“Did you ask him?”
Lindsay looked away, his gut churning.
“Didyou?”
“There was no time. I—”
“For God’s sake!” Francis cried. “You should have asked him.”
“He is my bond-mate!” Lindsay exclaimed. “I could not let him die! My wolf would not allow it—Iwould not. I know you’ve never wanted this life, Francis, but perhaps Drew will feel differently. He—”
“You should haveaskedhim,” Francis interrupted, his voice shaking. “He is the only one with the right to make that decision.”
“I didn’t have time to shift back and ask him. He would have been dead by the time I was human again!”
“You have thrust this upon him, Lindsay. And now you will pay for your rashness. Youknowhow hard it is to adapt to this existence. You’ve done it yourself. It’s unnatural for men to live so long, outlast so much. It’s hard to keep onbeing—”
“I will help him!” Lindsay cried. “I will dedicate my life to him.”
But Francis just shook his head and his gaze was hopeless.
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THEY BROKE UP THE CARTwith an axe Francis had brought and put the pieces in the Nor’loch. They took off their borrowed garments, wrapped some around the axe, others around heavy stones, and put those in the stinking waters too. Naked, they shifted and chased off Mercer’s horse, nipping its rump till it went galloping off down the Queensferry road, eyes rolling white with panic.
Then they ran, letting the moon have their beasts.
When they got back to Locke Court, they stole into the close to shift back, then sent fistfuls of grit up to the windows of Lindsay’s rooms to alert Wynne to their arrival. Wynne came to the door, grey with exhaustion. Silently, he held the door open, welcoming them in and led the way upstairs.
“How is he?” Lindsay managed when they were inside. His voice was gruff.
“As well as can be expected,” Wynne replied, thrusting a banyan at him, and another at Francis. “I stitched and dressed the wound in his belly—it’s ugly but looks clean. He’s rather feverish, but not as much as I’d expect given what he’s contending with. The wound at his neck has closed already.”
“Has he woken?” Francis asked.
Wynne shook his head.
“I must see him,” Lindsay said, moving past Wynne.
“You should wash first, sir,” Wynne said softly behind him.
Lindsay whipped round. Wynne was keeping his gaze averted, as Lindsay had told him he must when Lindsay’s wolf was close. Lindsay forced himself to take a deep breath.
“Thou’rt right, Wynne,” he managed. “I will wash. Bring a basin to the parlour, and clothes.”
“I will,” Wynne said. “And something for you to eat and drink.”
“I don’t need—” he began, but when Francis’s hand fell on his shoulder, he broke off, sighing. “Very well.”
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DREW SLEPT LIKE THEdead. Very quiet, very still. No moving or thrashing or talking. He lay on his back, his hands resting at his sides, and slept, only the slight rise and fall of his chest to show he was alive.
“This is unnatural,” Lindsay said, again.
Francis looked up from his book. “What did you expect?” His voice was tight with judgment. “He is changing, now, even as we speak. All his reserves are being spent on that.”
“But where is the evidence of change?” Lindsay asked. “He is so quiet. It doesn’t seem right.”
