Page 57 of Master Wolf

Feeling Lindsay’s gaze on him, he turned to meet the man’s eyes, the familiar push and pull of attraction and resentment already simmering in him.

Lindsay was staring at him with naked longing, though he quickly averted his eyes. It was a look that wrenched Drew’s heart. It made him want to storm away and it made him want to go to his knees for Lindsay, right there.

Abruptly, Lindsay said, “He is doing it for me, you know.”

The statement was unexpected. Drew frowned. “Sorry, I’m not sure I follow.”

“Wynne. He is resuming his craft. Restoring his power. For me.”

There was something in Lindsay’s expression, something that made Drew realise that this was important somehow.

Quietly he said, “Why? What do you need that he can do for you?”

“He is going to scry for me. Find a solution.”

“A solution to what?”

Lindsay frowned as though Drew had failed to grasp something hopelessly basic. “To you.”

“Me?” Drew’s voice was incredulous, astonished.

“Well, not just you. To Duncan too. To the bonds between us. To the thing that links me to Duncan, and you to me.”

Drew laughed, an ugly sound. “That’s not possible.”

Lindsay’s mouth twisted wryly. “Probably not,” he agreed. “But Wynne has decided to resume practising a craft he swore never to even speak of again, just to see if he can help me.” He paused. Gave a crooked little smile. “He is a good friend. The best a man could wish for.”

A stupid pang of jealousy pierced Drew’s chest. Lindsay’s regard for Wynne was honest and pure—no need for envy there—but there was a part of Drew, or perhaps his wolf, that resented every person Lindsay smiled upon. He could have cheerfully slaughtered that pretty Pierrot tonight.

God, he hated himself. He was a surly dog, guarding a bone he did not want. A lonely, friendless cur. He had no one like Wynne Wildsmith, making sacrifices for him, and why would he? His soul was withered, incapable of inspiring such love. Such devotion. He was a cold and reserved man who could not reach out to other people—who had never been able to do so. His reserved habits went back to his earliest days, when he’d been handed to his uncle, an orphan boy, a burden to a man who did not want him. As a husband and father, he’d been perfectly useless too. He had nothing to offer anyone. Lindsay Somerville was probably the only person who had ever wanted him. And even then it was only because of a bond he had no power over.

A bond that he now wished to destroy.

“Drew?”

Lindsay’s voice was sharp with concern.

Drew realised suddenly that his eyes were closed and that he was braced against the wall of the mansion house, his forehead pressed against his arm, his heart galloping.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked another voice.

Wynne.

Drew took a deep breath and straightened. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, his voice somewhat strangled. “I’m fine.”

Wynne’s expression was sceptical, Lindsay’s worried. But Drew paid no attention to either of them, just turned away and began walking. “Come on,” he said. “Marguerite and Francis will be waiting.”

Chapter Seventeen

The present

Edinburgh,November 1820

In the daysfollowing his banishment from Albany Street, Drew spent his time reacquainting himself with the city of his birth, exploring how it had changed in the years since he’d left.

Since Marguerite did not ask him to accompany her when she went to visit Lindsay and Wynne, it was plain that she had heard about Drew’s last conversation with Lindsay. Thankfully she did not mention it to Drew directly.

He was relieved when Friday evening arrived. Begg and Bainbridge would be coming for dinner and they could finally make some progress.