Page 34 of Master Wolf
Drew thanked the boy and gave him a coin. He tucked it into his ragged breeches, gave an unsmiling nod, and dashed off, disappearing into the crowd.
The Place was thronged with people and traffic. Drew pulled Francis’s written instructions out of his pocket and began to read them while passersby jostled him. He was just about to cross to the opposite corner of the Place when, quite unexpectedly, the faintest thread of an achingly familiar scent reached him, making him turn abruptly and collide with a woman carrying a large basket crammed with skeins of wool. She cursed him roundly while he muttered a distracted apology and pushed past her, following that trace of… Oh Christ, that wasLindsay’s scent.
How Drew could possibly know that, he had no idea, only that he did know it.
Without stopping to examine the wisdom of his actions, he followed the scent, walking faster, then faster still, following his nose, despite the fact it was leading him away from the Place de la Révolution.
There were too many people clogging the streets, too many voices chattering—far too many other scents—but Drew ignored them all. He gathered pace, beginning to jog, then run, cutting through the crowds without caring how many people he elbowed or how many angry curses he provoked. Lindsay’s intoxicating scent was luring him on and his wolf was wildly excited. It was such a perfect, wonderful smell—rain, dripping from tree branches, soaking into the loamy earth—and God! So utterly out of place in these filthy city streets.
He knew the instant before he turned the final corner that Lindsay was going to be on the other side of it. Knew even as he barrelled around, too fast, narrowly missing a small group of sans-culottes with their distinctive red caps, who berated him as he sped past. And then he saw him—Lindsay—standing further up the long street, looking frantically about him with a stunned, disbelieving expression. Elegant as ever in a beautifully-cut bottle-green coat and gleaming boots.
Drew stumbled to a halt and for an instant he stood there, paralysed, until Lindsay’s gaze swung to him as unerringly as the needle of a compass.
He saw Lindsay’s lips move, his mouth framing Drew’s own name. And then they were moving towards one another.
Drew realised with some part of his brain that he had to get control of the wolf instincts that had driven him here and that were now compelling him onwards, towards Lindsay. He had to think about what he was going to say and do. He slowed his pace, drawing to a halt, but Lindsay was still moving and as he closed the final few feet between them, his astonished expression began to transform into something very like joy. He reached for Drew as soon as he was close enough to touch him, grasping him by the shoulders and staring right into his eyes.
“I can’t believe it,” he said breathlessly. His smile was painfully happy. “You’rehere. In Paris.” His lips parted and his eyes shone and for an instant all Drew could think was how much he wanted to kiss him.
And then he felt it. A powerful, dominant pulse of possessive desire, breaking against him like a wave slapping the hull of a great ship. It came from Lindsay and it was so intense, so demanding—it made him want to drop to his knees and expose his throat; to show his maker how much he revered him.
His final glimpse of Francis and Duncan as he left the farmhouse flashed in his mind. Nausea roiled in his belly. However much this might feel like true joy, genuine love, it was not. This was the manufactured bond that a bite created between maker and wolf. The same bond that had Francis and Duncan trapped in that farmhouse right now.
Drew took a swift step back, breaking Lindsay’s hold on him. “I am here because Francis asked me to come to Paris with him,” he said stiffly. “Didn’t he tell you I was coming?”
Lindsay let his arms fall to his sides, his smile fading as his dark eyes searched Drew’s face. “I had no idea till I caught your scent a few moments ago. I thought—” He broke off, glancing around as though he’d only just remembered where he was.
Drew realised they were attracting some curious looks. “Are we close to your house?” he asked.
Lindsay frowned. “Don’t you know where you are?”
Drew felt himself flush. “Not really. I was in the Place de la Révolution when I caught your scent and then I started—” He broke off, flushing.
“What?”
“Following it,” Drew admitted helplessly.
Lindsay blinked. “When did you notice it?”
Drew cleared his throat. Shrugged. “A few streets back.”
Lindsay’s eyes widened. “But how did you know it was me? It’s been four years. And you’d only just transformed when I left. How could you—”
“I know your scent,” Drew said. When Lindsay’s lips curved, he added quickly, “I know the scent of everyone I’ve ever met. Francis says I’m like him. That I have an affinity for scents.”
“Oh,” Lindsay said, his smile fading. “I see.”
A man with a wide wooden handcart stopped beside them. He pulled off his red cap and began to complain in angry rapid French. Drew couldn’t make out what he said but his hostility was clear. Lindsay made a sharp reply even as he tugged Drew out of the man’s path to let him pass.
He was frowning when he met Drew’s gaze again.
“Let’s go to the house,” he said. “These streets become more uncivil by the day. The sooner we leave this city the better.”
* * *
Lindsay ledDrew back in the direction he had come from. They crossed the Place de la Révolution and headed for one of the nearby side streets. Halfway down, Lindsay paused outside a tall, narrow house with a glossy black door.
“Here we are,” he said, and mounted the steps.