“Tea first though,” Wynne said briskly.
Lindsay just smiled tightly. He knew he’d be thee-and-thou’ing Wynne if he tried to speak, and it troubled him. He didn’t usually find it so difficult to regain his human self after a transformation.
Putting his hand in his breeches pocket, he touched the little stone. In a way, it soothed him, but it made him think of Drew too, and that was anything but soothing. Whenever he thought of Drew, he wanted to go to him. To go there and grab hold of the man. Just to touch him again.
Why?Why was he so obsessed? It was entirely unlike him. Ridiculous and lowering.
He let Francis use the bath first, promising solemnly not to go anywhere in the meantime. When it was his turn to wash, he stayed in the stout wooden tub till the sadly shallow bathwater turned cold, scrubbing every inch of his skin and combing out his long dark hair till it was smooth and tangle-free. Then he climbed out and sat, naked, in front of the fire and let his hair dry off.
After a while, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called, adding as the door swung open, “I haven’t a stitch on, but I don’t care if you don’t.”
It was Francis. He snorted amusement at Lindsay’s welcome and sat down beside him, stretching his stockinged feet out to take advantage of the heat.
“You’re in a bad way of it,” he said after a while. “Is it Nicol that has you all upside down?”
Lindsay nodded. “I can’t understand it,” he said. “I’ve never known anything like it. Not with anyone.”
“You feel compelled to go to him?”
Lindsay nodded.
Francis was silent for a while, his gaze fixed on the flames. Then he said flatly, “The compulsion can be overcome—to a degree. Only distance will do it, though. And it never really goes away completely. The only thing that makes it stop is being with your bond-mate.”
Lindsay stared at him—at Francis’s profile—and whispered, “I hate it, but I’m not sure I want to overcome it.”
Francis turned his head and smiled sadly. “I know. That’s the worst part.” He sighed. “It’s only two more days till you leave. As soon as we’re done with Cruikshank, you’ll leave town. You’ll feel much better once you put some distance between you and Nicol, I promise.”
Lindsay nodded, but he found it difficult to believe, and as the day wore on, he felt worse and worse. His wolf was growing desperate and erratic, gnawing at the edges of his self-control more or less constantly as it tried to force him to shift. Lindsay couldn’t eat, couldn’t rest. He paced his rooms like a madman, muttering to himself, clenching his fists so tightly his fingernails cut half-moons into his palms, grinding his teeth until his jaws ached.
Francis had Wynne make him a tisane that Francis thought would calm him, but it did no good, and by the evening Francis looked truly worried.
“I did not think I would say this, but I think you should visit your Mr. Nicol,” he said. “You cannot call upon Cruikshank in this state on Monday—and you’ll probably be worse by then.”
Lindsay ground out, “You trust me to see him like this?”
Francis sighed. “I can only judge by my own experience, but I’m hoping you will find your wolf calms when it gets close to him. I will go with you to be sure.”
Lindsay growled, low in his throat, and Francis chuckled, though the concerned expression he wore did not ease. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll leave you alone as soon as I can—assuming you’re in control of yourself that is. I’ll want to keep watch outside anyway.”
Lindsay flushed, embarrassed by his loss of control. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Francis assured him. “I understand.”
“Is this how it was with you and Marguerite, when you first met?”
“Something like,” Francis said lightly. “Now, go and get dressed. If we’re calling on Nicol, you can’t be going out in a banyan.”
––––––––
IT WAS JUST AFTER SEVENin the evening when Lindsay and Francis turned into Brodie’s Close, a reasonable enough time to go visiting. As they strolled through the narrow close, Lindsay detected a faint trace of Drew’s now-familiar scent. Thankfully, it did seem to calm his wolf, as Francis had hoped it might. The wolf ceased its agitated pacing at least, allowing Lindsay to paste a normal expression on his face as they approached the tenement. Before he could rap the door though, it swung open and a boy of around twelve barrelled out, crashing into him.
“Ooof!”
“’Scuse me, sir,” the boy said quickly and ran off, leaving the door carelessly open in his wake.
Lindsay met Francis’s gaze. “Well, we may as well go straight up.”
