Page 35 of Master Wolf

Drew followed him, watching as Lindsay unlocked the door and gestured to Drew to enter the small, tiled hallway.

“Are you hungry?” Lindsay asked behind him, as he followed Drew inside and secured the front door.

In truth, Drew was starving, but he wanted to deliver his news first. Before he could respond though, an old man’s voice interrupted. Thankfully his French was rather more comprehensible to Drew’s ear.

“Home, are you?” the voice said, as its owner shuffled out of the shadows and into the hallway. “Well, there’s cassoulet in the kitchen, and good bread from the market. I will bring you some.” As the speaker emerged into the light, Drew could see that he had been a tall man once and broad, but now his back was bowed and his shoulders were rounded with age. His eyes were bright, though, and they gleamed with affection when they rested on Lindsay. “Ah, my apologies. I didn’t realise you had a friend with you.”

Lindsay sent Drew an uncertain look, as though unsure of that description. Then he turned back to the old man.

“This is Drew Nicol. He’s a wolf. Drew, this is Monsieur Blaireau, Marguerite’s majordome.”

Drew gave a respectful nod and got one in return, but Monsieur Blaireau’s friendly expression faltered at the mention of Drew’s name and Drew had the distinct sense that the man already knew who he was… and wasn’t particularly pleased to meet him.

“I see,” Blaireau said. “Well, Madame is out just now. Perhaps—”

He got no further. Lindsay spoke over him, though his tone was kindly.

“Mr. Nicol and I are going to speak in the parlour for a while, my friend. Then we’ll have some of that excellent cassoulet. Does that sound all right?”

Blaireau sighed, but he nodded. “Very well. I’ll serve up in the dining room in half an hour.”

“Thank you,” Lindsay said, patting the man’s shoulder. Then he headed for the stairs, saying to Drew over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

As they climbed, Lindsay asked, “So what do you think of Paris? It’s your first visit, isn’t it?”

“Unsettling,” Drew said honestly. “The atmosphere is very strange. You can feel the threat of violence in the air.” In his case, he could scent it too. A sour, amorphous smell—the simmering rage of the mob. “That man with the handcart, for example. He was so angry. Just because we were standing there.”

“He was spoiling for a fight,” Lindsay said. “I suspect he picked on us because we weren’t wearing any patriotic emblems.” He sighed. “Thankfully we’ll be leaving Paris soon enough.” He led Drew down a tight corridor and into a small, cosy parlour, gesturing for Drew to sit, which he did, only to wish he hadn’t when Lindsay stayed on his feet.

“So, tell me,” Lindsay began. “Why is it that Francis decided to bring you to Paris with him?”

“He didn’t want to leave me alone in Edinburgh,” Drew said, flushing. His inability to control his wolf properly, even after four years, shamed him. “I’ve not dealt with a shift on my own since—well, since you bit me.”

Lindsay’s scent altered, signalling discontent. “I remember when we first discussed him staying with you in Edinburgh,” he said, frowning. “I wanted him to promise to be there for at least a year, but he refused to commit to any particular length of time.” He gave a short laugh and glanced ceilingward. “To think I was worried he’d leave you too soon. And now it’s been four years without his ever leaving your side.”

Drew watched Lindsay in silence, trying to interpret his sharp words and aggrieved expression. He sounded more irritated than anything else, but his scent was darkly jealous, and loweringly, something wolfish inside Drew responded to that.

When he spoke though, he did so calmly. “Francis is just as—and no more—protective of me as he is of everyone else,” he said.

Lindsay gave a rueful laugh. “I do actually know that.” He shook his head, as though exasperated. With himself perhaps. “Anyway, where is he?”

Drew took a deep breath. “In a farmhouse, a few miles outside Paris.” When Lindsay looked up sharply, plainly surprised, Drew added, “Duncan MacCormaic began following us a few days ago.”

Lindsay swallowed hard—Drew saw the betraying bob of his throat.

“He’d been trailing us for some time apparently,” Drew continued. “Once Francis realised, he let Duncan get closer and closer, till he was able to compel him. Earlier today, he managed to reel him in.”

“Francis is with Duncan now, then?” Lindsay said.

Drew nodded. “When I left him, he was holding him in a room at the farmhouse I mentioned. Francis commandeered it—he gave the farmer’s wife almost all his coin just to let him have the house for a day or two.” He gave a huff of laughter at the absurdity of that, running a shaking hand through his already dishevelled hair. Lindsay watched him, unsmiling.

“Anyway,” Drew went on. “He sent me ahead to tell you to leave Paris. You need to go soon because apparently Francis can only hold Duncan so long.”

Lindsay held his gaze for several long moments, then he turned away, strolling to the window. “Well, I didn’t expect that.” he said lightly, twitching the curtain aside and staring out at the street below. “Not Duncan—not you—not any of it.” He gave a brittle laugh. “To think, I was complaining to Marguerite of being bored over breakfast! I even thought I was heading for a spell of l’ennui.”

Francis had explained l’ennui to Drew during their journey—a state of melancholy that long-lived wolves sometimes went into.

“It is not easy to live these long years. One begins to question one’s purpose.”