobbly to make it to the chair, she sank heavily down to sit on the floor.
Julian gave a shaky sort of smile and came over to crouch in front of her with only one sock on. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "Are we still friends?"
"What...I mean, obviously you're a, a..." Tiff paused and had to force herself to finish. "A werewolf." It sounded absolutely insane to be discussing this. "I mean...how? Is it catching?"
"Only if I bite you," he said, his smile looking a little more certain. "I won't bite you," he added, obviously catching the drift of Tiff's thoughts.
"Are there others?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "My father is the leader of a pack. Come on. Up you get. Sit down here and I'll make you Russian coffee."
"Don't bother with the coffee, just give me the Russian," Tiff told him weakly, but let him help her back to her chair. Stupid legs, going all wobbly on her. He ignored her instructions and put the kettle on, but he did splash a healthy dose of vodka into both their mugs. He'd been taking a big risk this evening, she realised. "Weren't you worried I'd scream?"
"You're supposed to be my girlfriend, remember? I'm allowed to make you scream," he teased.
Tiff snorted. "Don't want to worry you, but I think most people can tell the difference between orgasm and abject terror." She took a big gulp of coffee. The vodka had cooled it down nicely, and she could feel the warmth spread inside her.
She watched Julian. He seemed to be getting the same comfort from the drink that she was. "Are your family all, um...?"
"Only my father. He does not agree with the turning of women." There was more to that; she could tell from the way he said it.
"What about your stepdad? I mean, does he know about you?"
"Of course."
"But he's not one himself?"
"No."
"But he's okay about it?"
"Yes."
"You know, answers of more than one syllable are generally better at conveying information, Jools."
He looked up from his mug and smiled at her just like he'd always done. "Thank you."
"What for?"
"For not screaming. For accepting me. For still calling me Jools. Even though it sounds awful." He walked over and gave her a hug. "I'd better go, it's late. See you at breakfast?"
"Right, yeah. Good night." Tiff watched the door close behind him, then put down her mug next to his on the desk. It was mostly empty, anyway.
So what if her hands were suddenly shaking too violently to hold it?
Nick woke up with an inexplicable feeling of optimism the next morning. He'd slept like the dead after his tryst with Julian, but apparently his subconscious had been working overtime as he found he'd come to a momentous decision.
He was going to move out of college. It was high time, although admittedly it felt a little odd, contemplating leaving the womb-like security of the college. Nick gave a wry smile at himself. He'd often wondered if he'd stay here until he died, a fusty old bachelor fellow in the style of centuries gone by. Up until now, there hadn't seemed to be any point in making a change and, to tell the truth, the loneliness of the prospect had repelled him---but that didn't seem such a problem anymore. It'd be good to have a place where he could, well, be himself. And obviously, it'd make his relationship with Julian less of a potential problem. Clearly, there was nothing wrong with him having a lover who was also a student, but nevertheless, Nick found he was not exactly eager for it to become public, and thus grist for the college rumour mill.
Midway through Michaelmas term was probably the worst time imaginable for trying to find somewhere to rent in Cambridge---but then, Nick wasn't looking for student accommodation, was he? And something a little out-of-town might be a positive advantage, in his case. The fewer neighbours, the better, perhaps.
Warmth spread through him. Finally, he had a chance at having a life.
Seen in the bright October sunshine, his worries about Julian seemed absurd. Ridiculous, to think the boy---the young man, he corrected himself---was sleeping with Nick only out of a sense of self-preservation. He was sure Julian genuinely liked him. And, after all, they had so much in common.
Nick whistled on his way through Main Court, on a whim invoking his fellow's privilege of taking a shortcut across the grass. His tune faltered just a little as he reached the Porter's Lodge to find Nadia awaiting him, arms folded and one eyebrow looking as if it were making a single-handed attempt to raise her height to five foot three.
"Well, I don't suppose I need to ask what sort of a night you had, Nick Sewell!"
Nick grinned. "Probably best if you don't."
"Hmm. Coffee?" She barely allowed him to check his pigeonhole before marching him to the SCR. "I suppose it'd be too much to hope that it's some other young man who's taken your fancy?"
"As you said before, Nadia, I'm a man of fixed tastes."
She dumped two sugars into her mug and heaved a sigh. "Oh, Nick, dearie, I hate to be the one to throw cold water as if you're a couple of alley cats, but are you really sure this is a good idea? He hasn't shown himself to be a particularly constant sort of sod in the past, and, well, eighteen really is terribly young."
"He's nineteen, actually," Nick said with a touch of petulance he couldn't quite quell.
"Well, I concede an extra year makes all the difference in the world."
"Sarcasm, Nadia, is the lowest form of wit. And there's nothing in the college regulations to prohibit a fellow from having a relationship with a student---I checked."
"Which all rather goes to prove my point, doesn't it? Nick, lovey, the Nile may well be, as they say, an awfully pleasant place for a swim, but sooner or later you're going to get eaten by a crocodile."
Nick had a late third-year supervision, so he'd arranged to meet Julian after Formal Hall that evening. He was pleased to note, as he took his seat at High Table, that Julian had waited to eat late too. Not, of course, that they were in any real sense having dinner together. High Table was literally that, set apart on a dais at one end of the hall. But he was at least able to admire from afar the way Julian looked in his undergraduate gown. Underneath, he had on an exceedingly well-cut grey suit, which he wore with a turtleneck sweater. Nick's stomach fluttered pleasantly as he recalled just why Julian might want to wear something with a high neck. He'd have to be more careful around Christmas. He was looking forward to seeing Julian in black tie at some of the numerous formal dinners that would be held then.
Nick barely tasted his food---which, he reflected, was quite possibly a blessing. The kitchen appeared to be having staffing issues again lately. He was careful not to catch Julian's eye as he made a swift exit at the end of the meal and headed straight for the Fellows' Car Park.
It was a frustrating ten minutes before Julian slid smoothly into the passenger seat. His breathing was faster than usual, which did strange things to Nick's libido. "Sorry I took so long. I took my gown back to my room---if you're seen carrying that in the morning, everyone knows you've slept in someone else's bed."
Nick was pleased he'd been so sensible. "No problem. Look, I thought we could go out for a drink first, if that's all right with you?" he suggested, putting the car into gear.
He was too busy reversing round the Master's BMW to catch Julian's expression, but he could hear the smile in the boy's voice as he replied. "Dr. Sewell, are you asking me on a date?"
Nick grinned as he pulled out of the car park and headed off down Trumpington Street. "Well yes, Mr. Lauder, I rather think I am."
The pub he had in mind was The Gog Magog, out towards the hills of the same name. It was far enough out of town for there to be little danger of meeting anyone they knew. Cambridge students, not to mention the fellows, were an insular bunch. It was a pleasant little country inn, without any of the rebranding that had blighted half the pubs in the land in recent years. Just a warm fire, hearty if unimaginative food, and a half-decent pint of beer.
They walked in to find the place respectably busy, but thankfully not so full that they had to wait forever at the bar before being served their drinks. Seats too were easy to find, many of the patrons preferring to prop up the bar.
"So, what do you think of England?" Nick asked as they sat in an alcove in the corner, diagonally across from where a couple of the locals were making inexpert use of the dartboard.
Julian shrugged elegantly. More formal attire really did suit him extraordinarily well. Even if he did look a little overdressed here. "It's...cosy? Gemütlich." He gave a lopsided smile. "I miss the mountains."
Nick grinned. "Did you see the hills we were driving towards? In East Anglian terms, the Gog Magogs are mountains! They're over two hundred-thirty feet tall at the highest point, you know."
Julian laughed. "Not quite the Alps, is it? Strange name, though. They were giants, weren't they? Gog and Magog?"
"I'd be more impressed with that bit of knowledge if I hadn't seen you looking at the pub sign as we came in," Nick said. The sign depicted a rather ugly, one-eyed giant wielding a large club, with tiny villagers fleeing in crudely drawn panic before it. "But yes, in legend, they were giants---or possibly a giant, from a place called Magog, depending which source you read. Apparently he, or they, lie sleeping, buried beneath these hills, although what they're waiting for legend neglects to mention."
"You don't believe the legends," Julian said and took a sip of his drink.
About to laugh, Nick reconsidered. "Well, as a historian I know there's often a grain of truth in myths and legends. And as a---well, you know what---I've become aware that there is, as they say, more in heaven and earth. Perhaps there were some unusually tall men cutting a swathe through the fen countryside many centuries ago---but for my money, dead is dead." He did laugh then. "Unless, of course, you know different."
"I could tell you anything, couldn't I?" Julian mused, his eyes glittering. "And you'd have to believe it. Witches in the Black Forest, mountain trolls, vampires..."
"I may be uneducated in matters supernatural, but I'm not that gullible. Besides which, I've been to the Black Forest. The only witches I saw there were dolls for the tourists."
Julian's smile grew wicked. "Maybe they come alive at night?" he suggested.
"I hope not. My mother still has one hanging in her kitchen!" Nick took a swallow of his lemonade and soda, as usual missing the bitter smoothness of whisky, before changing the subject. "Have you travelled much in this country? Ever been north of Watford Gap?"
For once, Julian's mocking smile seemed to be directed towards himself. "Well, I thought I had, until Tiffany pointed out that Watford Gap is actually nowhere near Watford. At least, not the Watford I know."
Nick tried to quash the momentary irritation he felt at hearing the girl's name. It obviously didn't work, as Julian's face fell. "You know there was never really anything between Tiffany and me, don't you, Nick? We've never been more than friends."
Nick was quite aware his smile was forced, but since amateur dramatics had never been his forte, there was damn all he could do about it. "It's the sea I miss," he pressed on hastily. "Grew up in Cornwall, not far from Land's End."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I admit I'm far from an expert on English accents, but---"
"I know, I know. Product of the public school system, I'm afraid. You know, one of my contemporaries was from Edinburgh. Turned up at school speaking broad Lowland Scots and was told he had two weeks to learn how to speak 'properly'. To hear him now, you'd think he'd never been outside the Home Counties." Nick grinned ruefully. "Of course, I don't suppose that'd happen nowadays. God, I sound old, don't I?"
"You're not old." Julian smiled. "And anyway, I've tried to have relationships with people of my age and it's never worked." He sipped his wine spritzer. Nick wondered if he knew the drink was considered a bit girly over here, not to mention old-fashioned.
"They always want too much, or too little," Julian continued. "If you know what I mean."
"I think I do," Nick told him softly. It was just as well, he reflected, that he'd foregone the whisky, as they were on dangerous ground here. He could feel his hackles rising already at the thought of what Julian had suffered, what had set him apart from his contemporaries. He took a deep breath. "This...man, Julian. Your father's beta---"
"Schräger," Julian put in. "Boris Schräger." His accent was harsh.
"How long were you with him? If that's the right way to describe it."
"It---yes." Julian's gaze was fixed firmly on his glass. "I was his, Nick. For almost two years."
Nick slid his hand unobtrusively over Julian's. Inside, his blood boiled. Two years? That meant since he was fourteen. How could any father do that to his child? "How did you get away?"
"My mother." Julian looked up fiercely. "You must understand that it was not her fault. My father is a forceful man."
Nick barked out a bitter laugh. "I can think of a few ways I'd prefer to describe him." He forced himself to calm down a bit. "So how did you both escape?"
"She came for me while I was at school one day. She told me my father had said we were to take a trip. We came to England with nothing but what we were wearing and what money and jewellery my mother could carry."
Maybe he was reading too much into this, but Nick couldn't stop the chill that ran through him at the way Julian described their flight. "She didn't tell you where you were going and why? Was she afraid you wouldn't go with her if you knew? Christ, Julian, were you in love with that bastard Schräger?"
"Nick." Julian's voice was pleading, and Nick realised uncomfortably that he was half-standing.
God, he'd probably just shouted that last question. A quick scan of the pub confirmed that yes, all eyes were upon him, and he sat, embarrassed and still angry. "That's not what you said before," he muttered, guiltily conscious of the accusation in his tone. "You said you'd fucked."
Nick hated himself for causing the pinched look on Julian's face. "It was...complicated," the boy whispered.
"I'm sorry." Nick ran a hand through his hair. "God, now you know the real reason I don't date. I'm just so bloody awful at it."
Bizarrely, Julian was smiling again. "It's all right. I wouldn't expect you to feel any differently. But can we forget him now?"
Nick took a drink, grimaced at the watery taste, and put his glass down again. "Absolutely. So, er, what were we talking about?"
"You said you were from Cornwall and that you miss the sea."
"Ah, yes. Mm, well, the point is, there's more to the British Isles than East Anglia and Kent. You should take a trip up north sometime---plenty of mountains in Scotland, even if they're not as high as the ones you're used to. And Wales, of course, although it always seems to tip down when I'm there. The rain, I mean," he added in case the idiom was unfamiliar to Julian.
"Rain isn't so bad. At least it keeps the people in their houses. Less chance of being seen when you go out for a run."
"Agreed, and that's probably what we should be doing now, if we're going to." Nick hesitated. "We don't have to, you know. If you'd rather do something else..."
Julian's smile turned teasing. "Oh, I think we could combine the two, don't you?"
Which wasn't, in fact, what Nick had been talking about at all, but now it had been mentioned he was suddenly desperate for the boy. "Shall we, then?" He nodded at his largely untouched drink. "I don't think I'll bother with the rest of that."
Julian smiled and raised his own glass to his lips, draining the contents.
The publican called out a cheery "Good night!" as they left, and Nick felt he might, after all, dare to show his face here again. Outside, it was surprisingly cold, the wind having got up. "I don't think we'll be wanting to spend the night out, do you?" he commented as they got back into the Mini Cooper.
"No. A shame, though." Julian's hand brushed Nick's thigh, a touch innocent of itself, but which sent a surge of arousal coursing through him. Nick had to force himself not to flout the speed limits too outrageously as he drove towards the Godolphin Estate.
Going to the pub had been a good idea, he decided as he pulled Julian to him in the dark of the little wooded area. He felt relaxed---needy, but not savage. Julian seemed to respond to his mood and they kissed deeply, tongues exploring each other's mouths lazily. There was a freshness about Julian's kiss that made Nick want to be gentle with him, protect him. It was only with reluctance that he broke the kiss. "We should get out of the car," he said in an almost-whisper. "More room."
Julian's nod was more felt than seen. They got out and rejoined one another at the front of the car. Their bodies seemed to mould together, and their kiss was, if anything, deeper than before. Nick shivered as he felt Julian pulling up his shirt and exposing his back to the chill night air, but the heat between them was more than enough to compensate.
Nevertheless, Julian abandoned his attempt to get Nick's shirt off, for now, at any rate. He moved his hands round to Nick's belt buckle, and Nick felt his breathing hitch. Backing off a little to give Julian room, he kissed his way down the slender neck that showed up faintly in the pale light of the moon that hung just above the treetops. Nick moaned aloud as Julian opened his trousers and freed his cock. Nick scrabbled at the fastening of Julian's trousers, desperate to return the favour. His knees felt weak as he finally pressed their erections together. Their combined heat seared his palm and sent a wave of sensation shuddering through him, almost as if he'd come at the moment of contact.
"Nick..." Julian whispered.
"Mine," Nick replied, a small part of him ashamed of his possessiveness, but the rest of him exultant. Yes. His, not Schräger's. For once, though, the impulse aroused in him was one of tenderness. He stroked them both slowly, gently---too gently to reach orgasm, but then that wasn't what he was aiming for. Not yet. "I want to take you."
"Yes. God, yes. How do you want me?"
Instead of answering, Nick took hold of Julian's beautiful, firm arse and lifted him bodily onto the still-warm bonnet of the Mini Cooper. Julian's trousers were now in the way, so Nick pulled them off carefully and dropped them, with his shoes, to the forest floor. Then he bent to take Julian in his mouth.
Julian cried out and arched his back, bucking into Nick's mouth. "Stop! Please, I can't..."
"Too much?"
"I want you inside me when I come."
For once, Nick was prepared. He took a condom from his jacket pocket and slipped it on---a little like locking the stable door after the horse had bolted, but better than nothing, he supposed. Shoving the ripped foil back into his pocket, he took out a small tube of lube.
"You don't need to---"
Nick's jaw clenched briefly. "Who is the alpha here?"
He could hear the smile in Julian's voice as he answered. "You are." He lay back on the bonnet, hands hitching up his legs. Baring himself for Nick.
I love you, Nick almost said. He drizzled the lube over Julian's hole and applied it liberally to his own erection. Then, with one hand on his cock and the other on Julian's hip, he pushed in.
He'd thought he knew what it felt like to be inside Julian. He'd known nothing. It was incredible, amazing---pleasure without anger, without jealousy. Before, they'd rutted like beasts. Now, it was something different, something better. Nick's whole body felt electrified by the contact. A simple brush of skin against skin was like three thousand volts directly into the pleasure centre of his brain. Nick moaned, or spoke, he couldn't tell which.
"Need you," Julian said, and it was all Nick could do not to slam into him. But he managed, somehow. He pushed in farther, every fraction of an inch wringing more sensation from him. When Julian's whole body jerked, he knew he was there. Pulling out slightly, Nick thrust into that tight channel again.
"Yes! God, yes..." Julian was babbling, incoherent. Nick set up a rhythm, so exquisitely slow he thought he might die of it. But it was worth it, to see that look on Julian's pale, moonlit face.
So beautiful, Nick thought, and then he felt Julian's body contracting around him and smelt the odour of fresh come, and it pushed him over the edge as well. It was so intense, it was almost painful---like a kind of transformation. It seemed to go on forever. Nick felt suspended between moments, as if nothing could ever be the same again. Then, all too soon, the waves of pleasure subsided and he hung, panting, over Julian's limp body. As his softening prick slipped out, Julian's legs straightened. Nick pulled him up and held him close, feeling come soaking into his shirt and not giving a damn.
His only regret was that it was too cold to linger in one another's arms for long afterward. Reluctantly, Nick released his lover. They stood there in the moonlight for a moment, just looking at each other. "Time to change," Nick said at last, and they silently removed the rest of their clothing. Nick, at least, felt that words, right now, were redundant.
There was a strange kind of beauty in the way Julian transformed. It was a seamless process; analog, not digital, Nick thought incongruously. Like a wave breaking upon the shore. Nick wondered if the process had the same inevitability, once started. If Julian changed his mind mid-transformation, would the process simply reverse itself, like a tape rewound? Nick couldn't imagine himself being able to do that. For him it seemed more like jumping off a cliff: once you started, momentum made the result inevitable.
Julian's lupine form sniffed impatiently at his legs, and Nick realised he was just putting things off. "You know, this would be much easier if you weren't watching," he muttered.
The Julian-wolf wagged its tail playfully and obligingly turned away. Nick laughed joyously. God, he was being ridiculous. It didn't help, though, that the moon had visibly waned since the last time and was also now low in the sky, barely visible above the trees. In fact, if he didn't (no pun intended) get a shift on, he wouldn't be able to see it at all. Nick tried to concentrate, to focus his attention on the moon and its call. Surrender, Julian had said last time. Not something that had ever come easily to Nick. With a sudden flash of insight, he focused instead on Julian's form, let the sight and scent of his mate call to him. And this time, it felt different. Right. In the near-darkness, Julian's pale coat shone like moonlight itself. Like a beacon, guiding Nick to his true form.
Yes. There was still pain---but it was a good sort of pain---and when it had finished, Nick padded exultantly over to his mate.
Who promptly lay on his back, baring his belly. Nick let out a short bark, amused. He nudged Julian with his muzzle and the smaller wolf sprang to his feet. Together, they set out through the now-familiar woodlands.
The night was young, and there were rabbits to be caught.
It was approaching midnight when they got back to college. As they walked through the gates, Nick recalled that he hadn't told Julian anything about his moving plans.
"It's looking like this will be my last year living in," he said conversationally.
Julian turned to look at him. "You are moving?"
"Well, it's more like I hope to be. I'm looking for a house to rent. It should make things easier for, you know, us."
"Yes! Yes, of course." Julian smiled and suddenly seemed ridiculously boyish, causing Nick to feel a strange twinge. "And it won't matter how far out it is, as we'll be able to travel in together. I could leave my bike in college---maybe some of my books, even---"
Nick stopped dead, appalled that Julian had mistaken his meaning in this way. "Julian...you can't just move in with me. Do you want to cut yourself off from all the other students?"
Julian's face froze. "I'm already cut off from them." He looked away.
"Exactly! So it'd be mad to make that even worse. You're only in your first year here. This is when you need to forge friendships, make connections with people. And in any case, I'm not at all sure it would be such a good idea to make things between us...public."
Julian flinched. "I see," he said stiffly, still not looking at Nick. "I apologise."
What the hell was he apologising for? "Do you, ah, want to come up to my rooms for a drink or something?" Nick offered, trying to placate the boy.
"You want me to?" Julian asked.
Nick was tired and fed up of trying to work out what was going on in the boy's head. "What I want is for you to look at me when we're talking!" he snapped, immediately feeling guilty about it as Julian hunched in on himself and then turned to look at Nick with obvious reluctance. He was about to say something when a window slammed shut overhead, making them both jump.
"Goodnight, Dr. Sewell," Julian said politely, his face devoid of any expression.
Nick sighed and returned to his rooms alone.
The wolf's blood was pounding in his ears. His Own was here. Alone.
Trembling, caught between conflicting desires, the wolf could not bring himself to end the chase too quickly. Careful to stay downwind, he tracked his Own. It seemed agitated, indecisive---wandering from street to street, then doubling back upon itself. Of course. His Own needed him. Needed his guidance.
The wolf kept to the shadows, losing sight of his Own where necessary, but never losing the scent. His ears pricked as a new note joined the scent. Arousal. Incensed, the wolf sped his pace, closing the distance between them.
His Own was with another. The wolf watched as they talked. The other grew angry and turned away with a curse.
His Own stood there for a moment, then turned back the way it had come, its back straightening for some reason, its step now sure.
The wolf felt the thrill of adrenaline flooding through his veins. It was time.
Time to reclaim his Own.
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.
Tiff was starting to get a bit peeved. Three times now 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 come to think of 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 Dieter," Jools had said, a sort of dreamy look 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 started to look more like he was having a nightmare. "Boris."
"Who was he? Did he come along and steal Dieter 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. There was a cold wind blowing 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 lasagne 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 realised a bit guiltily that maybe she should have made a bit 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 realised 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 lasagne with her fork before deciding it'd be a shame to waste it even if she was a bit 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 aren'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 Evening 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---it's last night's, I didn't realise 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 whoring 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 that was really wanted was his mouth around the man's cock?
"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 quarrelled, 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 centre' 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, Nick thought, 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 quite clear what he was implying and how he felt about it. 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", Nick thought bitterly. "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, Inspector?"
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---towards 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 sound of the window slamming 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."
"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 thought 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 night spots in town."
"Did Mr. Lauder have any particular favourites?"
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, hating to admit this about Julian. "He was...promiscuous, I think, before he and I got together. I used to see him with a lot of different boys." 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' 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, that's all. 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.
"What? You haven't---oh God, tell me he's not---"
"Oh! Sorry, sir. Slip of the tongue."
You bastard. Nick could barely contain himself from shouting out loud. "If you've quite finished trying to trick me into confessing to a crime we don't even know has been committed?" he asked tightly. "I thought you had an actual murder to investigate."
"Well, since you bring up the subject---" Phillips pushed a photograph across the desk. "This is Andrew Wilson, the young man who was murdered in the early hours of Sunday morning." He paused. "Shortly after you and Mr. Lauder had your little altercation in the Porter's Lodge. His skull had been caved in, and his neck snapped. The body was then roughly hidden behind some rubbish sacks. Were you acquainted with Mr. Wilson?"
Numbly, Nick studied the picture. It showed a smiling young man, probably in his early twenties. He looked far happier and more carefree than any murdered man had a right to. Julian would have made a far more plausible victim, with that hunted look that crept into his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Christ, he was being morbid.
"Mr. Sewell?" A little steel had crept into Phillips' tone.
"No. I'm afraid he doesn't look familiar at all." Nick shrugged awkwardly. "There's no reason he should, after all. I'm quite aware of the existence of gay bars in the city, but I can't say I ever go to any of them."
"No?" Phillips made some more notes.
"Not that I have any dislike for that sort of place, or that I'd be embarrassed to be seen in one, of course," Nick added hastily, cringing internally at his defensive tone.
"Of course," Phillips agreed. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. They were at odds with the rest of him, Nick noticed: stubby and blunt, they didn't appear to belong to his wiry frame. "What about young Mr. Lauder? Did he ever mention Mr. Wilson to you? As a past---or indeed, present---lover, perhaps?"
"Oh, for---I'd be the last person he'd mention something like that to!"
Phillips raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Would you say you were a jealous man, Mr. Sewell?"
Nick laughed nervously, feeling as transparent as glass. "No more so than anyone else, I'm sure, Inspector."
The policeman nodded. "Still, passions can run rather high, can't they? Particularly when someone like your Mr. Lauder is concerned. Judging from the photographs I've seen, he's just the sort of young man someone like yourself might have found very attractive."
Someone like yourself. Nick struggled to keep his temper. And Phillips had deliberately laid stress on young, Nick was certain of it. "Well, of course I found him attractive. I was going out with him!" Nick felt a stab in his gut as he realised his slip. "Am going out with him," he corrected himself weakly.
"Of course, Mr. Sewell. Well, I think that'll be all for now."
He didn't rise, much less offer Nick his hand. It was probably just as well. In his current mood, Nick might very well have ripped it off.
"Bloody bigoted breeder bastard!" Nick exploded as he left the Master's Lodge.
"Nice line in alliteration, dearie, but I doubt it'll help your case if the sergeant hears you talking like that." Nadia gave him a comforting squeeze.
"My case? I see even you've got me halfway to the dock already. Have you seen the way that man looks at me? As if it's only a matter of time before he gets me down to the station and starts pressuring me to admit that I found Julian with the murdered man and killed them both in a jealous rage! God knows where I'm supposed to have put Julian's body but I'm sure they'll be able to tell me!"
"Come on, dearie, I don't think we should be talking about this out here. Students everywhere, the sneaky little buggers. Let's go on up to your rooms and have a glass of that ghastly sherry you keep for anyone unfortunate enough to visit you."
Nick allowed her to lead him up to his rooms, where she eschewed the cut-price crystal in favour of pouring him an earthenware mugful of Harveys Amontillado.
"Now then, lovey, you sit down there and have a swig of that. Tell Aunty Nadia all about it."
Nick almost spilled his sherry with his expansive, despairing gesture. He gripped the mug in both hands and took a hefty swallow. "What is there to tell? The police are a bunch of homophobic bloody bigots who think I'm some kind of serial killer!"
Nadia fixed a shrewd eye upon him. "Or possibly the inspector just doesn't approve of student-fellow relationships? Now, I'm all for calling a queer-basher a queer-basher, and if he is allowing prejudice to affect his handling of the case, I'll be the first to support you putting in a complaint, but I've had dealings with Phillips before and he seemed a decent sort---for a man."
Nick put the mug down. He noticed she'd chosen the one that proclaimed, in the face of all the evidence, that he was the "World's Best Lecturer". Presumably unconscious irony. Tiredly, he ran his fingers through his hair. "God, I don't know." He gave a bitter laugh. "It is usually the lover, isn't it?" He was silent a moment, then asked the question he was dreading having answered. "You don't think he's dead, do you?"
"I think, dearie, that nothing is to be gained by giving up hope just yet. Now, come on, I'll treat you to lunch in town."
"I'm not hungry," he protested.
"Nonsense! It'll do you good to get away from this place for a bit."
And from all the accusing eyes, Nick thought. Resignedly, he followed her out into the sunlight.
Tiff had never been in the Master's Lodge. Somehow she'd thought it would be grander---it was nice enough, with some lovely wood panelling on the walls and lots of stern-looking portraits of previous Masters, but a bit faded, somehow. The curtains smelt dusty, like the ones in her Nan's house that her mum always said couldn't be washed as they'd fall to pieces if you tried. She was shown up to a room with a tatty carpet and an old desk with a policeman sitting behind it.
"Tiffany Meadows? I'm Detective Inspector Phillips. Come and sit down. Is it all right if I call you Tiffany?"
"Er, yes." Tiff pulled the chair out and sat, her hands on her knees. "But I don't know what you're expecting me to tell you apart from what I told them before."
"Oh, I just like to hear things myself. Reported speech is never as good as speaking to the witness yourself."
"But I haven't seen anything---that's the whole point. Joo...Julian's just disappeared. As far as I knew, he was just going out for the night on Saturday. He didn't say anything about going anywhere afterward."
"Hmm. He went out with Dr. Sewell, didn't he?" The inspector smiled at her, but Tiff noticed his eyes stayed cold. "I gather Dr. Sewell is your supervisor? That must be a little strange, your best friend going out with the man who marks your essays."
Tiff shrugged. "It's all right. Dr. Sewell's nice."
"It was a bit of a tempestuous relationship, though, wasn't it?"
"What?" Tiff frowned. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you? Ah, I see. Dr. Sewell didn't tell you he and Julian had an argument on Saturday?"
"No. But what's that got to do with him disappearing? You think he's just bogged off because he was in a mood? Julian wouldn't do that." Not to me, she managed not to add. Then another thought struck her. "You don't think Dr. Sewell's got anything to do with it, do you? That's just daft---" She coloured, realising that probably sounded a bit rude. "I mean, why would he do that?"
"I'm sure you realise we have to explore all the avenues," the inspector said blandly. "Now, is there anything else you can tell us about Julian? Any, ah, relationships he had which were worrying you? Anything at all unusual?"
Tiff stared at the detective and tried to remember all the things that were supposed to make you look innocent. Eye contact---you had to make eye contact. And wasn't there a direction people's eyes were supposed to shift in after telling a lie? Probably safer just to keep on looking at him. But her eyes were starting to water from the effort.
"Everything all right, Tiffany?"
"Yes! Yes, I'm fine. Just trying to think." Tiff laughed nervously, her hands balling into fists in her lap. "No, I don't think so. Jools is pretty normal, really."
For a werewolf.
The college grapevine was in fine fettle, Nick discovered when his first-years turned up for their supervision at two o'clock. Richard (minor public school, plodder) wouldn't meet his eye, and Kate tiptoed in nervously as if she expected Nick to go homicidal any minute. Tiffany looked tired and stressed, her newly styled hair straggling around her face in rats' tails, and Nick felt a sudden surge of affection for her. At least she genuinely cared about Julian. He wasn't just a case to her, or a scandal waiting to happen.
It was easily the least inspired supervision Nick had ever given, but then he strongly doubted any of his students were paying enough attention to notice. At the end, Tiffany stood up resolutely. "Dr. Sewell? Can I have a word with you?"
"Yes, of course, Tiffany." Nick glanced pointedly at Kate, who was dithering in the doorway.
"Um, do you want me to wait for you, Tiff?" Kate's eyes darted to Nick and then flicked away again as if it might be dangerous for them to linger.
Clearly Nick wasn't the only she was irritating, as Tiffany rolled her eyes briefly before turning to the girl. "No, thanks, I'll be fine."
Apparently Kate wasn't convinced. "Are you sure?"
Tiffany gave her a patently fabricated smile. "If I'm not out in an hour you can call the police, all right?" After Kate's huffy departure, she turned to Nick with a guilty look. "Um, sorry about that."
Nick shrugged. "No offence taken." He paused. "Was it something to do with your studies you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, trying to show willingness.
"Um. No. It's---Julian. I just thought maybe we should pool our information. Apart from the obvious problem that I haven't got any. But I think we're the people who know him best, so maybe...?"
"Yes. Yes, you're right." Nick ran a hand through his hair. "Look, sit down and I'll make us some coffee."
Once they'd established that she wasn't the one student in a million who didn't take her coffee white, no sugar, an uneasy silence fell which, predictably, they both tried to break at once.
"Sorry. You go on," Nick encouraged her, glad to have the excuse of politeness for not speaking first.
Tiffany bit her lip. "Look---I thought I ought to say, I know about Julian. What he is, I mean."
Nick stared at her, heart racing.
She swallowed. "The wolf thing, I mean. He showed me. He said you knew too," she added, obviously panicking slightly at Nick's lack of response.
Nick felt lightheaded. It all seemed so unreal, discussing this with a student in broad daylight. "Yes. Yes, I knew. Know."
The tension dropped out of her shoulders. "Good. So do you think it's got anything to do with that? I mean, maybe he saw---you know---and panicked? Got stuck in wolf form and couldn't get back?"
Nick couldn't imagine anything less likely. "I'm still not convinced the murder's got anything to do with Julian's disappearance. I suppose...maybe he didn't want to change back?" he mused aloud. "But damn it, it was such a stupid quarrel."
"That inspector said you'd had a row."
Nick flushed. "Yes---well, just a disagreement, really. I can't---no, no, that can't be it." Nick stared into his coffee cup, watching the dark flecks swirl around where he hadn't stirred the granules in properly. "He wouldn't do that, would he? Make us all worry like this, I mean?"
He felt a hand touch his arm. "No, I'm sure he wouldn't. Not for so long---I mean, they're contacting his family and everything."
Nick looked up into her soothing dark eyes. He gave her a wry smile. "Except, that's hardly comforting, is it? We've just determined that the only reason he's not come back to college is because he can't." He took a deep breath. "Did he ever tell you about someone in Germany? A...boyfriend, I mean. Well, he might not have called him that. Someone who didn't treat him very well."
She frowned. "Boris. But that was ages ago, wasn't it?"
Nick sighed in frustration. "I know---but damn it, it's all we've got to go on."
Tiffany looked troubled. "It could have been anyone, though, couldn't it? I mean, there's got to be plenty of weirdoes out there. Sorry. This isn't helping, is it?"
"Actually it is, in a strange sort of way," Nick admitted. Somehow it was a comfort, having her here. She was kind, and concerned, and she smelt familiar... He frowned, nostrils flaring. "Is that Julian's jacket you're wearing?"
Tiffany coloured faintly. "Yes. He lent it to me last week and I never got around to giving it back."
"It smells of him, doesn't it?" Nick sympathised without really thinking what he said. Tiffany's eyes widened. Too late, it sunk into his aching brain that she hadn't known he was a werewolf. It didn't seem all that important now, in any case.
"I was wearing it the other night," she began slowly. "I put my bike in the shed and then I had this feeling there was someone watching me. I thought I saw his eyes..." She swallowed. "I didn't realise at the time, but they were wolf eyes. Dr. Sewell, this Boris bloke---was he a wolf?"
Nick stared at her, his throat gone dry. Up until now he hadn't really believed it could be that psychotic bastard who had Julian. "We need---" Nick cleared his throat and started again. "We need Julian's father's address. No, telephone number."
"His father?"
"Yes." Nick could feel his face twisting in disgust. "This Boris is a friend of his."
It took a combination of lies, half-truths and evasions, evenly distributed between the Porter, the Master and Angus Lemon, but eventually Nick was in possession of Peter Herrscher's telephone number.
Dialling it, Nick suddenly wished he'd had a stiff drink beforehand. Christ, how was he going to persuade the man to help? Or even talk to him? From all Nick had heard, Julian's father didn't give a damn about his son. His tension increased with every ring of the telephone, and he started when a click announced his call had been answered.
"Herrscher."
Mustering his clearest Hochdeutsch, Nick began his spiel. "Hallo? I'm Dr. Sewell, a fellow at your son's college. I regret to tell you Julian has disappeared---"
"This is already known to me," Herrscher interrupted brusquely.
Nick swallowed and continued. "I wondered if you might be able to tell me anything about Boris Schräger? Are you still in contact with him?"
There was a short silence. "I will be with you tomorrow," Herrscher announced and hung up.
Back in her room, the door locked and bolted, Tiff hugged her cup of coffee. She waited in vain for it to warm her. Dr. Sewell---nice, ordinary Dr. Sewell---was a werewolf. She couldn't believe it. He rode a bike to lectures and drove a Mini, for God's sake. But he'd smelled Julian's jacket. Like a bloodhound or something. That was when she'd remembered what Jools had said, that night he'd changed in front of her. He'd said Dr. Sewell was in disguise too. How could she have forgotten? Of course, she had just seen her best friend turn into a bloody werewolf. That sort of thing wasn't exactly going to help with the logical thinking, was it?
God, how many of them were there round here? Julian, Dr. Sewell, that bastard in the bike sheds who might or might not be holding Jools captive...who might or might not be a murderer.
She tried to imagine Dr. Sewell as a wolf. Looking at her with big, amber eyes. Slinking around the college on all fours, hunting for prey. Her stomach churned, and she put the coffee mug down on her desk, unable to face drinking anymore. It'd gone cold in any case.
Maybe she was reading too much into what he'd said? No. It all made sense. She'd wondered---God, she'd been naïve---just what Dr. Sewell had that all the other blokes Jools had shagged hadn't got.
Turned out it was four legs and a tail.
As dusk fell, Nick leaned his bike against a wall at the edge of Coe Fen and fastened the padlock. He wished to God the phrase "clutching at straws" would get out of his head. All right, it wasn't much to go on---but if the Cambridge Evening News werewolf sighting had been real, and if the wolf had been Julian's insane German ex-lover, then just maybe the fact that he'd come for a run out here meant he was living nearby? And that Julian might be a captive somewhere near? Which meant, in turn, that there was a chance Nick might be able to catch his scent. After all, surely that had been what led him to Julian that night, months ago, outside the Rat & Ferret, even if he hadn't realised it at the time?
It was still too light for Nick to risk changing into a wolf just yet---well, actually, changing into a wolf he might have got away with, as any witnesses were highly unlikely to call the police and risk getting carted off to the funny farm. It was the stripping naked that had to precede the change that might just cause the odd problem. Nick could just imagine what Inspector Phillips would think if he got himself arrested for indecent exposure. So he walked anxiously across the fen in human form, cursing the sun for setting so bloody slowly today. He tried to pick up all the scents that were blowing in the bitter wind, but his human nose was just not equal to the task.
As the last of the light drained from the sky, the temperature dropped. Nick made his way to what cover there was, in a clump of trees a good distance from Fen Causeway. He stripped off hurriedly, shoving his clothes in an Asda carrier bag that hopefully no one would think contained anything worth taking, then steeled himself to transform. The moon was already visible, thank God. Last time he'd focussed on Julian to transform, but he didn't think he could bear doing that now.
Nick fixed his mind on the moon, trying to ignore the fact that it was barely more than half full. In his imagination, he filled it out to a shining silver circle. He concentrated, trying to feel its pull, to let it take him over. The change came with frightening swiftness. As Julian had told him, the pain had lessened considerably. It was like pulling off a scab, this time: intense, but soon over. The ease of it unsettled Nick---it was as if the wolf within him was gaining confidence. Gaining power.
Nick shivered for a moment, standing there on all fours, and then shook himself more deliberately. Julian. That was all that mattered now. Finding Julian. Cautiously, he padded out from the cover of the trees and sniffed at the air.
Nick quickly realised that this was nothing like his little patch of woodland on the Godolphin Estate, haunt of wild animals and the occasional lost rambler every other month or so. Here, close to the city with its people and cars and fast food outlets, the profusion of scents was overwhelming. His nostrils were flooded with the smells of people---hundreds, no, thousands of them---and of the reeking detritus they left: putrid, half-eaten food; empty beer cans; urine tinged with lager. Nick's brain whirled with the input, but he searched on frantically, covering the same ground over and over again, desperate to find some trace of his lover.
There was none.
One thing he was certain of, though: the Cambridge Evening News sighting had been neither a mistake nor a hoax. Another wolf had been here before him. Its scent was unmistakeable---a foul, feral stench like a rotting canker that sickened him to his stomach and sent him snarling into the bushes, his vision misted with blood, to root out this interloper and tear him limb from limb. Nick tried to follow the stinking trail, track it to its source, but it was everywhere---and worse, it was old, thick in the bushes but washed away by recent rains elsewhere and overlaid with yet more pungent odours from two-footed visitors to the fen.
It was long after midnight when a subdued, hopeless Nick hauled himself back into his clothes (thankfully still where he'd left them) and onto his bike to begin the weary ride back to college. He cursed his own ineptitude, his sheer lack of experience at this sort of thing. What kind of a wolf was he? Julian, he felt sure, would have been able to track the invading wolf to its lair.
Nick wasn't fit to have a pack. He wasn't fit to keep a bloody pet poodle.
Next morning Nick rose from his bed exhausted and queasy, having hardly slept. He forced down a cup of tea, but the toast he made clogged his mouth like blotting paper and he discarded it uneaten. He didn't have any lectures first thing, thank God. He paced restlessly in his rooms, struggling to think of something, anything he could do that might be even slightly better than useless in finding Julian, bringing him back. Maybe he should ask around at Julian's old haunts? But what was the point? The police would be doing that already. Nick didn't have the first clue about interrogating a suspect---and he wasn't sure he could trust himself if faced with one of Julian's past conquests. The last thing he needed was an assault charge at a time like this.
Nick stopped in the centre of the room and drew in deep, ragged breaths. He needed to stop running around in circles and just think. Going to Coe Fen had been a ridiculous idea. There would have been no earthly reason for Julian to go there of his own accord. Far more likely he'd have headed into town for solace. Nick found his face drawing up into a snarl and forced his breathing to slow. Calm. Focus.
He needed to go into town in wolf form and try to pick up a scent, that was all. Which meant waiting until after dark, and then hoping he'd be mistaken for a dog. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Perhaps he could persuade Tiffany to pretend she was taking him walkies? She'd seemed astonishingly matter-of-fact about Julian being a werewolf, after all. Nick only wished he could have had half her composure on discovering their existence for the first time.
But what the hell was he going to do in the meantime?
The phone rang, answering his question and sending a physical jolt along his spine with its discordant jangle.
"Yes?"
"Is that Dr. Sewell?" The Master's querulous tones sounded down the line. "Are you there, Dr. Sewell?"
"Yes, yes, I'm here, Dr. Earle." Nick hurried to reassure the old man before he started banging the phone on the hook and calling for the exchange. God knew, Cambridge was full of people clinging on to the past with both hands, but the Master's skeletal grip seemed more tenacious than most. Nick was half surprised he hadn't become a High Court judge.
"Ah. Good. I wonder, Dr. Sewell, if it isn't too much to ask, but as I understand you are, ah, familiar with our unfortunate Mr. Lauder, perhaps I might prevail upon you?"
Nick forced himself to speak calmly. "What can I do for you, Dr. Earle?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Markham arrived in Cambridge late last night. Julian Lauder's mother and stepfather, you understand. I spoke with Mr. Markham this morning and both he and his wife would like to meet you. If you don't have any pressing duties today..."
"I..." Nick hesitated. "I have a supervision booked, but I can't see any reason why it couldn't be rescheduled." The students would most likely be heartily relieved.
"Good man. The Markhams are staying at the University Arms. I offered the use of the Lodge for your interview, but Markham seemed to think his wife would find it too, ah, painful."
Too painful? Or not private enough? Nick could think of several reasons why the Markhams might not want their discussions overheard.
He hoped the true reason wasn't that, like Inspector Phillips, they'd already decided on his guilt and intended to bludgeon him to death and hide the body.
Nick decided to walk to the hotel rather than cycle. It would give him a chance to grab a sandwich on the way and avoid lunch in college. God knew he had little enough appetite as it was, without having to face the stares of a Hall-full of prurient students.
He bought a cheese-and-tomato roll from the baker's in St. Andrew's Street and sat to eat it on a bench on Parker's Piece. On a fine summer's day this squarish patch of grass would have been crowded with young people from town and gown alike, enjoying the open space and a rare chance to acquire a suntan. Even on this grey autumn afternoon, there were a few hardy students playing an impromptu game of football. Nick envied them their lack of any more pressing worries than whether they'd manage to get their essays in on time, or whether their student loans would last out the term so they wouldn't have to go begging for handouts from Mum and Dad.
Turning up the collar of his jacket against the freshening breeze as it sent its icy fingers playing along his spine, Nick stared across the Piece at the hotel. The Master hadn't given him a clue how he was likely to be received by Julian's parents, but they obviously knew about him and Julian. Nick could hardly imagine them being overjoyed about their son's relationship with a man so much older. Perhaps they saw him as some kind of English Schräger, taking advantage of a vulnerable boy? Nick shuddered.
At least Julian's sexuality couldn't have been news to them. And they were aware of his promiscuity---Angus Lemon's comments about Markham proved that. Perhaps, then, they might not be so upset at learning that he and Nick had been in a steady relationship?
Nick crumpled up the paper bag that had housed his lunch and stood. Sitting here putting things off wasn't helping anyone, least of all himself. Chucking the rubbish into a nearby bin, he set off across the grass towards the University Arms.
The University Arms was perhaps not the most exclusive hotel in Cambridge---the Garden House, down by the river, was generally considered to hold that honour---but it did have a certain old-world grandeur. The chandelier in the lobby could have been a standin for the one in The Phantom of the Opera, and some of the staff even spoke with English accents.
Nick was directed to a lift of the old-fashioned cage sort, with a plaque commemorating its installation by Waygood Otis himself in 1927. Nick wondered irrelevantly, as he slammed the iron gate shut, what had happened to names like Waygood. It was probably ripe for rediscovery by modern generations---he could easily imagine a couple of chavs looking fondly at their newborn, one of them saying "Yeah, Chantelle, he looks way good." A portrait of the man himself stared back at Nick from the lift wall. He didn't look like he'd have much of a sense of humour about his name or, indeed, anything else. Nick felt a childish urge to make a rude gesture at him, but instead pulled open the gate once more as the lift juddered to a halt.
The Markhams were staying in suite 321, which was the most expensive in the place. Nick straightened his shoulders as he knocked on the door, reminding himself that, as a fellow of a Cambridge college, he had no reason to feel ill-at-ease in such surroundings. Nevertheless, it took all his effort not to jump when a stern voice shouted "Come in."
As he stepped into the room, Nick's eyes fell first upon a blonde woman standing by the window, her face pale in the grey autumn light. Julian's mother, she must be---but Christ, she could have passed for his twin sister. Same hair, same slender beauty...same troubled eyes. No wonder the boy had a difficult relationship with his father. There must have been nothing of the man in him.
Markham was a stiff figure at her side, somewhat round-shouldered in the manner of the unusually tall man who spends his life bending down to talk to people. His arm hovered constantly around his wife's shoulders, but it seemed to Nick more of a protective than a possessive gesture.
"Ah. Sewell?" Markham stepped forward, hand outstretched.
Nick took it mechanically. Markham's grip was cautiously firm, as if he worried smaller fingers might be crushed by his outsize grasp. "Mr. Markham. And Mrs. Markham. I can't tell you how sorry I am that we're meeting under such difficult circumstances."
Elisabeth Markham gave a wan smile. "You must call me Lili. I know...my son has written to me about you."
Well, that at least was a relief. Probably. Nick hadn't been looking forward to dealing with a mother coping with the dual blows of her son's disappearance and the revelation of his homosexual relationship with an older man. "Oh? He, ah, didn't mention that to me," Nick stalled, hoping she'd let slip just what Julian had said about him.
"He finds it difficult, sometimes, to be open with people. He's just a boy." She seemed to be struggling not to cry.
Markham stepped in firmly. "Point is, Sewell, the boy trusts you, so we do too. Drink?"
Nick took the glass of sherry Markham poured him from the decanter in the room, although he was rapidly coming to loathe the stuff. They trusted him because Julian did? Nick wasn't sure that he'd take that as any kind of recommendation.
"Now, we understand you're aware of Julian's...unusual background," Markham began.
Nick shot him a sharp glance.
"He said that you were one too," Lili put in softly.
Well, this was all just so terribly British, wasn't it? All of them dancing politely around the elephant in the room, leaving Nick totally confused as to whether it was in fact an aardvark. Abruptly he couldn't take it anymore. "You mean a homosexual? Or a werewolf?" Nick's heart was pounding ridiculously at his having come out and actually said the last word.
Markham just gave him a disappointed look, as if he'd caught him cheating at cricket. "Both, of course."
"Right. Yes." Nick felt wrong-footed, somehow, as if he hadn't been the one to try to force the candour in the first place. He forced himself to look Julian's mother in the eye. "That doesn't worry you? I mean, after what happened in the past..." He trailed off as she flinched at his reference to Schräger.
"It is what he needs," she said in her quiet, musical voice.
Nick's eyes darted to Markham, but his face was unreadable. What must it be like, to have to accept all this from the outside? Or was it simply that he didn't really care about Julian? Nick tried to imagine caring for the offspring of the person he loved and another man, and failed dismally. Remembering the glass in his hand, he took a quick drink.
"We need to know if there's anything you can tell us. Anything you might not have wanted to say to the police." Markham's tone was softer, this time, as if in deference to the woman by his side.
"About where Julian might be? I wish to God there was," Nick told them. Although that wasn't exactly true, was it? "I should probably tell you I've been in touch with..." Nick hesitated. Saying "Julian's father" might not go down too well with Markham. "Peter Herrscher," he finished.
Markham stiffened, his arm tightening around his wife as she paled still further.
Nick hastened on. "He said he would be coming here tomorrow. Actually that's pretty much all he said, I'm afraid. He was somewhat brusque."
"Now, see here!" Markham's voice was tight. "I really don't see any reason for that man to be involved."
Nick had been dreading this. "Look, I don't like it any more than you do, but we may need him." He was still stalling, he realised. "I think Boris Schräger may have Julian," he said bluntly.
Lili seemed to crumple, and Markham helped her into a chair, shooting Nick a look of pure loathing that he tried not to take personally. "You'd better have a damn good reason for suggesting that."
"I don't, not really. But a friend of Julian's thought she saw a dark wolf a few nights ago, and Herrscher's reaction to the name was instant. I don't think he'd be rushing over here if Schräger was still safely under his thumb in Germany."
"Damn it!" Markham swore explosively. "You'll have to excuse me, but the man's a psychopath. Julian was a damned mess when Lili first brought him to me. Took a good year to get him even halfway straightened out. Wish to God I'd brought my gun. Brute needs to be put down like the animal he is. No offence meant, Sewell."
"None taken," Nick said dryly. Lili was still looking like a beautiful marble statue, but she roused herself, showing a hint of the determination that had carried her and her damaged son across Europe. "If he is offering help, you should accept it, Dr. Sewell," she said in a low, firm voice. "But do not leave him alone with my son."
Nick nodded grimly. "You don't need to worry on that score."
Markham nodded. "Good man. Lili, why don't you go lie down for a while? I'll come in and see you in a minute. Just a couple of things I want to talk over with Sewell."
She gave a wan smile and nodded. "Thank you for coming to see us, Dr. Sewell. I hope that next time we meet it will be under happier circumstances."
Nobody spoke until the door to the bedroom had closed behind her, then Markham heaved a sigh. "I don't mind telling you, we'd hoped to hear better news from you. With the news of that murder...well, we're under no illusions as to Julian's character. Fact is, we rather thought you'd been responsible for the boy's disappearance." He held up his hands as Nick rounded on him, shocked. "I may not have your inside knowledge, but I'm well aware that things are done somewhat differently in your world. Can't say I approve, but, well, there it is."
Nick's mind reeled. "You thought I'd...what? Found Julian screwing around, murdered one boy and beaten the other bloody, then hidden him away somewhere until he was fit to be seen?" He turned away to look out of the window, leaning heavily upon the sill. "Christ, don't even tell me." This was what they thought of him---and yet they said they trusted him? Outside, the skies were greyer than ever, and a fine mist of rain had begun to fall. "You're wrong. The only 'world' I know is All Saints' College, Cambridge." And Julian. "I suggest you stop thinking of me as a, a werewolf and start thinking of me as a lecturer in History."
Markham puffed out another heavy sigh. "Well. Can't say I'm not disappointed, but I suppose there's no help for it. Perhaps it's just as well that damned Herrscher's on his way."
Nick walked slowly back to college, the rain soaking into his hair and trickling down inside his collar. The footballers on Parker's Piece had abandoned their game and the place now looked empty and forlorn. Even the people in town now hurried from shop to shop without looking at one another, their heads bent against the rain.
Nick had never been amongst so many people, yet felt so alone.
Tiff sat in her room, staring out of the window. She'd had a rubbish night's sleep and even her third cup of coffee didn't seem to be having much effect. Unless you counted making her hands shake and her stomach feel queasy. Everyone said not knowing was the worst bit---but surely it was better to have even the smallest bit of hope? Tiff couldn't imagine she'd feel relieved if they found Julian's body. She hugged herself, fighting the sting of tears. God, she was being pathetic. Fat lot of use she was to Julian, wherever he was.
Where the hell could he be? "Think, Tiff," she told herself aloud, which at least distracted her from her misery by making her feel like a prat. "Think logically." If Jools was alive, he was obviously being held somewhere, or he'd come back, wouldn't he? So that meant some kind of building. But how had Boris the Bloody Bastard---if it was him---come up with a building to hold people in? Well, rental was the obvious answer, but only if you didn't know Cambridge. Halfway through the Michaelmas term was the worst possible time to find anything to rent round here.
But then, what if he'd planned this ages ago? He'd been hanging around for a while, she was sure of it. Doing the creepy stalker thing. He was probably the sort of person who didn't deal well with people---seemed a fair enough guess, from what she'd heard and seen. This was the sort of bloke whose idea of social interaction was stalking people in underground bike sheds.
So where would he go? Somewhere out of town? Tiff's heart sank. He could be anywhere. But then, did he even have a car? Could he have rented one? Bought one? He must be capable of acting human enough to get a bloody airline ticket, after all. Tiff chewed her lip in concentration. She didn't know. But somehow, she just had this feeling he was closer at hand. He'd been seen on Coe Fen---if you were living out in the wilds and you wanted a run, you'd stay out in the country, wouldn't you? And well, he just seemed like the sort of psycho who'd want to keep as close an eye on Julian as he could.
She hoped.
So. Assume, for the sake of sanity, he was still in town. Where was he living? Not in a hotel, that much was obvious. And she doubted he had any friends in Cambridge---certainly none who'd be willing to give indefinite houseroom to a madman and his kidnap victim. A lone wolf. He'd probably have gone round looking for an empty house---even here, there were abandoned properties, their boarded up windows mocking the poor students who could only find somewhere to live way out past Girton. Derelict houses, investment properties. Squats.
But how did you find out about these places? If you were a wolf, she supposed, you just wandered round until you found a place that didn't smell inhabited. Or you stayed in a hotel and looked around in human form, maybe. He'd had all the time in the world, after all.
But Julian didn't. Julian needed to be found as quickly as possible. Tiff threw herself out of her chair and paced restlessly across the carpet. She could try an estate agent---they'd know about empty properties, wouldn't they? Or would they only know about the ones owned by their clients? Tiff realised she didn't have a bloody clue how it worked. But surely they'd specialize in non-abandoned properties, anyway? She needed someone who knew about potential squats. Maybe there was some sort of student network for finding them? Like Facebook, only seedier? Squatbook? Mysquat?
Tiff didn't know. But she knew a man who would.
Crack.
Slinging on Julian's jacket, she raced down to the Porter's Lodge. Crack, Crack...what was his last name? Uppingham, that was it. He was a second-year Social and Political Sciences student and, more to the point, he lived in a squat. He was famous for it---the closest thing All Saints had to a rebel, really, in the sea of awfully nice middle-class students from minor public schools. She'd never actually spoken to him, but then, she'd never imagined she'd want to speak to him before. She'd always thought he was a bit of a poser, really.
Tiff scanned the bank of pigeonholes for Uppingham, C. There it was. Stuffed to bursting, mostly with flyers for student rallies by the look of it, but also with a big wodge of photocopied lecture notes, presumably from a friend who didn't mind being the one to get up early. So he hadn't been into college yet today. Should she leave him a note, or just hang around and wait? A couple more students bustled in, giving her brief, curious glances as she dithered. Clearly she couldn't wait here. Maybe in Main Court with a book and hope he came in for lunch?
But what if she missed him? Belt and braces, she decided, and left a brief note saying she had to speak with him urgently about Jools. Hopefully the gossip factor would get his interest because her name certainly wouldn't. Then she took a quick detour to the college library and settled down on a bench in the watery sunshine with Far From the Madding Crowd.
Tiff had just got to the part where Bathsheba tells Gabriel she doesn't love him, and he replies "But I love you---and, as for myself, I am content to be liked." It was a load of bollocks, she decided. Didn't he have an ounce of self-respect? She shut the book with a disgusted snap and only then noticed a slender shadow falling across her.
Crack.
He was tall, taller than Julian, even, and way, way thinner. If you sat on his lap you'd be worried his legs might snap. Tiff wondered if he'd taken in his skinny black jeans himself---no shop sold jeans that narrow---or if he had an anorexic girlfriend back home who did it for him. Come to think of it, he'd probably nicked them from the anorexic girlfriend. Slung round his hips was a thick, studded leather belt that probably doubled his body weight. He was ghostly pale and had a long, straight nose---all the better to look down at you, my dear. Tiff shivered as she realised where that came from. God, was she seeing wolves everywhere? She gave him a searching look in the eyes---green, thank God, not amber---and then felt her face grow hot. As if he'd have wolf eyes in a human face.
Then she saw the faint smile curling those thin lips. Oh, bloody hell, he thought she'd been eyeing him up again. You could probably cook eggs on her face now, Tiff thought, but she was damned if she'd let embarrassment get in the way of anything that might help Julian. "Crack! Um, thanks for...can we talk?"
He tossed his head, dead-straight black hair falling to one side. "I'm listening."
"Um, do you want to sit down?" Tiff scooted self-consciously across the seat to make far more room than his skinny arse would need. He didn't take it, anyway.
"Nah, I'm good."
Poser. "Well, I'm not. I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you," she snapped before realising this probably wasn't the best way to go about getting him to do her a favour. Then again, he sat, so maybe she was doing all right.
With him sitting, they were almost of a height. Was he entirely made of legs? Bony knees jutted skywards, and Tiff remembered her earlier thought about sitting on his lap. You'd end up with major lacerations to the buttocks. "I need to know about squats," she blurted out before her head could get any more scrambled.
Crack raised both eyebrows. So it wasn't just Tiff who couldn't raise one on its own, she thought, pleased. "Squats? What, spent the rent money on drugs and pretty boys?"
"Yeah, right. No. I just need to know---is there some sort of network, or word-of-mouth, or something? I mean, how do people find out about places?"
"What's this got to do with Julian Lauder?"
Bugger. "I think he might be in one, all right? With...with an ex-boyfriend."
Crack nodded as if that'd entirely satisfied his curiosity. Then he tossed his hair back again and looked straight at her, green eyes piercing. "Why should I help you find him if he doesn't want to be found?"
"Because the boyfriend's a bastard who used to beat him up." She felt horrible, giving away Julian's secrets like that. She should have thought of something else. Sod it. There wasn't time to worry about stuff like that. Crack blinked. Tiff could almost see him thinking "But why would he stay with him, then?" like he'd never heard of domestic abuse before. "So, are you going to help me, or what?" she demanded.
Crack unfolded himself and stood, jamming his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. "When do you think the boyfriend moved in?"
Just one more thing Tiff didn't know. She resisted the urge to snap at Crack and thought for a moment. "Could have been any time. But say around the start of term? Or just after, maybe. I don't think he'd have come here before Julian did."
Crack nodded, his black hair falling over his eyes. He tossed it back to hang over his left ear again. "Okay. That makes it simpler. Are you eating in Hall tonight?"
"Yes. You think you'll have had time to ask around by then?" Tiff seemed suddenly to have butterflies in her stomach.
Crack started to nod again, then seemed think better of it. Maybe his neck was aching from all that hair-tossing. "Yeah. So I'll see you tonight, right?"
"Right." Tiff remembered her manners. "Thanks." She drew Julian's jacket closer around herself. All the sunshine had faded from the sky, and it was starting to look like rain. She shivered and headed back to her room.
Nick was bone-weary as he walked stiffly through the Porter's Lodge on his return from the University Arms. Despite determinedly ignoring everyone he passed, he didn't make it even halfway to his rooms before he was accosted.
"Sewell? Been looking for you." It was Angus Lemon. And all right, Nick's Most Hated People list might have become quite a lot longer in recent weeks, but Angus Bloody Lemon was still impressively near the top of it.
"Yes?" Nick replied brusquely, not caring that he sounded rude.
"You're wanted in the Master's Lodge. Police are here again."
Icy fingers twisted Nick's intestines into tight knots as he hurried to the Master's Lodge.
He was ushered up to the same room as before, where Detective Inspector Phillips sat at the desk as if he hadn't moved since yesterday, wearing the same suspicious look as he watched Nick come in. This time, though, he wasn't alone. A uniformed constable stood in one corner, hands clasped behind his back. Something in his posture made Nick think of medieval executioners, but even without this imagery, it seemed ominous that Phillips had apparently felt the need to bring in reinforcements.
Phillips evidently tracked Nick's gaze. "Oh, Constable Rupresh will be with us today. Sit down, please, Dr. Sewell." He'd called Nick by his academic title. That could either be good, or it could be very bad indeed.
Or it could mean absolutely nothing at all, Nick reminded himself angrily. He sat. "Any news?"
Phillips nodded. "We've been investigating last Saturday's crime scene and the surrounding area, and one or two things have come to light." He turned to his subordinate. "Rupresh?"
The constable demonstrated that he was not, in fact, made of stone. Moving over to the side of the room, he pulled a large zip-locked bag out of a briefcase. Nick's heart stilled. The bag contained an item of clothing that seemed horribly familiar. Phillips took the bag and laid it upon the desk between them. "Would you say, Mr. Sewell, that you've seen this before?"
Nick cleared his throat. "It looks---it looks like Julian's sweater. Where did you get it?"
Phillips didn't speak for a moment, his lips tight. "Two streets away from the site of the murder. Would you care to give it a closer examination, Mr. Sewell?"
Without waiting for an answer, he unzipped the bag and shook out the turtleneck sweater Julian had been wearing Saturday night. Julian's scent flooded the room, and Nick made a convulsive movement towards the sweater, which he quickly aborted.
He didn't dare to hope that it had gone unnoticed. But Christ, that scent... Maybe a scientist could have analysed it, described each component. How many parts musk, how many parts fabric softener, how many parts expensive toiletries. To Nick, however, it was more an emotion in olfactory form, an elemental mixture of pack and mate and mine, mingled with a heartbreaking strain of stolen and lost. Couldn't Phillips smell it? How could something so powerful not affect him?
Had the man no feelings at all?
"Would you be able to confirm that this is Mr. Lauder's sweater?" Phillips asked mildly.
Nick blinked, his mind reluctantly returning from the language of his senses to that of the human world. "Yes. It's Julian's." He drew in a shuddering breath, trying to make himself think as well as feel and react. "There's no blood," he added with a mix of relief and a strange disquiet he couldn't, as yet, explain.
"Very observant of you, Mr. Sewell." Damn it. Phillips was looking at him with an odd sort of stillness. As if he was a wolf, about to pounce. "Can you think of any reason why Mr. Lauder might want to get rid of his clothing shortly after a murder had taken place?"
"You can't think Julian did it!" Nick snapped, hoping he'd only imagined the trailing off of his voice into a questioning tone at the end. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Leaning forward on his elbows, Phillips didn't drop his gaze from Nick's face for an instant. "Now, I'm not suggesting it was premeditated murder. You said yourself that Mr. Lauder was promiscuous. Perhaps this other young man had just found out how free Mr. Lauder was with his favours? It's easy to imagine a quarrel getting out of hand---"
"You obviously don't have the first idea what Julian is like. I told you, he doesn't fight. Bash in a man's skull and break his neck? Don't make me laugh!"
"If you wouldn't mind sitting down again, Mr. Sewell," Phillips said in a calm, even voice that made Nick want to rip his face off. "Mr. Sewell?" he repeated in a steelier tone, and abruptly Nick realised just how very thin was the ice upon which he was skating.
He sat down shakily. "It's all baseless speculation in any case," Nick protested, trying to remain calm. "Julian wasn't seeing anyone except me."
"Of course not, Mr. Sewell. Although one can never be sure, can one? Particularly with a young man of Mr. Lauder's...history."
"I'm sure!" Nick snapped and felt like an idiot for doing so. He could hardly tell Phillips that he'd have smelled it on Julian, had he been cheating on him. "I suppose now you'll say I did it and killed Julian too?" he muttered bitterly.
"Jealousy can make a man do things he wouldn't ordinarily dream of," Phillips mused.
It wasn't so much his words as his apparently sympathetic tone that made Nick's rage flare once more. "Inspector Phillips, I am a fellow of a Cambridge college. I've got more letters after my name than are bloody well in it. I am quite capable of recognising your nasty little mind games."
Phillips' jaw tightened, Nick was pleased to see. "Nevertheless, Dr. Sewell, I'm sure you won't mind my asking you a few more questions." He cocked his head to one side. The late autumn sunshine trickling half-heartedly through the leaded windows cast eerie shadows on his face, making his lean features appear lopsided and sinister. "Perhaps we might just go over the details of your argument with Mr. Lauder one more time?"
Nick felt his hackles rise, at the same time as a hollow feeling made itself known in the pit of his stomach. Games within games. Was this bastard ever going to stop playing with him?
By the time Nick escaped from the Master's Lodge, he felt more wrung out than he had after his long-ago finals. Phillips had gone over the events of that awful night in ever more excruciating, mind-numbing detail, obviously hoping to catch Nick in a slip of some kind. The worst of it was, Nick was quite aware he'd been within a hairsbreadth of making one several times over. Not the sort of slip Phillips had been looking for, but he had no doubt the man would be highly interested all the same. After all, evidence of insanity was all grist to the crime-solving mill, wasn't it? And believing oneself a werewolf was quite clearly insane.
Nick gave a choking half-laugh, making a couple of students nearby give him startled looks and quicken their pace through Main Court.
He wasn't sure if his rooms, when he finally reached them, felt more like a haven or a prison. Pacing about, unable to settle to anything and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now, Nick was almost relieved when the phone rang.
"Dr. Sewell? It's the Porter's Lodge here. Some gentlemen to see you---a Mr. Herrscher and two companions. Will it be all right to direct them to your rooms?"
"I---yes." Nick had been about to offer to come down and meet them, as he would have done for any other visitors, but decided it might be better not to conduct any more business in public than could be helped. Especially not this sort of business.
Herrscher's knock, when it came, was loud and aggressive. Nick took a deep breath, tried to rein in his irritation, and opened the door. The man in the middle must be Herrscher---he had an unmistakeable aura of command. He was tall, blond, broad-shouldered---in fact he seemed more Nordic than Teutonic. Nick could easily imagine the man in an apocryphal horned helmet, raping and pillaging his way around the English coast. He was flanked by a couple of what Nick could only have described as henchmen. Nick could feel his hackles rising already as he was faced by three strange wolves---for that, they undoubtedly were---on his territory. "Come in," he said, trying to conceal his reluctance to allow them over the threshold.
Closing the door behind them only served to emphasize how small the room was with four full-grown werewolves inside. Herrscher nodded at Nick, but made no move to step forward and shake hands. "This is Luther," he said curtly, inclining his head about a millimeter to his right. He is my lieutenant, you would say."
"I would?" Nick looked at the bulky man. "I thought 'enforcer' was the common term these days. Although my knowledge of gangland slang is undoubtedly out-of-date."
Herrscher ignored the sarcasm. "And this is Wahl. He will track Schräger and the boy." Wahl was a slender man with over-long brown hair and a moustache. He looked ridiculously small next to Herrscher and Luther.
Bloody marvellous, Nick thought to himself. The muscle and the sniffer dog. "You seem very confident in his abilities."
"Yes."
Nick gave him a steady look, trying not to let his antipathy show. Apparently Herrscher had no such scruples. "You are my son's lover?" he asked aggressively.
"Yes," Nick said tightly. Obviously Herrscher had paused to acquaint himself with college gossip on arrival. Or possibly the police had told him. Not that it mattered which.
Herrscher sneered down at him. "You are not what I would have expected."
Abruptly Nick couldn't care less about maintaining the illusion of politeness. "No? Were you expecting something more like that sadistic bastard you turned him over to?" His hands were clenched into fists, and he trembled with the effort of not launching himself at the man.
Herrscher gave an approving smile that made Nick feel sick to his stomach. "So. You are stronger than you look. Good. Schräger exceeded his authority and was disciplined for it."
Schräger. That must be the bastard who'd given Julian those scars. "Gave him a good thrashing, did you?" Nick asked, unable to keep the disgust out of his tone.
"You have not a pack, I think?" The smug expression didn't change. "You know nothing of discipline."
"And you know nothing about fatherhood."
Herrscher's eyes narrowed. "I had thought you would wish my help in finding the boy. Perhaps I am wrong."
Nick fought down the instincts that screamed at him to rip out the bastard's throat. "You know something? Then tell me, damn you!"
"Schräger has disappeared also."
Nick took in a deep, shuddering breath as he was hit with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The thought of Julian with that bastard made him want to throw up---but if Schräger had him, Julian was probably alive.
"When?"
Herrscher shrugged. "For a few months. Schräger had become a troublemaker. It became necessary to discipline him further in the eyes of the pack. But he is not a man who takes these things well. When he disappeared, it was not a surprise."
Then he could have been the wolf on Coe Fen---could certainly have been Tiff's shadow in the bicycle sheds. Had he come looking for revenge on Herrscher via his son? Or had he just wanted to salve his ego with someone he'd always been able to dominate? Nick felt physically sick. "Wait---you knew, and you did nothing to warn Julian? Have you told the police this? Given them a description of the man?"
"This is not a matter for the police. It is unfortunate that they have become involved. And I had no grounds to believe that he would seek my son."
"Not a matter for the police? Are you mad? This man is a killer. We need to find Julian, quickly."
"And we will find him. Do you wish for your true nature to be revealed, Dr. Sewell? I will not risk the liberty of my pack in any way. It is unlikely that Schräger will harm the boy."
Nick stared. "I think, Herrscher, that we have very different definitions of the word harm. Also of acceptable risk."
Herrscher sneered. "I would agree with you there, Dr. Sewell. But we do not even know if indeed it is Schräger who has him. You have grounds to believe that it is him?"
"I have reason to believe a wolf has been stalking Julian, yes." Nick was loath to bring Tiffany into this as a witness. He wouldn't wish Herrscher on his worst enemy, let alone an eighteen-year-old girl whose only crime was wearing the wrong jacket.
"And you have information on this wolf's whereabouts?" he persisted.
"A sighting here in the college---which is no use at all---and another on Coe Fen. But I've searched around the Fen Causeway area---it's like looking for a needle in a bloody haystack." Nick's jaw clenched at having to admit his failure to Herrscher.
"You scented another wolf?"
"Yes." Nick felt his face twist as he snarled the word.
"Then we will start there. If it is Schräger, then we will know. And we will track him."
"What makes you think you'll do any better than I did?"
Herrscher just looked at him, a smug smile playing about his lips that made Nick want to rip his face off. "We have a little more experience, I think," he said at last, his tone inoffensive to the point of insult.
Clenching his teeth until his jaws ached, Nick forced himself to think of practicalities. "How will I reach you, if I need to?" Herrscher reached into his pocket for a mobile phone, and they exchanged numbers. "Where are you staying?" Nick asked, dismally failing to keep his tone conversational.
"Outside of town. A house in a village. It is more private than a hotel."
"You managed to arrange that very quickly."
Herrscher cocked his head to one side, and for a ghastly moment Nick could actually see some resemblance to Julian. "I did not think you wished me to come here to discuss rental arrangements, Dr. Sewell, but to find the boy. Or was I mistaken?"
Nick took an involuntary step forward, his fists clenching. The two henchmen mirrored his movement, and Herrscher, damn him, laughed. "We will go, I think. Kommt." He turned and led the way from Nick's rooms. The bulky one, Luther, backed out slowly, his eyes tracking Nick until the door closed behind them.
Exhausted, Nick sank into a chair. He jerked at the sound of a knock on the door. "What?" he yelled, then recollecting himself, "Come in."
Faces carefully schooled into blandness, a group of second-years trooped in. Nick looked at his watch. Their supervision should have started ten minutes ago, he realised. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to will himself calmer. When he opened them again, three white faces were staring at him. "Well, sit down." he snapped.
They scrambled to obey. "Dr. Sewell?" Erica Sumner (a bit of a no-hoper; possibly Daddy played golf with Angus Lemon) had a bit of a tremor in her voice. "Um, I'm afraid I didn't manage to do all the questions you set last time---"
Stretched to its limit, Nick's temper broke with an almost audible twang. "What the hell are you doing here today, then?" he snarled. "For Christ's sake, why do I even bother?"
Erica flinched back from him and made a small sound in the back of her throat. Nick realised he was standing there with his fists clenched, shouting down into the face of a frightened, teenage girl. Appalled, for a moment he could only stand there, staring into her widened eyes. Just like a rabbit, his treacherous wolf-brain supplied. Sitting there, waiting to have her throat ripped out...
Christ, what the hell was happening to him?
Nick stepped back and back again. "The supervision is cancelled." His desk made a good, solid barrier between him and the students, with their provocative scents and confusing body language. "I am unwell. Alternative arrangements will be made for you at a later date."
There was a long silence.
"Dr. Sewell...?"
Nick looked up. "It means, you may go." Dear God, please just go.
"But..."
"Get out, damn it!"
Casting nervous glances at one another, they left. Exhausted, Nick sank into his chair.
This could not go on. He needed to be searching for Julian, not nurse-maiding over-privileged adolescents. Suddenly Nick couldn't bear to stay in this place a moment longer. Grabbing his jacket, he slammed the door of his rooms behind him and half-ran down the stairs and out of college.
Tiff picked at her shepherd's pie, which had all but gone cold. She'd sat at the end of one of the three long tables in Hall, so that Crack would be able to find her easily if he ever bloody turned up. It also made her nice and conspicuous to all the idiots who liked to point and gossip. She jumped as the chair next to hers was pulled back with a scrape and Crack folded himself into it like a piece of Goth origami. He'd gone for the veggie bake, she noted, looking at his tray. Somehow she wasn't surprised.
"Have you got it?" she asked.
A couple of girls sitting across the table from Tiff gave her startled glances. Probably thought they were witnessing a drug deal. Tiff felt her mouth quirk up, slightly amazed she could still smile at a time like this.
"Yeah, I've got it," Crack said in a low voice, managing to look shifty even as he shoveled vegetables into his mouth.
"Well?"
"What are you going to do with it?"
The girls across the table were still watching intently out of the corners of their eyes. Tiff bit back a retort that it was none of his sodding business. "I'm going to give it to Dr. Sewell," she told him as quietly as she could. One of the girls dropped her fork. Tiff rolled her eyes.
"Not the police?" Crack mumbled indistinctly, his mouth full.
"If I was going to tell them, do you think I'd have needed you? Look, eat up and we'll talk about it outside, okay?"
Crack set to like he'd been starving for a week, which, looking at him, didn't seem that unlikely. Tiff tried to force a couple more forkfuls down, then gave it up as a bad job. Any more of this and she'd be losing weight. The friend-in-mortal-peril diet.
She couldn't see it catching on.
Tiff was grateful for the fresh, cold air on her face when they finally got out of Hall. She stood for a moment on the stone steps, breathing it in as Crack stepped up beside her. The college looked smaller in the dark, somehow. It wasn't like Kings, or Jesus, with great big lumps of architecture preening in the spotlights. All Saints was just small, unassuming and homey. At least, it had been until Julian's ex had arrived on the scene. Tiff shivered, drawing Jools' jacket more tightly about her. Her insides seemed to tie themselves in knots as she wondered if he was all right, and suddenly she was glad she hadn't been able to eat much. "So, what have you got?" she asked abruptly.
Crack looked startled for a moment, then dug into his jeans pocket. He handed her a wodge of A4 paper, folded half-a-dozen times and still warm from his body heat. Tiff opened it up impatiently. There were...she counted eight addresses on the sheet, in round, childish handwriting. "That's it?"
Crack shrugged. "Places round here don't stay empty for long. These are the ones we know about that were empty just after the start of term, and still haven't had anyone move in."
"Right. Thanks, Crack." About to head straight off, Tiff paused. "How did you get this list, anyway?"
"One of the girls I'm sharing the house with is going out with an estate agent. Don't spread it around, though. I mean, his place doesn't handle any of these properties, but it's still a bit iffy." Crack gave her a sidelong look, as if he was wishing he hadn't said so much.
Tiff managed not to tsk under her breath. Like she'd be going around spreading gossip at a time like this. "Thanks," she said again and strode off towards Dr. Sewell's rooms. She was annoyed to find Crack tagging along beside her.
"So, is it true, then?" he asked before she could think of a way to tell him to piss off without sounding ungrateful.
"Is what true?" she asked impatiently.
"Julian and Dr. Sewell. That they're shagging."
Tiff gave a little huff of irritation. "Well, not right now, they're not."
Crack nodded. "So, what about you and him? Julian, I mean. Weren't you supposed to be going out with him?" He nudged her with one bony elbow. "Or is it some kind of kinky threesome?"
They'd reached the bottom of the staircase. Dr. Sewell's sign said he was out, but it probably said that permanently these days. If Tiff had been him, she'd have wanted to avoid people as much as possible, at any rate. "That was just a joke, me and Jools," she said, jogging up the stairs in the hope Crack would lose interest if he had to make any actual effort to keep up with her. Annoyingly, his long legs matched her pace effortlessly.
"Yeah? A joke on who?"
"Nosy, aren't you?" Tiff muttered, and knocked on Dr. Sewell's door.
He didn't answer. She tried again, banging a bit harder this time.
After the third time, when she'd actually shouted through the door and still got no response, Tiff swore under her breath. Where the bloody hell was Nick Sewell? Just when she had something for him, he had to disappear off the face of the earth.
Just like Julian, she thought with a sudden chill.
No, that was stupid. Boris had Julian; why would he leave him to come after Dr. Sewell? Most likely Dr. Sewell was just out somewhere, hunting Julian. She hoped.
"Tiffany?"
"What?"
"I said, why don't we ask at the Plodge? They might know where Dr. Sewell is."
Tiff stared at him, her tangled thoughts taking a moment to unjumble themselves. "Yes, all right. That's a good idea." She jogged down the stairs, annoyed that Crack's long legs were keeping up with her without the slightest sign of haste. "And call me Tiff, okay? I hate that name."
Tiff was surprised to find Crack hanging back as they reached the Porters' Lodge. "You'd better go and ask on your own," he muttered. "The porters don't like me much."
"Oh? I wonder why?" Tiff rolled her eyes and went inside, taking a deep breath. The head porter, Mr. Sands, was on duty. In his bowler hat and formal clothes he looked a lot like she imagined Jeeves' dad would have looked. Implacable, inscrutable, terrifyingly respectable. And probably lots of other words ending in ---able. "Mr. Sands?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"Um. I was wondering if you might know where I could find Dr. Sewell? He's not in his rooms and I really need to speak to him."
The craggy lines of the porter's face didn't alter. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait until he's back in college." He turned to some papers on the desk in front of him.
"Please!" Tiff blurted out. "Look, I really need to see him, and it can't wait." Tiff found her voice shaking a bit and was horrified to feel a tear pricking at her eyelids. "It's about J-Julian," she continued. "It's really important."
Sands pressed his lips together and fixed her with a look that was suddenly a great deal more sympathetic. "If you think you know where he might be, it might be better to talk to the police," he began. Then he broke off and nodded to himself. "But I'm sure Dr. Sewell will inform them if he thinks it necessary. I'll give him a call on his mobile."
Tiff waited anxiously as he dialed and then stood there listening for a few moments. "Dr. Sewell? It's Sands from the Porter's Lodge. I'd be grateful if you'd give me a ring when you get this message." Tiff almost groaned out loud as she realised Dr. Sewell must have his bloody phone switched off. Didn't it even occur to him that people might want to get in touch?
"Could you try Dr. Pawlaczek?" she asked as he put the phone down. "They're friends, aren't they? So she might have an idea how to get in touch with him."
Sands gave her a long-suffering look, but picked up the phone again. This time, he didn't speak at all before putting it down. "Went straight to answer-phone. I'm afraid she does tend to do that in the evenings." He seemed to be considering something for a moment. "I really shouldn't do this, but..." He sighed. "Dr. Pawlaczek's address is thirty-three Pennington Way. It's not far."
Tiff could have kissed him. "Thank you. Really---thank you." She ran out of the Plodge the way she'd come in, remembering in time that it'd probably be polite to tell Crack what was going on. If he was still there.
A long, thin shape detached itself from the shadows where it had been leaning against the wall like a discarded umbrella. "Where to now?" Crack's voice asked.
"Dr. Pawlaczek's. I've got her address. We'll need bikes." She was about to tell him he didn't need to come, but then she remembered the feeling of dread as she'd been stalked by the wolf in the bike sheds. It was a million to one it'd be there tonight, but still... "You coming?"
Crack's teeth gleamed whitely in the light of the college lampposts as he grinned and nodded.
The streets were quiet at this time of the evening. Most people were either still eating or getting a bit of study in before venturing out for the night. She'd thought Crack would look weird on a bike, all knees and elbows, but in fact he had an oddly streamlined silhouette. "You're asking for trouble, riding without lights," she muttered as they locked their bikes together up against Dr. Pawlaczek's garden wall.
"Yeah, well, that's me. Live dangerously." He laughed suddenly. "Nah, I left them on my bike one night and some bastard nicked them."
Tiff rang the doorbell and did that awkward shuffling thing you did while you waited for the answer. Crack just leaned against the wall in what she'd come to recognise as his nonchalant pose. Pose being the operative word. Tiff frowned. "Your eyeliner's gone splodgy. Here." She licked a finger and reached up to wipe away the smudge. Crack looked a bit startled, but Tiff had no time to worry about that as just then the door was opened by a mad old woman with wild-looking grey hair. There was a bloody enormous scarf wrapped round her neck, which Tiff realised was still attached to a pair of knitting needles.
"Oh, hello, dears. Are you looking for Nadia?" she asked brightly.
"Er, Dr. Pawlaczek? Yes," Tiff told her, trying not to stare.
"Come in, come in." Exchanging looks, Tiff and Crack followed her fuzzy slippers down the hall. "This way." She opened a door, and waved them into a cozy little sitting room. Dr. Pawlaczek was sitting on a squashy-looking sofa wearing an identical pair of fuzzy slippers and a worried look. The rest of the sofa was taken up by several furry cushions. Wondering if she should sit down, Tiff jumped as one of the cushions stretched and yawned, revealing itself as a long-haired cat. She decided to stay standing.
A cough drew her attention to the other side of the room. Standing by the fireplace, with dark circles etched deep under his eyes and something scarily dishevelled about his hair and clothes, was Dr. Sewell. "Oh, thank God! Dr. Sewell, I need to talk to you."
Nick felt his hackles rise as he saw Tiffany's companion. Since when had the girl acquired a Goth shadow? And why the hell did anyone else have to be privy to discussions about his private life?
Nadia, bless her, came to the rescue. "Marje, dearie, why don't we take this young man into the kitchen and see if we can't feed him up a bit? He's looking a bit peaky in my view."
There was something about Crack's horrified expression as the ladies dragged him into the kitchen that Nick vaguely registered might have been amusing in other circumstances. "What is it, Tiffany?" he asked, probably a little more brusquely than he ought. But Tiffany wouldn't have come all the way out here if she didn't have something important to say.
She hesitated before speaking. Nick had a sudden urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake it out of her. "It's about Julian. About where he might be, I mean." She stopped again, damn her. "Look, maybe you're doing this wrong. I mean, you're trying to find him as a, well, as a wolf. Maybe you need to think more like a human?"
Nick resisted the impulse to ask sarcastically whether he should try to think like a bloody psychopath. "I think you need to be a bit more specific there," he said tightly. His nerves were screaming at him to pace around like a caged tiger, but he was damned if he'd give in to his animal instincts in front of one of his students.
Tiffany nodded with maddening slowness. "Well, this Boris---he's not going to stay as a wolf all the time, is he? So he must have somewhere to live. But he's probably not very, well, comfortable around humans."
"Is this going somewhere?" Nick snapped. "Sorry." He took a deep breath. "Please go on."
"I think he's probably found somewhere abandoned to live. In town, I mean. I was going to tell you how I...but it doesn't matter. Look," she went on more briskly, "here's a list of properties you might want to check out, okay?" She thrust a folded piece of paper at him. "They're houses that were empty at around the time Boris might have got here and still haven't got anyone living in them officially. He could be squatting in one of them."
Nick swallowed. It might not be anything useful, but it was still a damn sight more than he had. And at least it would give him something to do. "Thank you."
She nodded.
"Wait---have you told the police?"
"I didn't think that would be a good idea," she replied, looking uncertain, her arms wrapped around herself. She was still wearing Julian's jacket. Nick wanted to ask for it back, but stopped himself. She'd earned it. "Be careful, won't you?" she said softly and headed to the kitchen.
The moment Tiffany had gone, Nick started ransacking Nadia's bookshelves until he found an A-Z. He checked out the addresses---three of the streets were already known to him, but the others weren't. He tried to work out which might be the most likely from location alone, but the most he could come up with was that several were significantly closer to Coe Fen than the others, which might not mean anything at all. Still, he had to have some kind of starting point.
The skies were as dark as they'd get, in the middle of town with all the streetlights reflected off the clouds, but it'd still be madness to try to check out the properties in wolf form. Far too many people around, and the distance between them was enough that he'd do much better by car in any case. At this time of night, traffic shouldn't be a problem, always assuming he could manage to avoid drunken cyclists. He grabbed his keys, then hesitated. Should he tell Herrscher? Nick fought down his instinctive thought of "to hell with Herrscher". This was about saving Julian, not scoring points over his father. Still, he was relieved when Herrscher's phone clicked straight over to voicemail. He rattled off the list of addresses as fast as he could, then jammed the phone back in his pocket.
As he slammed Nadia's front door behind him, it occurred to Nick that he ought perhaps to have said goodbye. Too late to worry about it now. There was a brisk breeze blowing, but the stars were still obscured by thick clouds that glowed Halloween orange in the reflected light of the streetlamps. Nick shivered for a moment before climbing into the Mini Cooper and driving off.
The first property Nick pulled up outside---or rather, a cautious five or six doors down from---was clearly occupied. Music blared from the windows, light shone through the blankets hung up to serve as curtains, and there were even signs of some attempt to tidy up the garden. Nice to know some squatters had standards. It was all clearly far too bloody normal for Schräger to be here. Nick got back into the car in resignation, sent a quick text to inform Herrscher of his failure, and set off once more.
The second house was also occupied, and a terrace besides, making it hardly suitable for concealing a prisoner. The third had been demolished and the debris hidden behind builder's hoardings. The fourth was empty and cold. Nick risked breaking a window to investigate further, but the only signs of life were the cobwebs on the ceiling and the mouse droppings upon the floor. His texts to Herrscher becoming more brusque with every disappointment, Nick had begun to lose hope by the time he pulled up by the fifth property.
This house was large, detached from its neighbours, and derelict-looking. Boards hung loosely from broken windows, and tiles from the roof littered the scrubby front garden, long ago abandoned to thistles and stinging nettles. Nick couldn't imagine any self-respecting student wanting to squat here. God alone knew why the site hadn't been redeveloped. Perhaps the owner was just waiting for the property market in Cambridge to rocket from sky-high to astronomical.
Nick sniffed at the air, once again regretting the limitations of his human form. As he moved closer to the front door, the sickly smell of rotting wood overlaid with the foul odour of other refuse grew stronger. He felt a tingle of excitement in his belly and wondered if it was his subconscious reacting to Julian's scent. Consciously, he could detect no sign of it, but perhaps he didn't need to? His breathing coming quicker, Nick paused at the front door. It might well be rotten enough to kick down, but did he really want to announce his arrival so clearly? He listened, but could hear no sound from within.
Taking care to tread as noiselessly as possible, Nick moved round the back of the house. Long grass and weeds clutched at his trouser legs, and the hairs on his neck rose under a curious sensation that he was being watched by someone long gone.
The wolf. The wolf must have passed this way, he realised. Heart pounding in his throat, Nick lifted a corner of a loose board on one of the ground-floor windows. He was in luck. The glass beyond had been completely shattered and had been swept to one side. He had found the squatter's way in, and he was now certain he knew who the squatter was. Nick climbed gingerly through the window and crept farther into the house, thankful for his soft-soled shoes that allowed him to tread silently upon the bare wooden floorboards.
The kitchen showed definite signs of occupancy. Carrier bags littered the floor, some empty, some full of foul-smelling rubbish. Cans of food stood upon worktops next to large bottles of supermarket mineral water. Here and there, as he turned his head, Nick was sure he caught Julian's scent. It was faint, very faint. But it was here. Julian was here.
Or had been. Nick's heart lurched at the thought that he might be... No. He was here, and Nick was going to find him. Was going to take him back from that bastard Schräger. Nick swallowed at the thought of what that might mean. Should he have brought some kind of weapon? Unfortunately this wasn't the kind of kitchen that came equipped with a handy knife block. Not that Nick would have had the first idea how to fight with a knife in any case.
He moved on, straining his ears for any slight sound that might alert him to where Julian was---or whether his intrusion had been detected. The faintness of the scents suggested no one was on the ground floor, but Nick's throat was still tight as he crept round half-open doors to the deserted rooms beyond. It was almost pitch black in the house, barely a trace of the streetlamps outside seeming to penetrate the boarded windows. Nick used his key-ring torch cautiously, weighing the chance of being seen against the likelihood of him blundering in the dark.
But all was empty.
Nick began to fear he'd got here too late, that Schräger had somehow got wind of his discovery---how, he couldn't imagine---and had decamped elsewhere. He stood by the staircase for a moment, undecided as to whether he should go up. The dust and grime on the stairs appeared undisturbed in the feeble light of his torch, and he was almost certain the scent was actually weaker here.
As he hesitated, he realised there was one door he had yet to check. It looked like a cupboard---could Julian be bundled up in there? Christ, it must be like being in a coffin. His mouth dry, Nick tried the door handle slowly, alert for any sign that it was about to screech and betray him. The door opened soundlessly, thank God, and a queasy mix of scents greeted Nick's nostrils. One of them made his breath catch in his throat and his heart leap in his chest. Julian. He was here, Nick was certain of it. The other---Nick could barely restrain the snarl that rose in his throat. It was the wolf from Coe Fen.
Nick found himself at the top of a flight of concrete stairs. He'd forgotten old houses like this sometimes had a cellar. Faint yellowish light reached up around a third of the way from a room below, but the angle was all wrong and it showed him nothing but a bare stone wall.
He didn't need to see. He could smell that his mate was here.
Every instinct screaming at him to leap to the attack, Nick made himself tread slowly, quietly down the stairs. He could hear a voice speaking softly, and although he couldn't make out the words, he could tell that they were in German and they sounded like words of comfort.
Relief flooded through him. Herrscher had got here before him, and Julian was safe now. "Julian!" he called, abandoning stealth and hurtling towards the sound of the voice.
It wasn't Herrscher.
It was a man he'd never seen before, but Nick didn't have a lot of attention to spare for him, as his eyes were transfixed by the sight of Julian, laid out face-down on a low camp bed.
Naked. And with fresh marks on his back---Christ, what had that bastard done to him? Blood was seeping slowly down Julian's side, a trickle of it falling to pool on the rough blanket on which he lay. Bruises, looking horribly like finger marks, mottled his hips, and he was filthy. He looked up at the sound of Nick's voice, his eyes dull and empty, made hollower by the shadows cast by the camping lamp that was the only source of illumination in the cellar.
A snarl forced Nick's attention to the stocky, dark man crouching at Julian's side. Schräger, his mind supplied clinically. That must be Schräger, and Nick was going to kill him.
He launched himself at the man, succeeding in getting his hands around an unshaven throat that deformed and grew under his fingers, loosening his grip. Schräger's whole body was writhing, changing---and suddenly Nick found himself face to face with a full-grown wolf, its teeth like ivory daggers and its breath like an abattoir. Instinctively Nick re-tightened his grip upon Schräger's throat, pushing the wolf away as it snarled and tried to tear at his face.
"Nick!" Julian's voice was high, panicked. "You have to change!"
Easy for him to say. It was taking all Nick's strength to keep the wolf's jaws away from his face, his throat. If he relaxed his grip for one instant...
He didn't have a choice. Sooner or later, his grip would weaken and that would be the end of it. He'd be dead, and Julian would belong to that bastard forever. Nick's arms were beginning to shake as those vicious jaws snapped ever closer. He had to use it---use the pain, the fear, the fierce desperation to reclaim his mate. He fixed his gaze on his enemy's maddened eyes. There was nothing human there at all. Only wolf. Nick felt his own teeth bare, mirroring the usurper's snarl. He let the rage flood through him, let it change him.
This time, the pain felt right.
The few heartbeats the transformation took meant that by the time he was fully wolf, Schräger's jaws were on his throat. Adrenaline powering his muscles, Nick jerked away, shaking off his attacker. Schräger rolled, circled for a moment---then lunged at him once more, his muzzle flecked with Nick's blood. Nick leapt to one side. Not fast enough. Schräger's claws raked his right flank, the pain like a red-hot knife slicing through his flesh. Julian was watching, wide-eyed, a momentary distraction. Focus. The other wolf was bigger, more experienced. But not invulnerable. Nick had to turn the tide of this fight, and quickly. He leapt.
Schräger had been waiting for it. He rolled to the side, taking Nick with him. The jaws closed on Nick's throat again, more tightly this time, the pain blinding him. Nick's frantic struggles were useless. Those fierce teeth only bit the harder as he wrestled vainly to dislodge them. He was going to lose this fight, to die, and his mate would be the spoils. His vision fading, Nick roused himself to make one final effort to be free. But he wasn't strong enough, and the iron grasp of those powerful jaws on his throat did not lessen. Blood pounding in his temples, Nick's rage turned to desperation.
Suddenly, the agony lessened, and his vision began to clear. A smaller wolf---his mate---had its teeth into one of Schräger's hind legs. Schräger yelped in pain, and his grasp on Nick's throat loosened. Exultation firing him, a new burst of adrenaline spurring him on, Nick wrenched himself from Schräger's grip and sank his teeth into that hairy throat. Blood gushed into his mouth, hot and rich and intoxicating. Nick bit down hard with savage satisfaction---and then twisted, pulling away.
Half of Schräger's throat came with him. Drenched in a cascade of thick red blood, Nick watched, jubilant, as the dark eyes dulled, and the beast slumped to the floor. He backed away a pace, panting, alert for any further threat to his dominance. There was another wolf here. Nick snarled at it, challenging, and it cowered, belly low, whimpering slightly. Appeasing him. Nick's hackles lowered and, as the wolf's scent reached him over the heady stench of his defeated foe, his tail began to fall. It was his mate. Julian, he remembered dimly, even as he howled his triumph to the world.
Suddenly his senses sounded the alert. Another challenger. Nick's muzzle snapped towards the door. Another wolf stood there, and this one did not cower. Growling, his hackles raised, Nick took a step forward, placing himself between the interloper and the wolf that was his.
The challenger surveyed the scene, its scent tantalizingly familiar. His wolf---Julian, the part of Nick that was human supplied---whimpered again. And all at once, the challenger turned and walked away. No longer threatened, Nick started to come back to himself. The challenger---that must have been Julian's father. Herrscher.
Julian. Nick morphed back into his human form. The wreckage of his clothing still clinging to him, he hurried over to the young wolf and tentatively caressed him. The wolf shuddered, and abruptly Nick's arms were full of a naked, filthy, blood-smeared young man who clung to him convulsively.
"Shh," he whispered. "It's all right. He's gone now." Nick forced himself to look at the wolf's bloody corpse. You did that, he told himself, only half believing it now he was human once more. You killed him. Aloud, he couldn't help saying wonderingly "I thought he'd turn back."
There was a stifled sob in the region of his chest. Concerned, Nick cupped Julian's face in his hands. There were traces of Schräger's blood around his mouth. What the hell Nick himself looked like he couldn't imagine. "Julian?"
"He's dead, Nick. How can he transform when he's dead?" The voice was shaky, near to hysteria.
"We have to get you out of here," Nick said, trying for firmness and very nearly succeeding.
Julian shook his head. "No. We..." He swallowed. "We have to deal with that."
It was obvious what he was referring to, but Nick wondered what the hell dealing with it involved. "Why did your father leave?"
Julian looked very vulnerable. "I don't know. Perhaps...I don't know."
Nick's arms tightened around him, until he remembered the welts on Julian's back. "God, I'm hurting you."
"No," Julian whispered. "Don't let go."
"We need to get you to a doctor," Nick insisted.
"No." It was firmer than before. "It's not safe."
"The boy is right." Nick spun at the sound of Herrscher's harsh voice. "There will be no doctor, no police." Herrscher was in human form, now, entirely and unabashedly nude and flanked by his two equally naked minions.
"The police are already involved," Nick told him angrily. "It's a bloody murder investigation, or hadn't you heard?"
"That is regrettable. But it can be dealt with. The boy will tell them he ran away from Schräger, and that no one else was involved."
"The boy has a name, damn you." Nick realised he was snarling again.
"Don't," Julian said weakly into his chest. "Don't fight him, Nick, please."
"What about the young man who was killed?" Nick demanded. "What if they try to pin it on Julian?"
Herrscher shrugged. "He will tell them Schräger is to blame. It will be assumed that he fled the country. They will search for a time, and then they will give up."
Nick struggled to think logically. "But Julian will have to tell them where he's been, and they'll come here...there must be all kinds of evidence they can find about what's happened."
"This is an old house, I think?" Herrscher said calmly.
Nick stared at him. "So?"
"So it will burn well. Come, you must find clothes."
The only clothes in the place, of course, were Schräger's. Nick fought the urge to throw up as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that reeked of Julian's rapist. As soon as they got back to Nick's rooms he was lighting a bloody fire. And spending a week in the shower. Schräger hadn't apparently thought it necessary to have the water reconnected, so they couldn't even clean themselves off properly. Nick remembered the bottled water and did his best to wipe the blood off his hands and face.
Throughout, Julian was unnervingly silent. He took the clothes Nick handed him and put them on without even seeming to see them.
Did the smell of them revolt him too? Or was it---God, familiar? Comforting?
Tight-lipped, Nick watched as Herrscher and his henchmen wrapped the wolf's carcass in a blanket and carried it out of the cellar. He felt lightheaded and unreal and wondered if he was going into shock. He'd killed a man.
No, what was it Markham had said? Schräger had been an animal. He'd needed to be put down. Clutching that thought to himself, Nick stood. "Come on, Julian. We need to get you home."
Herrscher looked up sharply. "You cannot return to your college in such a state. You must come with me to where I am staying."
Nick could feel the snarl that twisted his face. "No. No, I don't think so. Julian is coming with me."
"You have blood all over you." Herrscher's voice was thick with derision. "You think you can just walk into your college like this?"
"Nick?" Julian's voice was still shaky. "We have to do what he says."
Nick felt, rather than heard, a low growling sound issue from his throat. He was damned if he'd do a thing Herrscher told him to. This was his territory, his pack.
"Please?" Julian asked him.
The appeal brought Nick back to himself. God, he was behaving like an animal. They were right. Where the hell could he go, looking like this? Back to college? To Nadia's? He nodded at Herrscher, not trusting himself to speak.
"Good. You have a car? We will use that."
Sitting in the passenger seat of the Mini Cooper, the forlorn figure of Julian slumped in the back, Herrscher was entirely too close for comfort. For the first time, Nick gave serious thought to getting a bigger car. Herrscher directed him to a cottage in Fen Ditton, one of the villages a few miles out of town. It was set back from the road and shielded from view by a thick, tall hedge. Convenient. Nick wondered, as he got out of the Mini Cooper, just how many killings Herrscher had had occasion to cover up in the past. He seemed to be awfully good at it for a first attempt. "What will you do with the body?" he asked as they crunched up the gravel drive.
"They will bury it. Far from here. After they have torched the house. You need not worry. Luther and Wahl are reliable."
Nick refrained from asking whether he'd used to say that about Schräger too.
Herrscher unlocked the door and let them in, then led them straight up to the bathroom. "I will find you fresh clothes. There are towels on the rails." He left them standing together, Julian with his eyes fixed on the tiled floor.
"You can take first shower," Nick said awkwardly. "I'll wait outside."
Julian nodded jerkily without lifting his eyes. Should Nick offer to stay with him? Hold him? Or would he just want to be left alone? Julian didn't say anything to contradict this last guess, so Nick turned and left the room. He closed the door behind him, and a few moments later heard the shower start.
Solitude, Nick discovered, was not a good thing. With nothing now to distract him, he was hyper-aware of the crusted blood grown stiff upon his skin, the reek of Schräger's clothes, the foul taste in his mouth. He fought the urge to retch over the banisters.
Fortunately, Julian didn't leave Nick pacing restlessly for long. He emerged from the bathroom mere minutes later, skin pink and hair plastered down to his skull. He was swathed in a large black bath towel that covered up the marks of his imprisonment. If imprisonment it had been; Nick couldn't recall having seen any bars on the door or window.
That kind of thought was not helping. Nick waited for Julian to pass and stepped wordlessly into the bathroom to finally rid himself of Schräger's hated scent. Stepping into the shower, he turned the water as hot as it would go and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the rust-coloured water that streamed from his body and spiralled down the drain. He soaped himself several times over, desperate to clean away every taint, and didn't stop until the water had started to run cold.
By the time Nick had finished in the bathroom, Julian had disappeared and a set of clothing had appeared in his place, slung over the banisters. Nick donned them quickly, nose wrinkling at the unmistakeable smell of Herrscher, and made his way downstairs.
Julian sat huddled in an armchair, the clothes he'd borrowed fitting him rather better than Nick might have expected. Not his father's, then. Herrscher was ignoring his son in favour of the television, so Nick ignored him in turn and went to crouch down by Julian's chair. "Are you all right?"
Julian's eyes stayed firmly upon his hands, which were kneading one another distractedly. "Yes."
Nick wanted to put an arm around him, but wasn't sure how it would be received. Julian's whole posture seemed to scream "don't touch me". When Herrscher's guttural voice broke in upon them, Julian started, and Nick felt a fresh surge of loathing for the man. "His mother will be here soon."
"His mother? Why?"
"It will be better if he does not reappear with you. You do not, I think, wish for more questions from the police?"
Nick suppressed a shudder at the thought of being interrogated by Detective Inspector Phillips when he really did have something to hide. "Fine. We'll do it your way." He turned back to Julian, softening his tone. "I'll come and see you as soon as I can, all right?"
Julian didn't respond, unless you counted seeming to hunch even further into the chair. He wasn't the only one to jump as the doorbell sounded.
Nick stood as Herrscher showed the visitors in.
"Julian!" Lili Markham's soft voice broke on the last syllable as she flung her arms around her dazed-looking son.
Markham's gaze fell on Nick and he nodded to him, but said nothing. He stepped forward and placed a fatherly hand on Julian's shoulder. Nick felt a savage satisfaction at Julian's flinch, followed inevitably by a wash of self-loathing.
"The boy will return with his mother," Herrscher said in a tone that didn't merely brook no dissent, it frankly refused to believe such a thing was even possible. Nick's eyes happened to be on Lili, and he noticed a curious look pass between them. "He will say that he was with Schräger, but that he knows nothing of the killing of the young man in the alley. He will say that he became frightened by Schräger's behavior and ran away, and that he telephoned to his mother to pick him up. He will not remember clearly where he was. He will say that he may have been drugged, but he will not wish to press charges against Schräger."
Markham nodded. "Absolutely. No need for Julian to go through anything that isn't absolutely necessary." He paused. "Schräger is, I take it, no longer a threat?"
"He has been dealt with. Permanently. The police will find no trace of him."
"Good man." Markham gave Herrscher an approving look. Nick felt the childish urge to jump up and say "It was me! I killed him!" God, upset at being denied credit for a murder. Suddenly it didn't seem even remotely amusing. Herrscher's plan sounded perfectly sensible, so why did Nick feel the urge to smash his fist into something? But what else could he do but go along with it all? Demand that Julian stay with him? In what way, precisely, would he be any better than that bastard Schräger?
As Julian moved to go with his mother, he finally raised his eyes to meet Nick's. For a moment Nick's heart leapt, but it was a fleeting glance, soon over. "I'll come and see you," Nick repeated, but his voice sounded flat even to his own ears.
Julian didn't reply, just left, his head bowed once more.
After they'd gone, Nick tried to force himself to think of practicalities. He should be getting back to college---should he give the Markhams ten minutes' head start? It would hardly look good arriving back in Cambridge in convoy. He managed to locate his keys and noticed with distaste that there was a smear of blood on the fob. Setting his jaw, he rinsed it under the hot tap, noticing with annoyance that Herrscher had come into the kitchen and was watching him. "You may want to check there's no blood on the bathroom carpet, that sort of thing," Nick said to break the silence. "You don't want the owner of this place getting suspicious about you."
"That will not be a problem."
Nick looked up tiredly from the sink, his fingers throbbing from the hot water. "Why not? Planning to kill them too?"
Herrscher smiled. "I have no need to do that. The owner of this house is my wife. My ex-wife, I should say. Lili."
Nick stared. "But... When did all this get arranged?"
The bastard was practically grinning now. "Before you called me. Lili telephoned to me as soon as she heard that the boy was missing."
"And Markham?" Nick shook the drops from his hands and dried them and the keys on a tea towel.
"Does not know. And I do not think it would be good for him to find out." Gallingly, Herrscher's tone was not so much threatening as confident that Nick would not tell. Nick strode away from him to look out of the living room window.
Christ, what the hell kind of game was Lili playing? Nick ran his hands through his hair, finding it still somewhat damp from the shower, then wiped them on his borrowed trousers. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to go back to his rooms and curl up under the duvet. "I'll be going now," he said, trying in vain to capture Herrscher's tone of arrogant certainty.
"Goodbye, Dr. Sewell," came Herrscher's reply. "I do not think we will see each other again."
"That'll suit me fine." Nick walked past Herrscher and out of the kitchen, managing not to be childish and barge shoulders with him. Remembering that there was likely to be blood in his car, he returned to the bathroom to grab a couple of towels. He'd have to scrub the Mini Cooper out with disinfectant when he got a chance. Or burn it, one of the two. He'd always been rather fond of his little car, but the thought of driving it polluted with Schräger's blood turned his stomach.
Slinging the stained towels vaguely in the direction of the front door, Nick climbed into the Mini Cooper and drove numbly back to college.
Back in his rooms, Nick was aware he ought to be celebrating---but he felt nothing. No jubilation at having got Julian back safely---just a flat, tired emptiness in his soul. He'd killed a man. Torn out his throat with his teeth, for God's sake.
And he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Christ, what kind of man was he to be entrusted with the education of Britain's finest young minds? What kind of a protector had he been for Julian? Nick peeled off his borrowed clothes, stuffing them into a bin bag, and stepped into the shower. He turned the temperature up high and scrubbed at his skin once more, trying to erase the stink of Schräger's blood.
It wasn't until he was dressed in his own clothes once more that Nick felt somewhat easier in his mind. He paced aimlessly about his rooms. Surely there were things he should be doing? He should tell people Julian was all right---Tiffany, at least, she'd earned that much. But a bone-crushing weariness seemed to have settled on him, robbing him of the will to go anywhere, do anything. Nick looked at his watch.
It was four o'clock in the morning. He should go to bed.
God, Dr. Sewell looked a state. He'd knocked on Tiff's door just before lunchtime, but she reckoned he couldn't have been up long. Either that, or he'd never got to bed at all. The dark circles around his eyes looked like they'd been tattooed on and his hair obviously hadn't seen a brush in days. He hadn't shaved, either, although that was probably a good thing---at least the stubble brought a bit of colour to the greyish tones of his skin. Tiff bit back a comment about how she'd been going absolutely bloody frantic waiting for some news.
"Julian's safe," was the first thing he said.
Tiff's legs felt wobbly, and the room seemed to tilt for a moment. "Oh, thank God! Where is he? Is he back in college?"
"No. With his parents, at the University Arms."
There was something weird about his manner. Tiff's eyes narrowed. "And he's definitely all right?"
Dr. Sewell just nodded. She'd have thought he'd look a bit bloody happier about it.
"So, did you find him at one of the places I told you about?" Crack butted in, stepping up behind her. Tiff felt her face grow hot as Dr. Sewell's eyes widened.
"Oh, Crack just slept on my floor last night as we were up so late, talking, after we got back from Dr. Pawlaczek's," she explained hurriedly.
Dr. Sewell's face went carefully blank, proving he hadn't believed a word of it. Which she wouldn't have minded if it hadn't been true. "I'll see you later," he said and turned to go without answering Crack's question. Then he swung back round. "It would be better if you didn't talk about this. Both of you. Better for Julian," he added. He seemed about to say something else, but then turned away again and, this time, headed for the stairs.
"Looks to me like Julian didn't want to come back home," Crack said thoughtfully.
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, it's obvious Dr. Sewell's got the hump about something, innit?" Crack leaned against her wall, looking a bit like a daddy-long-legs with his spindly arms and legs.
Tiff resisted the urge to fetch a rolled-up newspaper. "Don't be daft. Why would Jools want to stay with a bloke who knocked him around?"
Crack shrugged. She was vaguely surprised his shoulder blades didn't slice through his T-shirt and turn into wings, completing the resemblance. "Well, you know him better than I do."
"Meaning?"
"So you'd know if the rumours about him were true. About him liking it rough."
"No. They're not true, all right? And if anyone else says stuff like that, you can tell them from me it's a load of bollocks."
"All right, all right." Crack pushed himself off the wall and gave her a wonky smile. "Sorry. Don't shoot the messenger, all right?"
Tiff looked away, shame burning a hole in the pit of her stomach. Because it was true, she knew it was. She'd seen the marks on Jools' body. But there was a difference, wasn't there? Between liking the kinky stuff and domestic abuse? "Look, I'm going to go and see Julian. Thanks for the information and stuff."
"Okay." Crack grabbed his jacket and slung it on, then just stood there, waiting.
Tiff sighed under her breath. Looked like she was going to have an escort whether she wanted one or not.
When they got to the University Arms, Tiff had a moment of doubt. Would Julian's mum and dad---stepdad, she presumed, else why would he be staying with her?---even let her in to see him? Crack was no help, just slouching against the reception desk as she made her request. At least she managed to remember Julian's mum's new surname. "Yes, that's right," she told the scarily efficient-looking girl at reception. "Tiffany Meadows and, er, Crack Uppingham." She shot a glance at her companion, but he didn't correct the name.
She smiled in relief as the reception girl put the phone down and turned to her with a nod. "They're in room 321. Top floor---the lift is just down there, to the right. Turn left when you get out. They're expecting you."
The lift was one of the old-fashioned ones where you had to shut this big folding iron gate thing. Tiff had thought those had been banned by health and safety, but maybe this one got special dispensation for being really old. There was a portrait hung inside it of a bloke in a wig, looking really uncomfortable while he pretended to read a book. "You'd think the artist could have painted on a smile, wouldn't you?" she wondered aloud. "I mean, it's not like it's a photo."
"Nah, they didn't do smiles in those days. Not for official portraits, anyway." Crack seemed uncomfortably close and ridiculously tall in the cramped lift. Tiff was annoyed to feel short and squat by comparison. "Nice wig, though."
Tiff squinted round him to read the inscription on the frame. "Waygood Otis. Waygood? God, some parents!"
Crack snorted. "Oh, it could be worse. Believe me."
"Forgotten who you're talking to, have you?"
"Don't you like Tiffany? I think it suits you." The lift stopped, and he pulled open the gate. "After you."
Tiff tried to work out if he'd been being sarcastic as they walked up a short flight of stairs to room 321. When they built this place, clearly anyone rich enough to stay here could afford a fleet of servants to carry them upstairs if they were disabled. Tiff wondered why her mind kept going off on a tangent when she was about to see Julian again---then jumped as a tall, posh-looking bloke opened the door to room 321 before they'd even knocked.
He gave Tiff a pinched-looking smile, and Crack a rather more welcoming one. "Caractacus, how are you? I didn't know you were a friend of Julian's."
Tiff stared. Crack---Caractacus?---was actually blushing. She stifled a giggle.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Markham. Er, nice to see you." Crack's accent had done the speediest bit of social climbing she'd ever witnessed. Zero to posh in nought point three seconds.
Julian's stepfather nodded. He and Crack were the same height, but where Mr. Markham was quite well-built in an upper-class sort of way, Crack looked like a stick figure next to him. "How's your father? Still leading the hunt?"
"Er, yes," Crack answered. "Although he says it's not the same, these days. You know, without the foxes."
Mr. Markham was nodding in agreement. He probably missed his regular bit of rending small animals limb from limb too. "And you must be Tiffany. Julian mentioned you in his letters. Delighted to meet you." He held out a hand and Tiff shook it, feeling a bit daft. "Well, I know you're here to see Julian, so I shan't keep you. Glad to see he's made some friends at college. He's through here."
"Caractacus?" Tiff whispered, as Mr. Markham showed them through a lounge area to the bedroom. "Caractacus?"
"Well, it's not like I asked to be called that, Tiffany."
"Yes, but...Caractacus?" Half of Tiff knew she was finding this way too funny. The other half didn't give a toss; Julian was all right, and she was going to see him now. "We should have kids together," she said, trying to straighten her face. "I've already picked out the names: Tarquin and Chardonnay. Or, you know, Waygood. Seeing as you seemed to like that one."
She pushed open the door to Julian's room, and suddenly her laughter died. Julian was lying propped up in bed, his face almost as pale as the white bathrobe he was swaddled in, his eyes dull and listless. God, he looked awful. Tiff had to fight back tears. "Jools!"
He flinched as she flung her arms around him. Behind her, Tiff was vaguely aware of Crack muttering something about leaving them alone and edging back out of the door. "I'll bloody kill that bastard!" she sobbed out.
"Too late." Julian was all sort of hunched in on himself and wouldn't meet her eyes.
Tiff let go of him reluctantly and was shocked despite herself as the meaning of his words sank in. "Your dad actually killed him?" How come he wasn't in jail? Was he in jail? You couldn't really go around killing people even if they did deserve it, could you?
"No. Nick."
"Dr. Sewell?" Tiff had a weird feeling in her stomach. "But he's...nice."
Julian shrugged and didn't say anything.
"How...was there a fight?" Tiff thought of nature programs she'd seen, with wild animals bringing down their prey. Suddenly she wished she hadn't had breakfast.
"Yes. He was the stronger."
There was something in Julian's voice---was it pride? Satisfaction? Tiff shuddered. How the hell was she going to face supervisions with Dr. Sewell after this? "So is he going to get into trouble? With the police, I mean?"
Julian looked up then. "No one knows. You must not tell anyone. The police think I escaped from Boris, and that he has run somewhere. They don't know that Nick had anything to do with it. You must not tell anyone the truth." His eyes were burning with a scary intensity as he leant forward to grasp her arm so hard it hurt.
"Okay! Jools, it's okay, I won't tell, I promise." She tried to make her voice sound soothing. "But where is he, anyway? I'd have thought he'd be here, with you." She looked around nervously.
Julian's head dropped again, and he released her arm. "He doesn't want me."
"What? Are you mad? Of course he wants you! He bloody killed someone to get you back."
"No. He killed because Boris had taken what was his."
Tiff felt a sudden, searing desire for hell to be real and that bastard to burn there for all eternity. She rubbed her arm. "Dr. Sewell's not like that."
"You don't understand." It was almost a snarl. "I betrayed him. I went with Boris."
"That's bollocks." Tiff hesitated. "Look...don't take this the wrong way or anything, but...why did you go with him? Boris, I mean. Did he give you a choice?"
Julian dropped his head again. "We quarrelled. I asked for too much, and he was angry with me."
"Boris?" She frowned, confused.
"Nick."
"Oh. Jools, don't you think maybe you were over-reacting? I mean, going back to Boris..."
"He said Nick didn't love me. That if he cared about me, he wouldn't let me wander the streets on my own, where I could get into trouble."
"That's not love. That's...psycho stalker stuff." Tiff bit her lip. "He hurt you, didn't he? Boris, I mean, not Dr. Sewell---Dr. Sewell didn't hurt you, did he? Jools, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"
Julian's face was all screwed up like he was trying to work it out. "I prefer Nick," he said at last.
To be honest, she'd expected a bit more enthusiasm. Maybe he was just shell-shocked from whatever had happened? Or maybe there really wasn't all that much difference between the two of them... No. She wasn't going to think that. Tiff put a hand on Julian's arm, only partly for his benefit. "You don't have to be with either of them, you know. Do you love Dr. Sewell?"
Julian ran a hand through his hair, finally grabbing the longer bits at the back in a grip that looked almost painful. "I don't know. I don't think I understand love."
Tiff felt her smile go a bit wobbly. "I don't think you have to understand it. You just have to feel it."
"Have you? Been in love, I mean?"
It was a wrench, saying it. Like peeling off a scab---you knew it had to go, you wanted it to go, but it still bloody well hurt. "No. Not really." She sighed. "But I think I know, a bit, how it feels. Jools, if you never saw Dr. Sewell again, how would you feel?"
His eyes were wide and dark as he answered. "Empty."
"There you go, then. You have to tell him that." Tiff's stomach twisted uncomfortably. This wasn't exactly the advice she'd have thought she'd be giving. She just hoped she hadn't got it horribly wrong.
"It's not my choice," he said, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.
In any case, that was just daft. "Well, whose choice is it, then?"
Julian stared blankly into space. Either that or he really liked the weird abstract print on the other side of the hotel room. "He...after we cleaned up and changed, he didn't want to touch me. I revolted him."
"Then he should stop being such a bloody prat." Tiff sighed. "Look, this has got to be the worst possible time to be making decisions, all right? For both you and Dr. Sewell. You've just been through---well, you know what you've been through." She risked giving him another hug, and this time he didn't flinch, although he didn't seem all that relaxed, either. "I'm sure he cares about you. You should have seen what a mess he was when you were missing. Just---don't leap to conclusions based on how he's behaving at the moment, okay?"
It wasn't much of a nod, but it was there, and his eyes didn't look quite so bleak anymore.
Once again, Tiff just hoped she wasn't making a godalmighty cock-up.
After speaking to Tiffany, Nick headed mechanically down to the Porter's Lodge to check his mail. He stood there, a bundle of letters in his hand---bank statements; academic circulars; the usual junk mail---and tried to care enough about any of them to open them, or even just to keep them from slipping through his fingers to the floor.
"I hear it's good news, Dr. Sewell," the head porter greeted him.
"Oh. Yes." Nick tried to dredge up a smile from somewhere.
Sands looked a little uncomfortable. "I, er, I hope Dr. Pawlaczek wasn't upset by me giving out her address? I haven't seen her today, and I was a little worried---"
Both of them jumped as Nadia's voice cut him off. "Hmm. We shall talk later, Mr. Sands, about this nasty habit of yours of letting sensitive information get into the hands of the enemy. Nick, lovey, you look absolutely ghastly. Come and have a coffee and tell me all about it. And yes, that is an order."
Nick didn't resist as she clasped him in an iron grip and dragged him back up to his rooms.
"Now, Nick Sewell, tell me this," she said, frowning at a couple of mugs and then spooning instant coffee into them nonetheless. "Why would a man whose young lover has just been found safe and---one presumes---well, be sitting there looking like he's just had his grant slashed?" She paused in the act of switching on the kettle, fixing him with a stern eye. "He is all right, I take it?"
Nick didn't answer. He felt his hands clasped between her own. "Nick, talk to me. Is Julian all right?"
A bitter smile twisted Nick's lips. "Was he ever? Christ, Nadia---I just don't know." He flung himself out of his seat, pacing restlessly to the window. "Am I what he needs? Or am I just part of the problem?"
"Well, dearie, an alternative suggestion is that you're making no sense whatsoever. Now. Start with some facts. Is he in hospital?"
"No, he's with his parents. At the hotel."
"Well, that's positive, at any rate. So what did your young man say about where he's been?"
Nick stared at her. He'd almost forgotten that what had gone on with Schräger wasn't, couldn't be, common knowledge. "He...was with an old boyfriend."
"Oh, Nick!" A hug from Nadia, whilst undoubtedly well-meant, was rather like being embraced by a pit bull terrier. Thankfully, she backed off after a moment. "So what's happening now? Has he come back begging forgiveness?"
At this point, Nick knew, he ought to protest that there was nothing to forgive. Somehow the words stuck in his throat. Christ, was he actually blaming Julian for what had happened? "He...it's a bit more complicated than that. The boyfriend wasn't very stable. Julian was..." He trailed off.
Nadia's eyes narrowed. "Why, Nick Sewell, do I get the impression there's a lot you're not telling me?"
Nick flopped back into the chair. "Because it's true? I'm sorry, Nadia. I just can't. It's...it's not just me. There's Julian, there's...other people."
"Nick, I don't want to worry you, but there's also Detective Inspector Phillips." She was silent for a moment. "Is this business with Julian connected to that poor young man's murder?"
Nick buried his face in his hands. "I don't know," he lied, hating himself. "Nadia...I really don't know." At least the confusion he felt was genuine.
"Oh, lovey. You do know how to pick them, don't you?"
An arm draped itself rather heavily over Nick's shoulder, and he breathed in Nadia's familiar, comforting scent composed of equal parts Lifebuoy soap, peppermints and cat. "I think Julian's the one you should be saying that about," he said, his voice somewhat muffled.
"Nonsense, Nick. You're a damned fine catch and I won't hear another thing about it."
He managed a wry smile at that. "I'm not sure you're really qualified to judge, but thank you, all the same. And likewise, by the way."
She coloured faintly. "Hmph. Are you going to see young Lauder? Or is he going to be back in college soon in any case?"
Nick took a deep breath. "I'll go and see him. I promised---" He broke off, realising he'd almost betrayed himself. "I promised his mother I would, when we spoke on the phone," he finished.
"That's the spirit. Now, Nick, dearie, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but a shave first wouldn't go amiss. And whether or not you're hoping to get back together, I have a feeling you don't really want Julian to see you with your hair looking quite such a fright. Tame the old savage beast, hmm?"
"Yes. Right." Nick realised she was looking at him oddly.
She probably hadn't expected him to flinch at the last part of her statement.
After she'd gone, a glance in the mirror convinced Nick that Nadia had had a point about his appearance. He'd aged ten years in the last few days. He set about making himself look presentable: flattening down his hair with water and, when that didn't work, sticking his head under the shower for a minute then towelling it dry again, remembering this time to use a brush afterward. There wasn't a lot he could do about the deep circles etched under his eyes.
He picked up his razor and began to scrape away the stubble. Tame the savage beast, Nadia had said. As if a bit of window-dressing could change who he was. What he was. Nick winced as the razor caught, then found himself staring at his reflection, mesmerised by the blood welling up from the cut. Christ, there had been so much blood. Blood on his hands, in his hair...filling his mouth. He remembered the taste of it: hot and thick, spiced with adrenaline and fear.
It had been good.
Nick's hand shook and he lowered the razor, still unable to take his eyes from the trickle of blood on his chin. He was a killer, just like Schräger. An animal.
No. No, he was better than Schräger. Willing the tremors in his hand to cease, Nick wiped his bloody face on a towel and determinedly scraped away the rest of his beard.
Before going out again he changed his shirt and, as an afterthought, his trousers. He couldn't see any blood on them, but there was no sense in taking chances. A curious lethargy seemed to set in then, and he had to force himself to open the door, to walk down the stairs to Main Court. The autumn sun seemed unusually bright and he stood for a moment, blinking.
"Ah, Sewell. Coming to lunch? Splendid."
Startled from his reverie by Angus Lemon's self-satisfied tones, Nick stared at the man for a moment then checked his watch. One o'clock. Had he eaten today? Nick couldn't remember. Perhaps he should go for lunch before he went to see Julian.
"Cat got your tongue, Sewell?"
Funny how you never really thought about common phrases. Nick's mind conjured up a visceral image of a tongue being torn out by the roots, and he fought a wave of nausea. "Ah. Sorry, Dr. Lemon. Yes. Lunch."
"I hear it's good news about your young, ah, yes," Lemon offered with his usual clarity of expression as they made their way to Hall.
"Julian. Yes. He's back safely." Although that was really rather relative, wasn't it?
"Bad business. Still, only to be expected, really."
"Really?" Nick wondered what Lemon would look like having his tongue torn out. Astonished and outraged, probably. He'd most likely write a stern letter to the Daily Telegraph about it.
"Young people never think of these things, do they? Make their choices with no regard for consequences. Well, here we are."
As Nick stepped into Hall, the cacophony of a couple of hundred students hit him. Talking, laughing, scraping chairs over the polished floor and clashing plates and cutlery. The air was filled with the bland scents of canteen food---and people. Mashed potato on an industrial scale, and students still sweaty from riding their bikes to lectures. How on earth had Nick never noticed before how loud it all was?
"Are you all right, Sewell? Looking a bit queer, there---no pun intended, of course." Lemon laughed heartily at his own joke, and Nick's stomach roiled.
"I'm---not hungry." Conscious of a dozen or so curious stares, Nick turned on his heel and half-ran out of Hall.
Once outside, the turmoil receded and all Nick could think of was just how bizarrely he was behaving. Get a grip, Sewell, he told himself angrily. Christ, if he couldn't even make it into Hall for lunch, how the hell was he going to get through town to see Julian? Resting his hands on his knees, he forced himself to take a series of calming breaths.
He hadn't realised just how much Fate had it in for him until he looked up again---and spotted the wiry figure of DI Phillips zeroing in on him like a disapproving cruise missile. "Mr. Sewell?" Phillips said when the gap between them had sufficiently narrowed. "A word, please."
"Master's Lodge?" Nick asked, trying to rein in his hostility.
"No. Dr. Earle isn't aware that I'm here today. Perhaps we could go up to your rooms?"
"Of course." Nick forced a smile, hoping it didn't look more like a grimace or, worse, like he was baring his teeth. "Although I was on my way to see Julian---perhaps we could do this later?"
"No, I think now would be best, Mr. Sewell." Strange, how eyes so pale, so like the waters of the Cam, could stare with such penetrating force.
"All right, then. This way." At least it would get it over with. After a moment Nick forced himself to make conversation. To try to seem, at least, somewhat normal. "Obviously you've heard that Julian's home safe," he began.
"Yes. We had a call from the Markhams. Curious business, wouldn't you say?"
"Ah, really?" They'd reached Nick's door, and he let Phillips in, fighting down the instincts that screamed at him to chase the enemy off his territory. "Coffee?" he asked sharply. He would not allow the wolf to take over and damn them both.
"No, thank you. This isn't, after all, a social call."
"So what is it, Inspector?" Nick snapped, his patience at an end.
Phillips looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I've been having a little chat with some colleagues in Nottingham."
Nick felt the colour drain out of his face. He wished like hell he'd invited the bastard to sit down so he could have done likewise. "And?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"And it appears to be a bit of a high-risk occupation, becoming involved with you, Mr. Sewell. Do you remember a young man called Matthew Innes, by any chance?"
"Of course I remember him!" Nick's voice was startlingly loud in the small room.
"Yes, I thought he might have stuck in your mind," Phillips continued, unperturbed. "Apparently you took Mr. Innes to A&E one night, where he was found to be suffering from a broken nose and three cracked ribs. He was interviewed by police but refused to name his assailant." Phillips paused by the windowsill, picking up a small figure of a fertility god with a grossly enlarged phallus and examining it briefly before putting it down again. It had been a joke gift from Nadia, and Nick kept it around to startle the students. No doubt Phillips could think of a way to have him locked up for that too. "And now we have young Mr. Lauder, who disappeared for several days, and on his return showed signs of having been beaten. He, too, is refusing to say anything about his attacker. Odd coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Nick was silent, frozen in place. Phillips continued. "And then, of course, we have the unfortunate Mr. Wilson, who died of his injuries---"
"I never met Andrew bloody Wilson." Nick's heart was racing, and he realised his fists were clenched by his sides.
"No? Are you quite sure about that, Mr. Sewell?" Phillips' tone was even and conversational, damn him.
Nick took an involuntary pace forward, and only sheer force of will stopped him from advancing on the man. "Yes! I---look, obviously you've got no evidence whatsoever linking me to the murder, or you wouldn't even be here. We'd be down at the police station with you reading me my rights." Thank God, the inspector didn't seem to have picked up on Nick's distinct lack of a denial that he'd been the cause of Matthew's injuries.
Phillips' eyes narrowed. He'd stood his ground throughout. "A word of advice, Mr. Sewell. If I were you, I'd make damned sure no other young men around here end up injured. I'll be watching you, make no mistake on that."
Nick's hackles rose and, when he spoke, his voice was a little too much like a growl for comfort. "Oh? Better be careful, Inspector. You might see more than you bargained for."
A curious expression crossed Phillips' face, as Nick became aware of just how appallingly inappropriate---not to mention dangerous---his behaviour was. He'd felt like he was about to change---Christ, had any of it showed in his eyes? His teeth, for God's sake? "Inspector---I'm sorry," he managed, forcing a smile. "I don't know what came over me. Must be the tiredness. It's been a bit of a strain, these last few days." He laughed, cringing internally at how false it sounded. "I'm afraid I hardly know what I'm saying."
"Indeed, Dr. Sewell. Well, that's to be expected."
Nick stared at the man. His manner had completely changed. He'd backed off a good two paces, the overt hostility replaced by a strange kind of watchfulness. "Right. Well, I, ah, thank you for being so understanding. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Inspector? I think perhaps I need to, ah..."
"Of course, Dr. Sewell." Phillips fished in his pocket for something. "Just one final thing. Would you mind taking a look at this?" He stepped forward once more and held out his clenched fist. Nick automatically stretched a palm out for whatever the man was holding.
A silver necklace---a crucifix on a chain---dropped into his hand. It was warm with the inspector's body heat. Baffled, Nick brought it up to his face for a closer look. "Was this found on the crime scene? I'm afraid I don't recognise it."
Something like disappointment seemed to cross the inspector's bland features. "Oh, just an idea. Not to worry." He retrieved the necklace and put it back in his pocket. "Well, I'll be going. I'm sure you won't be offended if I say I hope we won't be meeting again."
Bloody relieved, more like. "No, of course not, Inspector."
Phillips moved swiftly to the door---and then turned. "I wonder, Dr. Sewell, do you think we'll ever find Andrew Wilson's murderer?"
Nick froze. "I---I really couldn't say, Inspector." His guilt must have been so bloody obvious that Nick was amazed Phillips didn't arrest him there and then.
But Phillips just nodded and left.
It was only after Nick had stood at the window and watched the man leave college that the significance of the silver necklace penetrated his adrenaline-fogged brain. Nick sagged into a chair, his legs weak and his stomach churning. Christ, what next? Peasants with pitchforks?
Maybe it's what you deserve, a voice in his head seemed to say. What right did Nick have to get so outraged at Phillips' hounding? Phillips thought he'd killed a man. The only thing he was wrong about was the identity of the victim. Phillips disapproved of his relationship with Julian. He was right about that too.
The best thing Nick could do for Julian was stay well away from him. Else how long would it be before he, too, started abusing the boy?
He had to tell him, Nick realised. It wasn't fair just to leave him. Nick would have to go and see him and tell him why.
The walk through town was a blur of faces. Pale faces, dark ones. Young, pretty faces, and old ones lined with bitterness and regret. Stupid faces, intelligent faces, and those that knew what life was really like. Human faces. All of them going about their lives without the slightest notion that there were monsters running around among them. Nick wondered what would happen if he were to change now, to reveal the beast that lurked inside him. He could see them now: running, panicked, their faces twisted in fear. Or would their minds simply refuse to accept the truth of it?
Nick's eyes met those of a small child, walking listlessly next to a woman chatting upon a mobile phone. She stared at him---then flung herself upon her mother's legs.
"Lucy! What on earth are you up to? Come on, sausage, Mummy can't walk with you wrapped round her legs."
Nick hastened past them.
When he got to the University Arms, Nick opened the gate to the lift, but couldn't bring himself to enter. Was this where he should be? In a cage? He shook his head. Dangerous animals were put down. Should be shot like dogs, wasn't that how Markham had put it? Nick felt physically sick at the thought of getting into the lift and bolted for the stairs, running up to the third floor.
He'd hoped the exercise would clear his head, calm his nerves a little. But even as he stood at the door to suite 321, Nick's hands clenched convulsively. Could he do this?
He had to do this.
He knocked and waited.
"Ah, Sewell. Come in." Markham didn't look particularly overjoyed to see Nick. That was fine. Nick wasn't exactly thrilled to be here.
Julian jumped visibly as Nick walked into the hotel room, and pain ripped through Nick at the sight. He must have had time to think things through, to realise Nick was no better than Schräger. His mother sat by his side, one hand resting on his arm. Yes, she knows it too.
They'd just had lunch, he noted by the plates that lay on a sideboard waiting for a maid to clear them and throw away the leftovers. Julian was dressed in casual, smart clothes that were obviously new. The pale pink cashmere sweater was presumably an attempt to bring out a bit of colour in his face, but it really didn't have a lot to work with. It, and the grey trousers, fitted him beautifully, though, and Nick's throat felt tight at the thought of what he was about to say.
Lili stood. "Hugh, will you take Julian into the bedroom for a moment, please?" Her tone was unwontedly firm, and Markham bristled, but obeyed. Nick found himself wondering just who was the alpha in that relationship as Julian cast him a fleeting look before disappearing with his stepfather. Lili waited until the door had shut behind them before she spoke again. "Dr. Sewell, I hope you won't be offended by what I'm about to say, but my husband and I think it will be best for Julian if he comes home with us. Perhaps defers his education for a year. We can look after him there, protect him."
"Protect him from whom? Me?" Nick asked bitterly.
Lili's eyes widened. "Of course not. My---Julian's father---I believe he wishes Julian to return to Germany with him."
"What? His father doesn't give a damn about the boy. Why the hell would he suddenly want him back after all this time?" The thought of Herrscher suddenly developing some kind of paternal instinct was laughable. "Why did you call him?" he asked abruptly.
"Why did you?" she countered, holding his gaze until Nick flushed and looked away. "You must not tell my husband," she added in a low, insistent tone.
"I don't give a damn what secrets you want to keep from Markham. But I thought you hated Herrscher."
Her face was expressionless. "I don't think you can fully understand how much I hate him. But I knew that he, at least, would be able to find my son, and to take whatever measures were necessary."
Nick felt an unreasonable surge of anger. "We were both wrong. We didn't need him. Except for the clean-up, perhaps." Nick felt a certain satisfaction in picturing Herrscher as a glorified dustman. He took a deep breath. "I was the one who killed Schräger." He paused. Was the rest his to tell? "And Julian helped me."
Lili just nodded. "Peter told me. You surprised me. It's not so easy, to kill, is it? To take a life, even with the worst provocation." Her eyes unfocused and she seemed lost in memory.
Nick felt a chill tickle his spine. Had she considered murdering Schräger---or even Herrscher---those dark days in Germany, before she'd come up with her escape plan? When she looked at him again, her eyes, so like Julian's, were clear but troubled. "You know what he said to me? 'The boy shows potential after all.' You understand what that means?"
"I need to see him," Nick said abruptly.
She nodded. "Then go. Do not be too hard on him, please."
Nick barely heard her as he flung open the door to the other room. Julian was sitting by the window looking out across Parker's Piece, his long legs tucked up underneath him in the chair. His pale skin seemed almost translucent in the harsh grey light falling upon it.
Nick turned to his stepfather, who was hovering uneasily by Julian's chair. "Markham---would you mind?"
"Not at all," Markham said politely, although his eyes were narrowed. "You'll be all right, Julian?"
"Of course," Julian said softly. Both he and Nick watched Hugh Markham leave and close the door softly behind him.
"Julian," Nick began and stopped as the fragile-seeming limbs unfolded themselves gracefully and Julian stood.
"Are you angry with me?" Julian asked. He looked directly at Nick for a moment, his face a little flushed, before dropping his gaze once more.
Yes. "No."
"Doch. You're angry with me."
"I have no reason to be," Nick said stiffly. "You were a victim in this---"
"You think I wanted to go with him," Julian persisted. "You think I still loved him."
So he hadn't just been imagining things. His chest tight and a hard lump in his throat, Nick stepped forward, hand raised to---what, he didn't know. "Did you?"
Julian flinched, but stood his ground. He met Nick's eyes. "He's dead."
"You don't have to remind me of that." Nick almost snarled it. Appalled at the way he was behaving, he stepped back, his hand dropping to his side. Nick found himself clutching at his arm with his other hand, as if to prevent it from any further violent impulses. Christ, that was the only real difference between them, wasn't it? Schräger was dead.
"Nick---"
Nick cut him off, the thought of what he might say next almost too painful to bear. "Your mother says you're leaving Cambridge."
"Yes." It was barely audible.
For a moment Nick half-thought there might have been a note of uncertainty there, but he stamped down on such wishful thinking ruthlessly. "I think that's a good idea. Goodbye, Julian." He strode to the door, afraid to stay any longer. The knowledge that this could be the last time he ever saw Julian twisted in his gut like a knife, and he just wanted to get away, as if he could leave the pain behind him.
Almost against his will, he stopped at the door and turned. He owed Julian this. "I'm sorry," he said and walked away.
Tiff knew it couldn't be good news when she saw Dr. Sewell walking through the Porter's Lodge like a badly reanimated zombie. Men. Couldn't you trust them to do anything right? She was torn---should she go and comfort Julian, or confront a seriously scary-looking Dr. Sewell? For a moment she almost wished Crack hadn't finally buggered off home to change his socks. He might at least have been good for a second opinion.
Sod it. Jools had his mum, and Dr. Sewell was here. Hoping she wasn't making a big mistake, Tiff made her way up to his rooms and knocked on the door. "Dr. Sewell?" she called, because he might be pretending he was out to anyone not directly involved in the Julian thing. She jumped as he flung the door open.
"Yes?"
He'd smartened up a bit since earlier, but there was a dead look in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Can I come in?" Tiff asked nervously. He nodded once and stepped back to let her in. "Um. Have you been to see Julian?"
She'd never seen Dr. Sewell look so grim, not even when Julian had been missing. "Yes." He turned away. "He's leaving Cambridge."
"What do you mean? He didn't tell me that." Tiff frowned. "Are you sure that's what he said?"
"His parents are taking him home," Dr. Sewell said bleakly, slumping down on a chair like a sack of depressed potatoes.
"Oh," was all Tiff could think of to say. She felt hurt, and betrayed, and horribly selfish for feeling the way she did.
"He's better off without me," Dr. Sewell said, his head in his hands. "He knows it, his mother knows it, and I know it. And in any case, he's still in love with Schräger."
You stupid sod, Jools. "I thought he was dead? And anyway, did Julian say that?"
Dr. Sewell gave a bitter laugh. "He wouldn't deny it. I'd say that's pretty much the same thing, wouldn't you? Christ, after everything that bastard did to him." He flung himself out of his seat with a violence that made Tiff's heart pound, and stood leaning on his desk, head down.
"Um. Look, don't take this the wrong way, but don't you think you're being, um..." A bit of a git? "...a bit hasty? I mean, when you turned up to see Jools, did he look like he wished you hadn't?"
Dr. Sewell didn't say anything, but his knuckles were standing out white under his skin and his face was twisted up like he was in pain. Tiff wondered if he'd notice if she started edging towards the door. "I spoke to him, you know," she carried on hurriedly. "Look, he's a bit confused, all right? I don't know what happened when he was, um, away, but he looks a right state."
"You want to know what happened?" Dr. Sewell was staring at her now and it was bloody creepy. "You want to know what we're capable of?" His voice was so soft she had to strain to hear it and then she wished she hadn't. God, she was talking to a bloke who'd killed someone. But it must have been self-defence, right?
Right?
If it wasn't, Tiff decided, she didn't want to know. "Um. No thanks."
"I shouldn't be here." Dr. Sewell turned away and stared out of the window. He sounded like he was talking to himself. "I'm not fit to be here."
"That's rubbish! You're a great supervisor." Tiff hesitated, and put a hand on his shoulder, an uncomfortable chill flickering through her stomach as she wondered if she'd ever get it back. "And those handouts you do for lectures are brilliant. Of course you should be here."
He looked up at her then, dead eyes and all. "I killed a man."
Tiff tried not to shiver. "You did it for Jools," she said with a certainty she didn't feel. "You had to do it, to save him."
"You think that's what Julian thinks?"
"Of course it is! You saved his life."
Dr. Sewell gave a horrible, twisted smile. "I killed his lover."
"Bollocks." Tiff's hand clapped to her mouth. "I mean, that's---you're his lover. Not that bastard who used to beat him up."
"I don't think Julian sees it quite that way."
"He does! Look...I'm not sure Jools knows how he feels right now. But he definitely said he preferred you to Boris the Bastard." It didn't sound any more like a declaration of undying love than it had when Julian had said it. Tiff hurried on. "And when I asked him how he'd feel if he never saw you again, he said 'empty'. Um. Could you not, you know, stare at me like that?" Tiff took her hand off his shoulder and backed off a pace. She really should have gone to see Jools. She'd made a right pig's ear of this. Was she even doing the right thing here? Maybe Julian would be better off without Dr. Sewell.
No. Jools had been miserable, thinking Dr. Sewell didn't want him. Tiff pulled herself together. "Look, I'll talk to him. You just... I'll talk to him."
Heart pounding as she closed the door behind her, Tiff had to fight the urge to run down the stairs.
Tiff jumped as, turning out onto Main Court, she almost ran into Dr. Pawlaczek.
"Hmm. Been to see Nick, have you? I was just on my way there myself. Do I take it from your expression things are not going as smoothly as they ought to be with our two young lovebirds?"
It was a bit weird, hearing her talk about Dr. Sewell like that. Like she was lumping him in with the students or something. Tiff had to collect her thoughts before she could answer. Then she had to stop and think again, because Dr. Pawlaczek didn't know anything about the whole werewolf business, did she? Not to mention, Dr. Sewell having killed Boris... God, this was complicated.
And Dr. Pawlaczek was giving her a very funny look now. "Um, he's feeling a bit...I think they've sort of split up, but I was going to have a word with Jools." She hesitated, but Dr. Pawlaczek was Dr. Sewell's best friend, wasn't she? "He's got this idea he's bad for Julian. But it's stupid. He's nothing like that ba---Boris."
Dr. Pawlaczek tsked. "Still not making sense, eh? You deal with young Julian, and I'll sort Nick out. Divide and conquer, that's what I always say."
Tiff wasn't sure that was entirely appropriate, seeing as how they were supposed to be getting them back together, but she nodded anyway and set off for her room. She needed a coffee before she did anything else.
Preferably with a large shot of Russian, and sod how early it was in the day.
Tiff made do with the caffeine, in the end, plus a couple of chocolate HobNobs as she had a feeling she was going to need the energy. Then she brushed her hair, briefly considered makeup as a sort of defence against Jools' scarily well-groomed mother, then gave it up as a waste of time and headed out towards the college gate.
She didn't get there. Halfway down Main Court, she saw Crack---and Julian. They were walking side by side like a couple of poster boys for anorexia. Jools looked a bit startled rabbit, but Crack gave a big grin when he saw her.
"Hey, Tiff! Look who I found in the Plodge."
"Jools!" Tiffany wrapped her arms around him. God, he felt even skinnier than before. If he lost any more weight, he'd just be a bag of bones, like Crack. Maybe they both should go round to Dr. Pawlaczek's for a bit of Marje's cooking. "What were you doing out here on your own? Are you all right?"
"I was coming to see you," he said quietly. "I wanted to ask...what you said before. Do you still think it is true?"
"You mean about..." Tiff broke off, her gaze flicking to Crack. "I don't..." She came to a decision. "Yes. You need to talk to each other, okay? Come on, I'll walk you to the staircase."
Jools gave a faint smile. "I made it across town on my own. I think I can manage Main Court."
"Don't be a prat. Crack, do you mind? I sort of need to talk to Jools alone."
Tiff took Julian's arm as Crack melted away like a well-brought-up shadow. "Now look, he's got this big thing that he's, um---well, he's not been making a lot of sense, but he seems to think you're upset about him," she lowered her tone, "you know, killing Boris."
He didn't answer. Tiff stopped dead, her hold on his arm meaning that he did too. "Jools?"
"It was the only thing he could have done." Jools gazed off into the distance. "If Boris had killed him, I would have died too."
Tiff didn't think he was just being melodramatic. "You think Boris would have killed Nick?"
"He killed Andrew."
"Andrew? Oh---the bloke in the paper? You knew him?" God, was there no end to the shit Jools was having to deal with because of bloody Boris?
"Yes. It's my fault he died."
"Don't be so bloody stupid! It's not your fault. That's just what victims of domestic abuse always say---it was my fault, I provoked him, he couldn't help it." She'd read up on that, after he'd first mentioned that bastard. "The only person whose fault it was is Boris, all right?" She softened her tone. "Was he like an ex, or something? Andrew, I mean?"
Jools nodded. "Something like that. I didn't know him very well."
Which just told you all you needed to know about Julian's relationships before Dr. Sewell, didn't it? Suddenly feeling a lot better about what she was doing, Tiff gave a tug on his arm. "Come on. Let's get you two sorted out."
After Tiffany had left, Nick sank into a chair, exhausted. Had he done the wrong thing after all? Julian had said he felt empty without Nick. That was a pretty good description of how Nick felt right now: hollow, completely used up. Surely it was madness for them both to be suffering?
But Julian was young. He'd survive; he'd find someone else---Nick's gut clenched at the thought. The wolf in him wouldn't stand for that, he knew. Killing people...wasn't it supposed to be so much easier after the first one? Nick felt sick at the thought.
The knock on the door was brisk and business-like. It had to be either Nadia or the police. Nick hesitated. He really wasn't feeling up to another run-in with Phillips.
"Nick Sewell, I know you're in there," Nadia's voice called. "I just ran into Tiffany on the stairs. So open up before I get Sands to lend me the master key."
Gratefully, Nick went to open the door.
She looked him up and down. "Well, I see you had that shave, but apart from that, it's frankly not much of an improvement. I take it the interview with young Julian didn't go well?"
Nick rubbed his hands over his face as he stood aside to let her in. "We...we've split up. He's leaving Cambridge, going back to his mother's. We thought it was best."
She didn't look particularly as if she agreed. "Nick, lovey, he may have the looks of a china doll but I hardly think wrapping him in cotton wool is going to do him any good in the long term."
"At least he'll be safe," Nick protested.
"What from? Life? Sorry to disappoint you, but there's only one way to keep someone safe from that and it's not one that I'd recommend."
She didn't understand. How could she? "Safe from me," he said harshly.
Her eyes narrowed. "And is that a valid concern? Ever raised a hand to him?"
Nick was absolutely certain she wouldn't let friendship get in the way of safeguarding Julian if he said yes. It was actually rather comforting. "No. But he makes me feel..." Restless, he turned away from her. "I get jealous, and I'm not sure I can control it."
It was close enough to the truth that saying it felt like ripping off a scab. A rather unsightly one, at that.
Nadia sighed, and to Nick's ears it sounded a lot like relief. "It seems to me, then, dearie, that there's a very simple solution."
"I wish to God you'd tell me what it is, then," Nick said with a hollow attempt at a laugh as he flung himself back into his chair.
"If you don't want to be an abusive boyfriend, then don't be an abusive boyfriend." She rolled her eyes at his look. "What I'm saying is that you have a choice. Now, maybe there is a bit of darkness in that soul of yours, but the Nick Sewell I know can rise above it. You're not just the sum of your baser impulses, so don't let the little buggers fool you into thinking you are."
Nick smiled tiredly. "It all sounds so absurdly simple when you put it like that."
Nadia grinned back at him. "That'll be the years of practice talking down to students, dearie." She put an arm round his shoulders as he sat. "Now, I saw you when Julian went missing, and it was patently obvious to me that you care for that young man a great deal. Don't you think you ought to stop being such a silly old sod and tell him about it?"
His smile turned crooked. "Whatever happened to 'if you love somebody, let them go'?"
"Most people, Nick, are quite capable of buggering off by themselves, so I shouldn't worry about that. Now, are you going to give it another go with your young Adonis?" Nadia had moved to the window and was idly playing with the fertility god in a manner that would most likely have made her young male students rather uncomfortable. She gave a little hmmph of surprise. "Looks like you might have to make your decision quickly. If I'm not mistaken, there's the young man himself walking this way."
Heart pounding, Nick stepped to the window, and Nadia moved aside to let him see. Julian was halfway down one side of Main Court, his arms wrapped around himself and his delicate colouring accentuated by the crow-like figure of Tiffany's Goth boyfriend beside him which, as he watched, scuttled back towards the Porter's Lodge. Tiffany was there too, hanging on to Julian like she was determined not to let him get away again. Nick felt a physical pain in his chest at the sight.
He couldn't do this, he realised. Not for a second time. He'd been noble once, for Christ's sake. He couldn't go through that again. Nick turned away from the window, unable to look at Julian anymore. His eyes met Nadia's, which softened at once. "Oh, lovey. Look, I'll make myself scarce. Just try not to balls it up this time, hmm?"
She left, closing the door softly behind her. It seemed only moments later that Nick heard Julian's hesitant knock and, with a sense of inevitability, rose to answer the door.
It felt almost surreal, having Julian walk back into his rooms. It must have been less than a week since the last time he was here---but it felt more like a lifetime.
"Nick?" Julian said, his voice uncertain. He looked as pale as death, Nick realised, and his eyes were wild, his hair untidy. What had it cost him to walk through town on his own, to come to face the man who'd rejected him? Pain slashed at Nick once more. He'd given up all rights to Julian. Christ, what had he been thinking of?
Julian's voice was even softer as he spoke again. "You said...you said you were sorry. Why were you sorry?"
Nick was startled into a laugh. "Christ, Julian, you want a list?" He looked away, trying to reconcile the conflicting emotions that were tearing him apart. "Do your parents know you're here?"
"Yes. They didn't want me to come." Julian's gaze, at first defiant, now sank to the carpet.
"Why did you?" Nick cursed himself for how bloody unwelcoming that sounded. "I mean, not that I don't want you here..." He trailed off. That had, after all, been more or less what he'd said back in the hotel.
Julian shrugged, a small, tense movement. "Tiff thought that I was wrong about how you felt about me." His arms moved jerkily, as if he'd been about to hug himself once more, but had fought down the impulse. Nick ached to do it for him. "I should be the one to say sorry," Julian continued at last. "I should not have gone with Boris."
"Did you have a choice?" Nick forced himself to ask. His heart seemed to race as he waited for Julian's answer.
"I...I tried to run." Julian shuddered. Nick's anger rose at the thought of him being pursued by that monster. "It was my fault Andrew was killed. I led Boris to him."
Andrew. Nick felt suddenly cold. "You knew the man who was murdered? What was he---another of your back-alley blowjob regulars?"
Julian flinched. "He was not a regular. None of them were."
For God's sake, how many had there been? "But you had---Christ, is that what you were doing when Schräger found you?"
Julian's head came up defiantly. "No. We spoke, and I told Andrew I had made a mistake in coming into town. I was going to come back to college."
He'd been going to come back... "So, what did Schräger say to make you change your mind?" Nick was being unfair, he knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Christ, the bastard had just killed a man in front of Julian, was it any wonder the boy had been too frightened to disobey? "Julian, I'm sorry---"
"I don't understand you, Nick." Julian's hand brushed through his hair distractedly. "I think I know what you want, but then you say you do not want it. And then you act as though I was right the first time. I don't know how you want me to behave!"
Nick stared. "Julian, I don't want you to act a certain way to please me. That's not love! That's some kind of bloody Pygmalion complex." He realised his fists were clenched and relaxed them with difficulty. He wanted to kill Schräger all over again, and Herrscher, and anyone else who'd had a hand in making the boy believe he was no more than a puppet.
Julian's eyes were wide. "You love me?"
He had said that, hadn't he? Or as good as. Nick felt a curious lightness in his chest. "Christ, Julian, isn't it obvious by now?"
"I don't understand love," Julian said softly.
Something inside Nick broke at that. "I know. It's all right. I'll teach you." He took two short paces forward and then, finally, took Julian in his arms. He smelt rather strongly of soap and shampoo, but under it all Nick could still detect Julian's own unique scent, and it crept under his skin and penetrated his heart. "I thought you'd be better off without me," he whispered, even as he pressed their bodies together.
"Never," Julian whispered back, nuzzling into Nick's neck in a way that left him breathless. Nick hadn't meant to do anything other than hold the boy, but suddenly he was kissing him savagely. If Julian hesitated before kissing him back, Nick wasn't aware of it. He surrendered eagerly to the onslaught, his lips parting to allow Nick to taste every corner of his mouth. Nick groaned. He was achingly hard and filled with the urge to reclaim his mate. Almost without thinking, he began to tug at Julian's shirt.
Julian froze. His sudden stillness brought Nick to his senses. Christ, what was he thinking of? Julian had been abducted, abused..."I'm sorry," he said, stroking Julian's hair. "It's all right. We don't have to---"
In answer, Julian stepped back half a pace and pulled off his sweater, then stood there, trembling slightly. Nick's jaw clenched at the sight of the mottled bruises, the half-healed cuts that marred that creamy flesh, and then slender fingers were upon his chin, tilting his head upward to meet Julian's troubled gaze. "Don't look, Nick. Please."
For a heartbeat, Nick just stared at him. Then he nodded slightly and bent once more to meet Julian's lips in a kiss. He pulled Julian to him more gently this time, feeling the curves of his arse, moaning a little as his erection dug into the flat planes of Julian's stomach. Then Julian's hands trembled on the fastenings of Nick's trousers, unzipped them and freed his painfully rigid cock. Guessing what was to come, Nick caught Julian by the elbows as he began to sink to his knees. "Not this time."
Undoing Julian's trousers, he reached for that slender cock and felt it twitch and firm in his hand. Julian gasped, a high, breathy sound, as Nick wrapped his hand around them both and started to work them together. Their lips met once more, and there was a new desperation in Julian's kiss. No longer just yielding to Nick's attentions, he seized the initiative, nipping and biting at Nick's tongue and lips, then moving down to his throat. All hesitation swept aside by Julian's boldness, Nick tightened his hand on their cocks and sped up his motion.
Julian was moaning now as his cock moved repeatedly through Nick's grasp. As his cries grew louder Nick felt drunk on desire for this beautiful boy who'd almost been snatched away from him. "Mine," he growled---and Julian shuddered in his arms as hot come shot up between them. Nick felt a wave of heat and lust explode through his body and he was coming too, their seed mingling on their bellies and soaking into Nick's shirt.
They clung to one another for long minutes afterward, then, as his breathing slowed and the chill of his rooms began to make itself known, Nick stripped off his soiled shirt and used it to wipe Julian clean. Their mingled scent would remain, Nick knew, and that was just how he wanted it. "Come to bed," he said softly, and they padded to the bedroom and slipped under the duvet together.
"So," Julian said with a pale ghost of his old smile as he settled down in Nick's arms, "you don't think I'd be better off without you now?"
His heart light, Nick kissed him. "No." Did he really believe that, or was it just selfish relief at having his lover back? "You...you have to tell me if I do things you don't like. Talk to me---don't just run off for a bit of comfort elsewhere." He took a deep breath and cupped Julian's face in one hand. "I know you need...an alpha, and I suspect I'd find it difficult in any case not to play that role. But it doesn't mean you don't have a voice in our relationship."
Julian bit his lip and nodded. "I'm sorry I...reacted badly when you said you didn't want me to live with you. I should have realised---"
"I was a bloody idiot." Nick said sharply. He gave a lopsided smile. "I should have realised in any case that the chances of keeping our relationship a secret were ridiculously small in a place like this. I'm afraid I'm a little too used to having to keep my own counsel, to not let anyone know too much about me. Having to hide what I am..." Nick's stomach lurched as he remembered. "The police suspect. Or at least, Inspector Phillips does."
"Suspect what? That we are werewolves?"
"That I am, at any rate. He handed me a silver cross to hold, then looked terribly disappointed when I didn't scream in agony or burst into flames or whatever the hell was supposed to happen." Nick grimaced. "Just as well that little piece of folklore isn't true. It'd make using the silver cutlery on High Table damned awkward."
His heart leapt as Julian wrapped two slender arms around his waist and rested a tousled blond head on his shoulder. "Do you think we are in danger?"
"I hope not. Not if we're careful, I think. He doesn't seem certain of anything---except for the fact he hates my guts---and he'd be risking his career to speak of his suspicions to anyone without some damned convincing proof." Nick sighed. "What about your father? Herrscher. Do you really think he wants you back?"
"I think he wants to frighten my mother. How far he will go in this, I don't know." Julian's arms tightened on his waist. "I don't want to go back with him."
"God, of course not!"
Julian was silent for a moment. "I was going to tell you I would."
"What?"
"If you had told me to go back to my mother, to stay away from you. I would have told you I'd rather return to my father, if you didn't want me."
Nick tipped Julian's chin up so that their eyes met. "What if I'd called your bluff?"
Julian tensed. "If you'd been that disgusted with me, I wouldn't have cared what happened to me."
"Disgusted?" Nick shook his head. "Julian, you must never doubt that I want you. Whatever happens. Understand? Even if we have other rows. Never doubt me. I love you."
Julian murmured something Nick didn't catch and buried his face in Nick's neck once more.
Nick stroked his lover's pale hair. Yes, he thought---he'd made the right decision. Thank God. This was how he could prove himself better than that bastard Schräger---by protecting Julian. Nurturing him. Loving him like he deserved.
And maybe he should find out where Matthew was living these days and check if he was all right, if he needed anything. Or make a donation to a domestic abuse charity. He should have done those things long ago, Nick realised. It was time to start taking responsibility for the consequences of his actions.
Time to recognise just how damned lucky he was that things had ended up so well with Julian.
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. "Ew. No thanks. 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 some day."
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 favourite colour. 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 neighbours 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 know."
"You do realise you're destroying all my illusions, don't you?" She grinned. "Want a biscuit?"
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 knew, 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 just a touch too pricy 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 sounding 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 pricy for college fellows as well. But damn it, didn't they deserve a celebration?
He certainly needed food. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded.
"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 starting to catch up with me. Plus, I realised 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, Julian came back to college, rather than staying with his mother where you could get at him without involving me?"
There was the clatter of 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 clattering on the iron stairs, sent Nick a startled look. He froze for a moment, wondering frantically if his other nature was showing---then realised 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 perfectly 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 colour 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, feeling himself smiling in a ridiculously soppy fashion 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 smiled at them approvingly, although Nick was fairly certain her male companion muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath. Once out on the street, they prudently 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, Inspector Phillips would probably think all his Christmases had come at once...
He stopped abruptly.
"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."
When the knock came on her door at ten o'clock in the morning, Tiff was still in bed. She tumbled out, checked her pyjamas 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. Coffeemate?"
He 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 afterwards, 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 favours, 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 Sapphos?"
"Oh, he knows all right. Unfortunately the silly old sod doesn't actually believe in followers of Sapphos. 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 his 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 boy." She frowned. "As long as he doesn't turn out to be a vegetarian like that young man the other night. Tiffany Meadows' new beau? Marje was horrified. He turned down a helping of her Hungarian goulash! No wonder the boy'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. He opened the door in a pair of well-cut jeans and a soft cotton shirt, in a faded blue that brought out the colour of his eyes. He'd obviously just got back from a shower: his hair was still wet. Nick's breath caught at the sight of him. How in God's name had he ended up with someone like this?
"Nick?" Julian's voice was a little worried. "Is something wrong?"
"No! No, I, ah---" Nick ran his hands through his hair and gave Julian a rueful smile. "I'm being a bit stalkerish, aren't I? Sorry. Half an hour suddenly seemed like an awfully long time to wait."
Julian smiled, his whole face brightening. "That's all right. Come in."
The room was as bare as Nick remembered it, but a lot less tidy. Julian noticed Nick looking around. "The police searched it. I've been trying to clear it up a bit."
"Christ, why didn't you tell me? I'd have come and helped. God, what a thing to come back to. We should damned well complain about this." Nick's heart was pounding.
"It's all right. Really." Julian gave another tired smile. Nick tried to calm his breathing. It wasn't really that big a deal---but it was just one more way that bastard had violated Julian. As if his life meant nothing, could be turned upside down on a whim. "Nick?"
"I---sorry. Look, let's go and get an early lunch, all right? Then we can get on with what we need to do for tonight."
Julian nodded, but didn't move. "Nick?" he asked again, and this time his tone was quite different. It was soft, almost just a sigh. Nick stepped forward almost without knowing he did so, and suddenly Julian was in his arms, their bodies moulding together like they'd been made to measure. They shared a long, slow kiss and, although Nick's body had an inevitable reaction, he didn't press for anything more. It just seemed right, somehow, to simply hold Julian.
When they parted, a lot of the tension seemed to have drained out of him, and Julian's smile was more relaxed too. I love you, Nick thought with a kind of wonder. He raised a hand to stroke away a strand of still-damp hair that had fallen over Julian's face, and breathed in a waft of his shampoo, comforting in its familiarity. For a moment the coming evening seemed very far away and slightly unreal.
But only for a moment. Nick sighed. "Come on. We'll grab a sandwich at the Copper Kettle, and then we'll need to get moving."
Driving out to the Godolphin Estate that evening, Nick's whole body thrummed with the tension that had been building all day. Surprisingly, it wasn't a wholly unpleasant sensation. He realised he was in a certain sense looking forward to the coming confrontation. This was his chance to beat Herrscher---not at his own game, perhaps, but beat him nonetheless.
If it worked. If the day's preparations hadn't all been a waste of time. He risked a glance over to Julian in the passenger seat. Julian was slowly regaining his colour, but his hands in his lap looked painfully cramped. Nick's heart lurched. "This---you don't have to come, you know. I won't think any less of you if you change your mind. He's your father---it must be damned hard for you. You weren't raised to defy him."
Julian took a deep breath and stretched out his fingers deliberately. "It's all right. I---I've had a little practice defying those I was taught to obey."
Nick was absurdly relieved he hadn't mentioned Schräger's name. God help him, just the very thought of that bastard made his blood boil, even now he was six feet under in an unmarked grave. "I'll take the lead, anyway. You don't even have to show yourself if you don't want to." He reached across and gripped Julian's hand. "I'm glad you're here."
"I have to be here. We're pack, Nick. We stand together."
Perhaps he realised that wasn't precisely the sort of terms Nick wanted to be thinking in right now, because after a moment Julian added, "And I love you."
Nick's fingers tightened of their own accord, but as they reached the turning, he had to let go of Julian's hand to change gear. They'd got to the estate well in advance of the pre-arranged hour. It was still light, the sky just beginning to turn from pale autumn blue to the inkier shade that presaged full darkness. On such a clear night, the moon would be bright and the skies full of stars. Nick wondered if he'd still be around to see them and shivered.
"Is everything all right?"
Nick looked across to Julian and forced a tight smile as he put on the handbrake and unbuckled his seat belt. "Yes. Come on, I want to make damned sure there are no nasty surprises lying in wait for us. Your father's had a whole day to prepare, even if I imagine what he's prepared for isn't quite what he's going to find."
They walked around the Ring, eyes peeled for any signs that Herrscher and his cronies had got here early, occasionally using sticks to beat at thickets. Nick suspected Julian was only humouring him---apparently there was a sort of honour among wolves that forbade the laying of traps. Nick supposed he was going to be breaking that code tonight, but found he didn't much care. He'd never asked to become a wolf---he was damned if he'd consider himself bound to obey their rules. What the hell was so bloody fair about a fair fight, anyhow? It didn't make you any more right if you won. It just meant you were bigger and could hit harder.
Or, as it might be, had sharper teeth.
As they patrolled the area, Nick felt a curious sense of something being mildly out-of-place, and laughed in spite of himself as he realised what it must be.
"What is it?" Julian asked.
Nick gave a wry smile. "I've just realised this is the first time I've walked around here with my clothes on."
He was disconcerted by the sad look on Julian's face. "It seems like so long ago, when you brought me here last time. Before all..." Julian didn't finish.
Nick put his arms around his lover's shoulders. "We'll come here again. I promise you," he added as if it wasn't just a pretty lie, as if he could know for certain how Herrscher would react when Nick confronted him. "It's a good plan," he added, quite possibly for both their benefit.
Julian nodded, his eyes downcast and teeth worrying his lower lip. "Yes." He looked up. "Nick, I..."
There was the sound of a car door slamming, and they jerked apart. "He's here," Nick said unnecessarily. "Time to get ready."
His eyes fearful, Julian nodded once more and disappeared into the trees on the further side from the road.
Nick ached to see him go. He hadn't even had time to tell Julian he loved him, for Christ's sake. But now wasn't the time to be thinking of such things. Ruthlessly forcing out all feelings of regret, Nick moved into the open area at the center of the Ring, and waited, his mouth dry. He strained his ears, but caught few sounds of Herrscher's approach. The tension that had previously lightened his limbs and sharpened his mind now coiled into a lead weight that rested uncomfortably in his stomach. Nick shook himself lightly, trying to dislodge the stiffness that was creeping into his body. If all this went wrong, he'd need to be able to react quickly.
Not that it was likely to help him do anything but delay the inevitable. His jaw clenched as his mind insisted on speculating what it would be like for Julian if that happened. God, he should have sent the boy back to his mother---Markham had money, surely he could have protected him? Perhaps Nick should call him---
Too late. Herrscher stepped out of the trees and into a patch of moonlight, as if the spotlight had been arranged in advance. On the other side of the clearing, the rabbits continued their attempt to munch the rough grass out of existence, moronically oblivious to the predator in their midst. Nick stood his ground and waited for Herrscher to come to him, fighting the urge to snarl at the smug expression on the man's face, clearly visible amongst the shadows cast by the moon's cold light.
"So. I am here, Dr. Sewell. And now we must discuss what is best for the boy."
Nick resisted the impulse to grind his teeth at Herrscher's arrogant tone. "There's nothing to discuss. Julian is staying here with me."
Herrscher laughed. "You think you are the one to make that decision? I am his father. I know what is best for him, and it is not to stay here with one who hardly knows what it is to be a wolf. If he stays here, his potential will be wasted."
"His potential for what? To become a killer?" Nick felt his hands bunching into fists. "Forgive me, Herrscher, but that's not the kind of education I tend to view as essential."
Herrscher stepped forward. It took every ounce of self-control Nick had not to leap at him. This was his territory, damn it. Julian was his. "You know what your trouble is, Dr. Sewell?" Herrscher asked scathingly. "You think like a man, not like a wolf."
It was clearly intended to provoke, but it had the opposite effect. Nick relaxed infinitesimally and even managed a laugh out of sheer bravado. "And you think that's a character flaw? I've got news for you, Herrscher---I am a man. So is Julian. And there's a damned good reason humans are the dominant species on this planet."
"Humans!" Herrscher's lip curled in a sneer. "Don't you see, Sewell? We are the higher species. We have everything---the intelligence of men and the instincts of the wolf. If Julian does not learn to master his wolf side, he will be nothing---a pale shadow of what he might have been. Is that what you want for him?"
"It's what I want," sounded from the darkness, and Julian stepped forward. Nick hoped the scent of Julian's fear wasn't as obvious to Herrscher as it was to him---and that the sharp spike of fear that had coursed through his own breast on Julian's behalf was equally undetectable.
But the anger he felt swiftly subdued it. There was a foul taste in Nick's mouth from Herrscher's speech. It had called vividly to mind images of older, hate-filled tirades against Untermenschen.
"I don't want to go back with you," Julian continued, his voice high and tight to Nick's ears, "and I don't want to stay with my mother. I belong to Nick."
Herrscher turned to face his son. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he visibly bit down on his instinctive response. "Schräger was a misjudgment," he said at last. "This time, I would train you myself."
Nick felt a fierce sense of pride as Julian managed to look his father in the eye, even if only for a moment. "I'm staying here."
Herrscher's face darkened, and every hair on Nick's body seemed to stand on end. This was it. This was where it could all go horribly wrong. His wolf instincts were screaming at him to change, to fight. To defend his pack, his mate. "There's something you should know," he said quickly, before he could lose control.
He had Herrscher's full attention now. "What?"
"There's a police officer who's been investigating the murder of the young man your misjudgment killed. Detective Inspector Phillips. Met him?" Nick paused. "Interesting man. Bit like a pit bull terrier---once he gets hold of you, he really doesn't like to let go. He seems to suspect the existence of werewolves. I thought, seeing as he's taking such a keen interest, it would be only fair to enlighten him."
"What?"
Nick carried on past the dryness in his throat. "So this afternoon I put together a file, with names and addresses in Germany. Photographs of myself mid-transformation. Julian helped with all that. At present, it's lodged with a friendly solicitor, but I've given instructions for it to be forwarded to Inspector Phillips should anything happen to me or Julian. Including, of course, unexplained disappearances. Obviously, Phillips has no jurisdiction in Germany---but I shouldn't have thought he'd really need that to make life exceedingly difficult for you."
There was a moment of absolute stillness. Nick waited, every sense alert to Herrscher's reaction. To find out if he'd pushed the man---the wolf---too far. If they fought, was there even the remotest chance he would win? Even if Julian were to help? Nick wasn't sure he could count on that in any case. This was Julian's father, for Christ's sake. Please, God, let me not have to kill Julian's father in front of him.
Although in the circumstances, he'd definitely prefer that to the alternative.
Herrscher's eyes were the merest slits, glinting in the moonlight, and his body seemed to thrum with barely suppressed rage. His fingers stretched out from his hands as if itching to become claws.
Nick could imagine only too well how they'd feel ripping through his jugular. His throat was impossibly dry, but he felt curiously lightheaded, almost buoyant in anticipation of a fight. His weight shifted forward instinctively onto the balls of his feet as he waited for the man to speak.
When Herrscher finally did so, it was with a snarl of contempt so vicious Nick almost mistook it for the beginnings of an attack. "I overestimated you, Sewell. And the boy." Herrscher gave a harsh laugh, turning to Julian. "Did you think I would be impressed by your use of low, human cunning? This is not the way of the wolf. You disgust me. You are no son of mine. Kommt!" As he barked the order, the mismatched figures of Luther and Wahl broke from the shadows to follow their leader.
Nick watched them move out of sight, scarcely able to believe that they were going without a fight. When he heard the sounds of doors slamming and the car moving off, the tension finally broke and he sat heavily on the ground. He hadn't had the slightest inkling of the presence of Herrscher's henchmen. Christ, if he'd had to fight it would have ended up a bloody massacre. "Thank God for low cunning," he said shakily as Julian dropped to the ground beside him.
Julian's arms wrapped around Nick and tightened convulsively. "I didn't understand," Julian whispered, his head buried in Nick's neck. "Why you were not like them. You confused me."
"And now?"
"I think your way is better. Whatever my father thinks." He looked up into Nick's eyes. "Can we go home now?"
"Yes," Nick told him. "We can go home."
The drive back to college seemed to pass in a blur. Nick drove on autopilot, hoping distractedly that enough of his subconscious was paying attention that they wouldn't have an accident. Perhaps they should have stayed out on the estate, eased the tension with a run---but Julian had wanted to go home, and Nick had felt a powerful urge to get him back where he felt safe.
They walked back through college holding hands, Nick rather reveling in shocking the few students who were around to see them. For God's sake, it wasn't like they were performing sodomitical acts in the middle of Main Court. As they reached Nick's staircase, the figure of Angus Lemon bore down upon them. "Ah! Sewell. Need a word---"
Nick smiled savagely and held up his and Julian's clasped hands so that Lemon couldn't possibly overlook them. "Not now, Angus. Julian and I are a little busy. I wouldn't bother knocking later, either---I doubt we'll be opening the door."
He had the satisfaction of rendering the old goat absolutely speechless, although the faint sputterings of "Well, really!" that followed them up the stairs showed Lemon had recovered fairly quickly. Still, Nick had a feeling he'd be staying well out of their way for the foreseeable future.
Julian was in his arms the minute the door had closed behind them. Their bodies melted together, fitting perfectly, and Nick reached up and stroked that pale gold hair that had fascinated him as long as he'd known the boy. Having Julian in his rooms seemed to have gone from awkward and unusual to entirely natural and proper. The short times he'd been absent earlier in the day had made the place seem far too empty. Christ, had he really ever thought living together would be a bad idea? First thing tomorrow he was heading down to the estate agent's.
Julian leaned into the caress. "Take me to bed?" he asked.
"God, yes," Nick breathed. He didn't move for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of Julian pressed against them, but as Julian tugged gently at his shoulders, Nick recollected just how much better it would be if they were naked. He shrugged off his jacket and dropped it to the floor, then reached up to push Julian's jacket off his shoulders. "New?" he asked absently, enjoying the way Julian's scent intensified as the leather fell to the ground.
"Yes." Julian sounded distracted, possibly because he was busy undoing Nick's shirt. Presumably Tiffany was claiming squatter's rights on the old jacket.
"I like it. Better off, though." Nick breathed in sharply as soft hands moved over his bare chest, and his fingers fumbled with the buttons of Julian's shirt, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. Julian wasn't helping---he'd leant in to nuzzle at Nick's neck with teasing little nips and kisses that were entirely too distracting.
Nick finally managed to get Julian's shirt off, and pulled him in closer. He wanted to feel him, not look at the marks that bastard had left on him. Julian was hard, as hard as Nick himself. They frotted against one another for a while, mouths finding necks and nipples and finally each other once more, then Nick felt slender fingers working at his belt buckle and undoing his trousers. As they fell to the floor, he hurried to return the favour, pushing clothing down over slender hips and finally pressing their heated lengths against one another.
The more he had, the more he seemed to need. Nick grasped Julian's buttocks, trying to be gentle as he urgently ground their cocks together. It still wasn't enough. "Bed," he suggested breathily, and, bodies still entangled, they kicked off their shoes, stepped out of their clothes and headed for the bedroom.
The sheets, as Nick pulled them back, still smelled of them, of their lovemaking last night. They fell into bed together, as if any loss of contact could be disastrous, and kissed deeply, Nick remembering to be as gentle as he could with his lover's bruised form.
"I want you to take me," Julian said, breaking their kiss.
Nick froze. A thousand implications of that simple request hung in the air between them like Schräger's ghost. At Julian's stricken look, Nick forced himself to relax as far as he was able. "It's all right---"
"Please," Julian whispered, and it was too much.
Nick could have wept. "If it hurts, you are to tell me immediately, understand?" He almost snarled it. Julian didn't answer. "Understand?" Nick repeated, more forcefully.
A little of the tension seemed to drain from Julian's body. "Yes. I understand." He trembled almost imperceptibly as he got on all fours. About to tell him to turn over, Nick was suddenly unsure. Did Julian need it to be this way? To drive out the memories of---
To hell with that. Nick was damned if he was going to do this with Schräger's psychotic shade hanging over his shoulder. "I want to see your face," he said curtly. Julian seemed to respond to that. "Turn over."
Julian's eyes were dark as he gazed up at Nick from the sheets. Nick pushed those long, slender legs up and slithered down the bed until he faced his lover's entrance. Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss to that small opening. Julian's whole body jerked, so Nick took a firmer hold of his thighs and did it again.
"Nick..."
"Tell me the minute you want me to stop," Nick repeated. "Whatever I'm doing."
"Don't stop."
Something melted inside Nick at that. He licked a slow trail around Julian's entrance, then worked his way up that beautiful cock, licking and sucking at it. Julian gasped and writhed, but pushed on Nick's shoulders. "Please. I need you inside me."
Nick gave one last kiss to the tip of Julian's cock, then reached into the bedside drawer. He pulled out a foil packet of lube, clenching his jaw around all the things he didn't want to say. Schräger was dead.
Julian's body tensed as Nick began to prepare him. "We can wait," Nick said softly, leaning down to kiss his lover gently on the lips.
"Can we?" Julian whispered.
"Of course we can," Nick told him. "As long as it takes."
Julian relaxed, and Nick was about to withdraw when he spoke. "I don't want to wait. I need you now."
His fingers suddenly clumsy, and his vision ridiculously blurred, Nick slicked himself up and pressed inside his lover. Julian cried out softly and clutched at him, trying to pull him deeper inside. "Yes."
It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be to go slow. Nick moved in long, easy thrusts that strung out his own pleasure almost unbearably, trying to angle his strokes to hit Julian's prostate even though he knew that wasn't what it was really all about for him. Pride, perhaps, although Nick rather thought it might have more to do with love. He kissed Julian deeply, trying to put all he felt into it, to reassure him.
Julian's eyes were shut tight. "Look at me," Nick urged him, and felt a fresh burst of pleasure as Julian's gaze met his, full of trust. Nick smiled. "Keep looking," he said, and was answered by a faint smile. Then Julian's eyes opened wider still, and he let out a soft cry as he came. Nick felt hands clenching on his buttocks, as Julian seemed to try to draw him deeper than humanly possible and, with a loud groan, Nick finally let go, pulsing deep within his lover.
"Am I yours?" Julian asked as they eased themselves into more comfortable positions, Nick with his arms firmly wrapped around the slender form beside him.
"Yes," Nick said simply, stroking his back. "Always mine."
He was about to add, and I'm yours, but Julian had claimed his mouth in a fierce kiss that took away speech and breath as well.
Never mind. There would be plenty of time to tell him tomorrow.
Tiff was bored. What with Jools off being soppy with Dr. Sewell, or hunting rabbits or howling at the moon or whatever else they did on their dates, she'd had no one to go to the bar with. She wandered down on her own and latched on to a group of other historians, but to be honest she was in severe danger of falling asleep.
She was just wondering if she'd be welcome if she popped round to see Dr. Pawlaczek and Marjorie, when a long, thin shadow fell across the table. "Tiff? You want to come out for a walk or something? We could go looking for bats down by the river."
Bats? Tiff looked at Crack. He had a worried smile on his face, along with more eyeliner than she'd ever worn in her life.
Well, he was sort of sweet. And he certainly wasn't boring.
Tiff stood up.
About the Author
J.L. Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.
She has had over thirty short stories and novellas published, and is currently plotting murder and mayhem on the Isle of Wight for the purposes of her second novel.
Find J.L. Merrow online at: www.jlmerrow.com.
Look for these titles by J.L. Merrow
Now Available:
Pricks and Pragmatism
Easy come, easy go...until the heart gets involved.
Pricks and Pragmatism
© 2010 J.L. Merrow
English student and aspiring journalist Luke Corbin should be studying. Instead he's facing homelessness, thanks to the lover who's just kicking him out of their posh digs. It's not his first rejection---his father tossed him out at age sixteen---but Luke has no problem trading his favors for a home and security. Especially with rich, powerful, handsome men.
Except now, with finals bearing down, there's no time to be choosy. He needs a roof over his head and he needs it now. Even if it means settling temporarily for a geeky, less-than-well-off chemical engineer called Russell.
Luke's fully prepared to put out for the guy---because after all, in this world no one gets something for nothing. But Russell isn't just a nerd; he's an honourable nerd who wants to save himself for someone special.
At first Luke is annoyed, but the more time he spends with Russell, the closer he comes to a devastating realization. He wants to be that someone special. Except he's fallen for the one man he can't seem to charm...
Enjoy the following excerpt for Pricks and Pragmatism:
I clocked Russell the minute I walked in the door of the café. He was sitting on his own at a table in the corner playing with his mug, short stubby fingers moving nervously over the china. I was almost worried to say hello in case I made him spill his drink. Tom had been right. Russell really wasn't my usual type. He was... Well, he was a bit of a geek. Actually, he was a lot of a geek. Round face and too-long mousy brown hair, although at least he'd washed it. An actual beard to match; and we're not talking a neatly trimmed goatee, either. He wore a shapeless sweater over a shirt his mum must have bought him, and glasses from Nerds'R'Us. No spots, thank God. He looked around thirty, although from what Tom had said he ought to be a lot nearer my age. Still, it wouldn't be the first time Tom had given the truth the odd nip and tuck.
Three weeks to Finals, I reminded myself. And beggars can't be choosers. So I plastered on my best cheeky smile, pulled out the chair opposite him with a scrape and sat down. He looked up, startled, and just managed not to drench me in coffee. "Hi, I'm Luke. You're Russell?"
"Er, yes," he said, like he wasn't really sure. "Nice to meet you." He didn't say anything else, just stared into his coffee cup as if helpful suggestions were going to spell themselves out on the foam on top. His fingers linked around the sides of the mug like he was giving it a cuddle. I wondered who'd taken away his security blanket. Maybe it was in the wash.
"Coffee any good here?" I asked. Actually I'd been here a few times before and I knew it was shite. But they were really good about letting you hang around all day when it was cold outside, and one waitress in particular was always good for a free refill if you flashed her a smile.
Russell looked worried, like he thought it was some kind of test.
"Not that I'm fussy, mind," I added to put him at his ease. Never a truer word, and all that.
"It's---it's all right, I suppose." His eyes darted up to me briefly, and then returned to the safety of the coffee cup. "Their tea's better," he ventured.
I shrugged. "Like I said, I'm not fussy. As long as it's hot and wet, it'll do me." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and made my tone low and suggestive. Habit, really, more than an urgent desire to get into Russell's C&A slacks.
Russell blushed. Ye gods. Well, at least his innuendo detectors were working just fine. "Tom said...he said you needed somewhere to stay for a bit," he said, looking up briefly from under his hair and then ducking back down for cover again.
"Yeah," I said. "I know it's a pain, but I need somewhere by the weekend. Tom reckoned you might be able to help me." He still wasn't looking at me, which wasn't helping at all, so I made my voice as warm and seductive as possible and reached across the table to place a hand on one of his.
He jumped a bloody mile and this time he did spill the coffee. "Shit! Oh, God, sorry!"
"Hey, don't sweat it," I told him easily, seeing as about one drop had gone on my sleeve and the rest was soaking into his sweater. Shame it hadn't gone in his lap, but I made the best of it. I must have used half the paper napkins in the place to mop him up, even the bits that didn't strictly need it. He appreciated it. Believe me, I could tell. "Come on, we'd better get you home and into some dry clothes," I said, taking his arm.
Russell lived in a development near the docks. Not the posh end, by Ocean Village where Sebastian lived so he could go and wank over his yacht any time he wanted, but it wasn't totally downmarket. His flat was on the second floor, up four flights of stairs. It was all right, I suppose. Nothing like Sebastian's, of course, but I'd known I wouldn't get that lucky again. There was a tiny hall that led into a smallish lounge/diner, with other doors off that must be to bed and other rooms. "Great place you've got here," I said, slinging my rucksack on the floor.
Russell looked pleased. "You like it? I know it's a bit bare---I haven't had time to do it up much yet."
"No, it's great," I told him, walking past the squashy, lived-in sofa to the window. "That view is amazing," I added, with a lot more sincerity this time. The flat looked out over Southampton Water, and you could see the lights of ships passing by underneath in the twilight. Farther up to one side was a bridge over the river with tiny little cars driving over it, visible only by their headlamps. Somehow it made me feel like we were right in the heart of things, but in our own little world; part of the city, but above it too.
"It's great, isn't it?" Russell said, coming up behind me. "It's why I bought the place. Just fell in love with that view. You look at that and you feel you can go anywhere, do anything." It was more words than he'd strung together the whole time in the café.
"Yeah? You always lived here alone?"
Russell nodded once, clamming up again. "I'll just get changed."
He disappeared into what must be his bedroom, and I looked around a bit, checking out the bookshelves and the DVD collection like you always do, although hopefully I'd have plenty of time to do that later. There were the engineering books like you'd expect, and the complete works of Terry Pratchett snuggled up to Gormenghast and The Lord of the Rings, but there was also a whole shelf full of books in French, mostly crime stories, which made sense. You don't need half as big a vocabulary to read thrillers in a foreign language as you do for science fiction. There were a couple of Arsène Lupin paperbacks that looked familiar from my teenage years, and a solitary Maigret. It made me nostalgic for childhood holidays in Brittany. Back when my dad had still been speaking to me.
"Do you speak French?"
Russell's voice had startled me, and I spun 'round. He'd changed into jeans and a baggy red T-shirt that made him look like his own kid brother. "Haven't done in years," I said, shrugging.
He gave a shy smile. "You'd probably pick it up again all right if you tried. Um. Have you eaten?"
"Not yet, no," I told him with a smile, sitting on the well-stuffed sofa and putting my arm along the back. I casually rested my right ankle on my left knee, giving him a good look at my package. Laying my cards out on the table, so to speak. "What do you fancy?"
I watched him perch awkwardly on the edge of an armchair and tried not to sigh. He was like a tortoise, I decided. Retreating into his shell every time I tried to get close.
Was he even actually gay?
Still, as long as he let me stay here until the end of Finals, what did I care? I sat forward again. "If you've got some food in, I'm not bad at cooking. Or we could get a takeaway? If you've got the money, that is," I added, as it was probably time we got the business details out of the way. "Tom told you I'm skint, right? So I can't afford any rent, but I'm happy to pay my way in other ways. You know---you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Or, you know, any other bits you want scratching..." I left it hanging, but I didn't lick my lips. I've got some class. And he'd probably have run off screaming.
I could see Russell's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. "Tom said...he said you didn't have any money." He frowned. "But you don't need to...you know." He stopped, looking like he'd rather be at the salon getting a back, sack and crack.
Shit. He wasn't gay. I was going to kill Tom.
The seduction of his enemy is the ultimate hunt...
A Thread of Deepest Black
© 2011 Finn Marlowe
When his mortal enemy, the handsome and deadly Colton Dècarie, shows up on his doorstep asking an unspeakable favor, Killian Frost is cautious---and curious. What could drive a shape-shifter to beg a werewolf for an honorable death in the line of duty---defending humans from soul-stealing Lycans? Moreover, why ask Killian, who has kept his own feet off that dark path?
Colton's conflicted heart can take no more of the violence that consumes more of his humanity with every hunt. Even now, Killian's werewolf scent makes him burn with the instinctive urge to shift and destroy. Death would be a mercy, but the price is impossibly simple: one night of submission in Killian's bed.
Yet as Killian extracts payment in flesh and pleasure, Colton finds himself giving all that's demanded of him and more, feeling something he hasn't felt in a long time. Alive. And Killian discovers the hidden cost of sleeping with the enemy. To keep the balance between light and dark, Bella Luna binds his Lycan blood with a quest to unravel a conspiracy threatening all his kind. If he's brave enough, he'll discover a love that means more than the power of a dead man's soul.
Warning: Contains plotting and scheming, a wicked, whip-wielding werewolf whose favorite word is "Mine" and a sexy shifter bound with red ribbon whose favorite reply is "I hate you."
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Thread of Deepest Black:
Despite his nightly fantasies and imaginings of whispered words, Killian didn't expect to speak to the crazy shape-shifter again---ever. See, yes, they did share the same city and their paths did cross from time to time. Mostly they avoided each other, his family and theirs, having their separate interests and purposefully keeping them separate. Hostility was the only possible outcome of inadvertent meetings, and in the dark, hostility could lead to worse things.
When the house phone rang Killian always checked the call display, refusing to speak to people he didn't want to---family, mostly. Usually they called to forward their latest scheme, unless it was his mother. She called to forward her plans regarding her latest hand-picked Lycan woman. It was her opinion that he'd stalled long enough and it was time to mate with the chosen female and propagate the species. Mate was the word too. It wasn't like he was allowed to have an opinion, just a ready and able penis. The phone number flashing on the display made him forget all annoyance with pestering mothers.
C. Décarie. It had only been a day or two since he quit mouthing What the hell? all the time and now he was right back at it, instantly, and out loud too. The phone almost switched to the answering machine before he snatched up the receiver and sputtered, "What?"
"Killian?"
Just one word and he was breathing harder. "Yeah?"
"It's Colton Décarie."
"I know."
"Can we meet somewhere?"
His cock agreed first. Yes, absolutely, it said. Surely the boy wasn't considering his impossible condition? Soundlessly, he gulped in a needed mouthful of air. All his blood, and therefore oxygen, was rushing downward real fast. "Where'd you have in mind?" Come here and come alone, he silently wished.
"I was thinking the park. Downtown, at the lake."
Damn. Could you get more public than that? Guess the shifter wasn't considering his proviso after all. Masterfully, he schooled his voice to his I-could-care-less mode. "When?"
"Tonight?"
My, my, someone was in a hurry. "I guess. What time?"
"Late. Midnight?"
"But then it would be tomorrow and not tonight."
A puff of annoyed breath crackled his way. "Are you coming or not?"
Not very patient, either. "I'll be there. Where exactly?"
"Under the willows. It's private."
"What? Don't want to be seen with me?"
"No. Not really. Hurt?"
"Not at all. I'll come."
The phone went dead without so much as a goodbye, making Killian smile. Snappy and impatient? Maybe Blondie was considering certain...exchanges?
The hours crawled by, painfully slowly, just about killing him. His curiosity was burning him up. It was like waiting for Christmas Day and a hoped for, but not really expected, present under the tree. At 11:30 p.m. he locked his door and made for the park, speeding recklessly and fearing another ticket---sooner or later they'd land him in jail if he didn't cool it.
It was very warm. Killian loved summertime. Evidently humans loved it too, since there were quite a few of them strolling about the brightly lit walkway. The water shimmered softly with the reflection of streetlamp and bright moon shine. Fearless, he crossed the bridge and made for the willows at the water's edge. Lurking bad guys would be wise to watch out for him; the moon was out. Not that there would be any left for him; Colton would have cleared them out already.
Speaking of Colton, he was here. Killian caught his scent quickly and felt his power vibrating. The ground at the edge of the lapping lake was squishy and rank, but solid and oddly fragrant under the massive willows. Colton's scent drove him forward and mapped his way to where Killian found him sitting on a purloined picnic table parked next to the massive tree trunk. Enough light filtered under the wispy branches to identify the man's face and features cast into sharp relief by shadow. In the shadows he looked more handsome and less pretty.
"You came," Colton said.
"I said I would."
When Colton flung himself off the table like a teenager, Killian took his spot, slightly warmed. The shifter's pacing said a thousand words his voice could not.
"What did you want, Blondie?"
Stopping abruptly, Colton faced him, not liking the insulting nickname. It might be dark, but defiance had its own light. "I wondered if you reconsidered your ridiculous demand."
"Not one bit."
Arm swinging replaced the pacing. "How could you ask that? How? It's sick!"
"What part? The fact that I'm a Lycanthrope and you're a Therianthrope and therefore my mortal enemy? Or the fact you know I want you on your knees serving me?" Smiling to himself, Killian went on as ruthless as before. "Or is it the fact I'm a man?"
It required further grinning when he realised he'd rendered the shifter speechless.
"Well? You were all talkative a second ago---"
"All three," Colton complained. "And the first two much more so than the last."
Ah, good God! Killian closed his eyes for a second. What did I do to deserve such a blessing? Is it because I've never killed anyone despite the blood-borne desire to want to?
"Do you have any idea how impossible that would be for me? To have you touch me?"
"I've already touched you."
"And it burned!"
Killian flicked his eyes open. He'd forgotten that completely. Shifters suffered. They suffered a lot. During growth spurts until they reached manhood, they had to endure fierce burning in their bones for days at a time and then to shift---that burned too. More pain. But the worst part, in his estimation, was the whole sex thing. Almost made you feel sorry for the pathetic creatures. That hurt too. Sexual desires and sensing werewolves hurt roughly equally, one confused with the other, but that was only until they were grown and got control of their emotions and their abilities. Was it because Colton was gifted? There was no reason his touch should hurt. "Why did my touch hurt you, Blondie?"
"Why do you think?" he snarled.
"I don't know. You're all grown up---I should think you'd be over that by now."
Clenching his hands into fists, Colton glared at him. In the dark he looked much more like the demonic thing he was. "You're still a werewolf!"
Killian shuddered. "Why don't you say that a bit louder, Blondie? There might be one or two humans left in the park who didn't hear you."
"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "See? This is pointless."
"Do I really smell that bad?"
"Yes!" he hissed. "Your blood does, it calls to me, calls to my blood, makes me want to..." He shrugged and left the rest unsaid. "Your body smells...slightly better."
"Hmm." Perhaps it was an insurmountable problem. Or was it just a question of familiarity? "Maybe you just need to get used to me."
Colton gave him a dirty look for his suggestion.
"Come stand closer."
"No, thank you."
"Like sucking in flames, is it? Burning gasoline? Rotting meat? All three?"
"Yes! Almost the same. I've been around your kind enough that it's not that bad anymore. But you still make me want to shift. I long to shift."
"Get over it."
"I can't! I've tried. God knows, I've tried."
The desperation in his voice was pure. It had something to do with the whole suicide-by-werewolf thing, but Killian knew this was one subject not to broach; it wasn't a pushable button right now. Nimble also, he launched himself off the table, and Colton's reflexes instantly reacted, sending him into a defensive posture. "Relax, shifter," he cautioned. "You're going to have to relax."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to touch you."
"No, you're not!"
"I am. You just need to get used to me, as I said." Tentatively, he took a small step forward. Colton's nostrils flared. "Relax. Stop breathing so hard. Slow down."
"I hate you! Why can't you just kill me like a decent werewolf?"
It was an absurd statement, and he laughed. "I'm not decent. In fact, the things I want to do to you are all indecent. You give me what I want and I'll consider giving you what you want."
"That's such a crappy argument, you know. You'll consider it? How 'bout I give you what you want and you give me what I want?"
"Nope. You're asking for so much more than I am. It's not a fair deal and us Frosts really hate to get taken of advantage of." Less tentative this time, he moved closer. "Now stop stalling and come here."
"I don't want to."
"I know. That's the best part."
Camwolf
J.L. Merrow
To save his lover, he must become his own worst nightmare.
Dr. Nick Sewell. Nonconformist. Werewolf. The first puts him at odds with his colleagues' idea of how an All Saints College lecturer should behave. The second, bestowed upon him by an ex-boyfriend, puts him at odds with himself.
There's his tendency to change into a wolf on the full moon. And his visceral attraction to Julian Lauder, a troubled young German student. Despite his determination not to act on his desire, Nick's brutal response to seeing Julian with another man frightens them both. At first.
Then Nick learns that Julian is not only a naturally submissive werewolf, but one who has learned better how to deal with just being a werewolf. That explains the attraction, but it doesn't make it any easier when the tables are turned, and Julian---once the student---is now teaching Nick...who still isn't happy about conforming to the "werewolf way".
Meanwhile, reports of a strange wolf stalking the town barely register on Nick's radar---until Julian disappears. Accusing eyes---both wolf and human---are turned toward Nick. Even with the help of friends, hope is growing as cold as the kidnapper's trail. Unless Nick gives free rein to the wolf's inhuman power...
Warning: Contains hot outdoor sex, alliterative insults, allusions to abuse, and really awful sherry.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Camwolf
Copyright © 2011 by JL Merrow
ISBN: 978-1-60928-456-5
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Valerie Tibbs
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2011
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