Page 36 of Master Wolf

When Francis had said that, Drew had shrugged and told him that such feelings were not the sole preserve of werewolves. He’d had exactly such thoughts as a human, following the death of his wife and child. He did not like to remember how Francis had looked at him then. The unbearable sympathy in his gaze.

For some reason, the thought of Lindsay feeling like that bothered him.

Lindsay’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“How long do I have before I must leave?” he asked.

Drew cleared his throat. “Not long, I’m afraid. Francis says he can only hold Duncan till tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s plenty of time,” Lindsay said. “Wynne and I are used to moonlit flits—or daylit in this case, I suppose. We can be packed and on our way very quickly.” He was still gazing out of the window, now resting his left temple against the glass. In profile he looked melancholy and Drew felt an unexpected bolt of resentment on his behalf.

“If it were up to me, I’d have killed Duncan so he couldn’t ever come after you again. But Francis won’t allow it.”

Lindsay shifted at that, turning to look at Drew, his expression curious.

Drew was aware of his heart beating, his blood rushing. Inside him, his wolf whined and paced.

“When he spoke of you, I wanted to kill him,” Drew admitted. At Lindsay’s soft look, he added quickly, “I know it’s the bond, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. Rubbed at the back of his neck again. His human self felt like a suit of ill-fitting clothes. Everything in him cried out for Lindsay, and his skin itched as though there were a thousand ants under his skin.

Was this how Lindsay felt too?

He certainly felt something. There were flashes of arousal and need and other things too fluid for Drew to identify in the knotty tangle of scents Lindsay was giving off.

Drew’s growing agitation forced him to his feet. He stood in the middle of the chamber, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

They stared at one another.

Lindsay said quietly, sincerely, “I think about you every day, you know. I long for youevery single day.”

Drew closed his eyes, remembering the yearning he’d scented from Francis and Duncan. It was part of the bond. Manufactured and inescapable. It was not real.

“Do you ever think about me?” Lindsay’s voice broke on the words, quiet desperation in every syllable.

“How can I not?” Drew said hoarsely. “The bond compels me to do so.” He heard Lindsay’s soft footsteps approaching but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

“You think that’s all it is? The bond, compelling you to want me?”

“Isn’t it?”

Lindsay’s laugh was hollow. “I don’t know. My feelings for you are too big to measure and they haven’t diminished in the last four years. You are… everything to me. Have you any notion how terrifying that is?”

Finally, Drew opened his eyes. He said bleakly, “But it’s not real, Lindsay.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything we experience real?” Lindsay raised his hand and rested it over his heart. “I feel it here,” he said. “An ache that will not ease.”

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, till only inches separated them. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Four years, Drew.Four years. And in all that time, you never wrote to me, never sent word. Never asked me to return to you, or to receive you. Nothing until today, until this moment.”

Drew shook his head. “I did not come to see you. I am not even here on my own account, only because Francis—”

Lindsay said hoarsely, “Stop saying his name. Please, Drew…”

“Why?” Drew whispered.

Lindsay didn’t answer. His eyes had dropped to Drew’s lips and Drew found himself leaning towards him, as though tugged in by an invisible thread.

They were so close, Drew could feel Lindsay’s breath against his lips. Could see tiny flecks of amber in his dark eyes.

“Lindsay?” he breathed, and their lips grazed, ever so softly.