Drew sat on the side of the bed, his back to Lindsay and hung his head, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck in obvious discomfort.
Lindsay's stomach twisted and he frowned up at the ceiling, unhappy. He didn't like the way he seemed to respond so strongly to each and every reaction Drew showed. It was absurd. Not to mention futile. So, the man was unhappy with his nature. He was hardly the first man Lindsay had met with that problem, and Lindsay could not make him easy with it, simply by willing it.
Rising up onto his elbows, he said flatly, “Do you want me to leave?”
Drew turned at the question, seeming startled, as though he’d forgotten Lindsay was even there.
For several long moments, he just stared at Lindsay. Then he nodded. “That would be best, yes.”
“Very well,” Lindsay said tightly. Hiding his hurt, he got up without another word and went in search of his clothes.
He dressed quickly, as though he was in a hurry to leave. Which, yes, perhaps he was now.
Once he had his clothes on, he went to the looking glass on the wall and, grimacing, tidied his wayward hair as best he could. The small velvet patch at the corner of his mouth had come loose and he peeled it the rest of the way off, tucking the tiny scrap of fabric into the pocket of his waistcoat. Annoyingly, the heart-shaped one with the tiny arrow going though it from his cheekbone had already been lost—likely it lay somewhere in the tangled nest of bedsheets on Drew’s bed.
When at last he turned to face Drew again, it was to find the man had pulled on his breeches and shirt and was now shouldering into his waistcoat. Drew glanced at Lindsay and away again, obviously unsure how to act. As for Lindsay, he was aware of a growing anger in his gut that warred with the unwanted softer feelings this man provoked in him.
“I'll be off then,” he said curtly.
“It's late,” Drew replied. His waistcoat was open, his feet bare, his hair loose and rumpled. “These streets are dangerous. Give me a moment to finish dressing and I'll walk you to your rooms.”
“No need,” Lindsay replied shortly, brushing past Drew to leave the room. His wolf felt far too close to the surface for comfort. It pressed at him to be freed.
“Lindsay, wait,” Drew said, but Lindsay ignored him and strode out into the dim corridor. He was reaching for the latch on Drew’s front door when Drew caught him by the arm.
Lindsay spun around, hauling his arm free—andsnarled. No words, just a strangled, animal expression of wounded, angry rejection.
He didn’t know what Drew saw on his face in that moment, but Drew’s eyes widened and he dropped Lindsay’s arm, stepping swiftly back.
Without another word, Lindsay yanked the door open and raced down the tenement steps, bursting out the door, into the cold, unforgiving night.
Chapter Fourteen
It was almost noonthe next day when Lindsay rose. He’d returned to Locke Court the night before only to strip again, shift, and bound out into the night, returning just before dawn, exhausted from a long, hard run.
Now, donning his favourite banyan—a riot of rose-gold dragons roaming over midnight blue silk—he strolled into the kitchen to find Wynne reading at the table.
