Page 55 of Master Wolf
Instead, he just stood there, watching.
The boy was slight and pretty, perhaps in his early twenties, and dressed as Pierrot in baggy white trousers and tunic. His face was made up alabaster-white with rouged cheeks and black-rimmed eyes—and with Lindsay’s red Harlequin hat perched on his fair head, he was pert and alluring.
It was hardly surprising that Lindsay was smiling at him so warmly, so indulgently.
As for the boy, he gazed at Lindsay with an expression that was something between wide-eyed worship and pure lust.
It was an expression Drew had seen before over the years. Lindsay was a siren, attracting others with ease and capable of provoking intense devotion. Despite Drew’s resentment of the maker bond, his gut still twisted to see Lindsay like this, bestowing his attention on someone else.
When Lindsay lifted his gaze and their eyes finally met, Drew felt the familiar once-twice gut-punch of connection between them—first his own reaction and then, as Lindsay’s scent reached him, Lindsay’s reaction, almost as real to him as his own, the two threads of emotion weaving together in inextricable ways. Yearning tinged with bitterness, desire overlaid with resentment—Drew couldn’t have unpicked the tangled strands of emotion if he’d tried.
Lindsay’s dark eyes were hard as obsidian behind his mask. Deliberately, keeping his eyes on Drew’s, he lowered his head and set his mouth on Pierrot’s. The boy met his kiss eagerly, head tipping back and arms winding round Lindsay’s neck. The red hat tumbled to the floor.
The pain that knifed through Drew at that sight reminded him of the night of his turning. That moment when Duncan’s servant had run him through with his sword. Not only the pain, but the shock of it. Shock at the deliberate destructiveness of it.
Drew wanted to turn on his heel and stride away, but he forced himself to be silent, to watch. He knew it was ridiculous—and worse, hypocritical—to mind Lindsay kissing someone else when he had himself rejected Lindsay repeatedly. But there was something about this, the deliberate cruelty of it, that made him feel betrayed somehow.
At length, Lindsay lifted his head. His mouth was damp and swollen, eyes glittering behind the mask. The boy made a noise of protest, reaching for Lindsay again, but Lindsay ignored him, instead feigning, for the benefit of his companions presumably, to have noticed Drew for the first time.
“Well now,” he said, his voice slightly raised to address both his friends and Drew. “Who do we have here? Is it theDoctor?”
The group paused in their conversations, all turning to observe Drew with mild interest, chuckling at Lindsay’s sarcastic words.
There were seven of them, Drew noted, and now that he saw them properly, he realised that, like Lindsay, they were all dressed as commedia dell’arte characters. A dainty Columbine and a proud Signora vied for the attention of a Capitano on the sofa while a slavish Pulcinella knelt at the feet of a Scaramouche.
And Drew had not been left out. He’d been cast as the black-garbed Doctor by Lindsay. A boring tedious buffoon of a character who spent his time keeping the lovers apart. Well, he was about to separate Lindsay and his Pierrot, so that seemed to fit.
“Good evening, Harlequin,” he replied politely. He did not use Lindsay’s name, unsure what moniker Lindsay was going by with these people. Nor would he use Marguerite’s name, though Lindsay would know of whom he was speaking. “I’m sorry to interrupt you but our… mistress requests your presence.”
Lindsay’s gaze did not flicker. “Very well, I will call upon her on my way home. Is that all, Doctor?”
Drew said calmly, “I’m afraid she wants you now.”
Lindsay was silent for a moment. Then, without taking his eyes off Drew, he tapped the Pierrot’s shoulder, signalling to the young man to make himself scarce. The boy shot Drew a look of pure dislike and slithered off Lindsay’s lap.
Lindsay rose to his feet and walked forward, closing the distance between them, drawing his mask off as he walked.
God, he was beautiful, tall and slim, but with that dangerous tensile strength that gave him a formidable air, even when he was dressed like this, colourful as a rainbow.
“I didn’t know you were in Venice,” Lindsay said once they were only an arm’s length apart. “How long will you be staying?”
“Just passing through,” Drew replied. “Delivering a package to Marguerite, then travelling back to London.” Lindsay’s scent shifted between emotions rapidly, making Drew’s head swim. The most distinct of them was anger, though whether it was directed at Drew or at Lindsay himself, Drew could not tell.
Drew jerked his head towards the group Lindsay had just left. “Who are your friends?”
Oddly, that seemed to have the effect of easing Lindsay’s emotional turmoil. His wary gaze grew curious, making Drew flush. He hoped his heated cheeks were not too obvious in the dim light.
“No one in particular,” Lindsay said, shrugging. “Sometimes I just want to be with normal people, don’t you?”
“Be with,” Drew bit out. “Fuck, you mean.”
Lindsay’s eyes widened. Drew’s bitterness and jealousy infected the words and his flush intensified at how revealing they were. He closed his eyes briefly, mortified, then forced himself to meet Lindsay’s eyes again.
Lindsay’s grin was sly. “If there’s a chance of a fuck, why not? I’m told Gianni—he’s the pretty little Pierrot—is a wild one in bed.”
Drew felt sick. Through numb lips he said, “Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go without tonight. Marguerite wants all of us back at the house. Wynne too. Where is he?”
Lindsay shrugged negligently. “Fucking someone somewhere I imagine.” Eyeing Drew, he added with relish, “Replenishing hissexual energy. That’s how he puts it. Says it helps him with his craft.”