Camwolf Page 6

  He was sitting at his desk as she walked in. “So, are you going out with Dr. Sewell now?” Tiff asked bluntly, closing Julian’s door behind her.

  Julian looked up at her and smirked annoyingly. “No. But I will be.”

  “Oh, yeah? So I suppose this means you’re not confused by him anymore?”

  Julian seemed to decide on honesty, for now. “Not really. He’s strange, but he’s a good man.” He gave a kind of sigh. “That’s why I’m not going out with him yet. He thinks he’ll corrupt me.” He grinned at Tiff’s involuntary burst of laughter.

  “I thought you said he’d seen you with your mouth round another bloke’s bits?”

  Julian pushed back his chair, smiling. “He’s in denial. For now. Are you going to put the kettle on?”

  Tiff plonked herself down heavily on the bed. It creaked a bit. “No, but you are. I’m knackered after dragging myself up all those bloody stairs. God, I’d hate to live here.”

  “It’d be good for you,” Julian teased. “Keep you fit. How else do you think I stay so slim?” He did a little twirl as he went over to the kettle.

  Tiff frowned at his back. Was he saying he thought she ought to lose weight? Size twelve wasn’t fat, though, was it?

  “Biscuit?” Julian asked without turning. “I’ve got chocolate chip cookies.”

  Tiff gave a resigned sigh. “Not for me, thanks.”

  Chapter Eight

  Checking through his pigeonhole early in the morning, Nick found a sealed envelope that was addressed in loopy German script. He tore it open to find a short note. “Heute Abend? Um 9?” It was signed with a J. Rather superfluously, Nick thought; after all, who else would be arranging assignations with him in German?

  As it happened that this evening at nine o’clock would suit him rather well, Nick folded the note and wrote “Einverstanden” on it before placing it furtively in Julian’s pigeonhole. He jumped as a couple of students burst into the room a moment later. God, he’d make a bloody awful spy. Even more so, he realised, as it occurred to him that they had a time for a meeting but not a place. Pretending to read a circular from the University Library with great interest, Nick waited until the students had left before retrieving the note and adding a quick direction to meet him at his car in the car park. Not a good idea to have Julian turning up at his rooms all the time. People might get the wrong impression.

  Or worse, the right one.

  That evening, Nick sat in the Mini Cooper, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited in the dark for Julian to turn up. He wondered if he should mention his humiliating failure to transform by himself, then dismissed the idea. Julian looked up to him. It wouldn’t do to appear weak.

  He jumped as the door opened, and Julian slid into the passenger seat. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked with a shy smile.

  “No, not at all,” Nick lied. “Did you have trouble getting away?”

  “Not particularly.” He hesitated. “There were some people I know, and I wasn’t sure if you would want anyone to know I was meeting you.”

  Nick didn’t quite know how to answer that. “Probably best not to arouse any suspicion,” he said at last. “Anyway, we’d better be off now.”

  Nick drove without speaking, grateful that Julian didn’t try to make conversation either. Tension coiled in his gut like a restless tapeworm, eating away at him from inside. Assuming that he did manage to make the change, and it wasn’t just a hideous embarrassment, what if it was just a repeat of that first time with Carl? If Julian’s wolf form bore any correlation to his human shape, he’d be half Nick’s size. Nick would eat him alive. Quite possibly literally.

  Julian seemed fascinated by the view from the car window. Of course, many students never made it out of Cambridge during term time—at least, no farther than they could punt along the river towards Grantchester. Hardly any of the students had cars, for the simple reason that there was nowhere to put the things. It was just as well. Traffic in town was bad enough as it was—Nick hated to think what it’d be like with twelve thousand extra cars on the narrow streets.

  They passed by the railway station, then a spectacularly ugly new housing development, and after that it was green fields as far as the eye could see. Which was a considerable distance; the topography of East Anglia as a rule bore a close resemblance to a pancake. As they drove farther, however, the Gog Magog hills appeared to break the visual monotony—and all too soon, they were there.

  Nick fought to control the bile rising up in his throat as he pulled off the lane and into the clearing. Jerking the handbrake on rather harder than necessary, he switched off the engine.

  “It’ll be all right,” Julian said softly.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Better than you do,” Julian told him, but the tone held no arrogance.

  They got out of the car, and Julian looked around at the woodland, seeming to approve. Nick felt absurdly relieved—almost as if this were some kind of date. It was quiet here, the rush of traffic from the main road only a murmur, and the smell of damp earth and intriguing small creatures rose to meet Nick’s nostrils, calming him with its familiarity.

  “What is this place?” Julian asked.

  “It’s called the Godolphin Estate. An old country manor, built on top of an Iron Age hill fort, but it’s all gone to wrack and ruin, now.” Nick couldn’t keep the disapproval out of his voice at such wanton disregard of historical relics. “You can still see the remains of the fort—there’s a huge ring-shaped ditch in the middle of the woodlands.”

  Julian nodded and with a complete lack of self-consciousness, began to strip, slinging his discarded clothes through the open door of the Mini Cooper. His skin seemed almost blue in the moonlight as long limbs were revealed. Nick found his heart beating faster, his breath quickening. Julian looked like some spirit of the forest, all slender lines and pale, perfect skin. Despite himself, Nick found his eyes falling to the boy’s groin. Silvery curls surrounded the most beautiful cock he’d ever seen, and Nick drank in the view as it began to rise slowly, as if resisting the force of his gaze. He could feel an answering pressure in his own groin and took an involuntary step forward.

  All at once Julian’s form shifted. Confusing in its swiftness, the body he was scrutinising so eagerly seemed to twist, to writhe, but there was no convulsing in agony, and Julian didn’t even whimper as he became a wolf.

  He was beautiful. Still slender, seeming half-grown, his fur shimmering in the moonlight. He trotted over to Nick and gave him a cautious sniff. Nick was appalled to realise he was still hard, aroused by the boy even in this form. For a moment he thought Julian was about to lick him—intimately.

  Nick drew a deep, shuddering breath—and suddenly Julian was human again, smiling at him with mischief in his eyes, and the proximity was too much for Nick. He grabbed Julian’s hips and pulled the boy to him, hard. Julian moaned and seemed to melt against him, his cock hard against Nick’s groin. Incensed by the barrier of his clothes, Nick let go of Julian and tore off his shirt, tossing it heedlessly to the ground. Pale, delicate fingers were already undoing his trousers, pushing them past his hips. Nick slammed Julian’s body back against his own, letting out a hoarse cry as flesh met flesh. It was glorious—but it wasn’t enough.

  Dimly recognising with part of his brain that he was gripping Julian far too hard, that the boy would be bruised in the morning, Nick slammed him back against the side of the Mini Cooper. One hand pulled Julian into a savage kiss, all tongues and teeth. The taste of him was intoxicating. Nick had never felt such hunger, such need. He frotted feverishly against the boy—and then a slender hand crept between them and wrapped round both their cocks, working them together. Nick knew he was groaning into the boy’s mouth, but was utterly unable to stop himself. He’d never felt anything so intense, so wonderful it was almost painful. Julian was his, would always be his. He’d kill anyone who tried to take him away.

  He could taste blood in his mouth where a to
oth had raked skin. Tearing his mouth from the boy’s lips, Nick dropped it to Julian’s neck, to the junction with his shoulder, and bit down savagely. The metallic flavour of blood flooding his mouth seemed to send a signal straight to his groin and he came, shuddering, dimly aware of Julian convulsing too.

  As his vision cleared and his breathing slowed, Nick was disturbed to find he felt only mildly horrified at what he’d done. He’d had sex with a student. Damn it, he’d bitten the boy. But it was hard to feel so very appalled when the hormones were still coursing through his veins and Julian was standing there with that fey smile upon his face.

  “I knew it’d be good with you,” Julian murmured happily.

  Feeling a sudden rush of anger, Nick thrust the boy from him. “This is not what we came here for.”

  Julian stared at him silently for one long moment, then dropped his eyes. “Then change,” he said petulantly.

  Nick felt like an idiot. “I don’t know how!” he admitted angrily, stepping out of his trousers and trying to ignore their mingled semen coating his stomach.

  There was another pause, and then Julian’s voice came again, much softer this time. “You have to concentrate on the moon. Feel its power. Surrender to it.” The boy’s face was shining in the half-light.

  Surrender. He should have known. Nick gazed upwards at the gibbous moon that crested the treetops. He tried to imagine it as full, tried to open himself to its power.

  “It’s not far from full, still. Let it pull you into your inner form,” Julian whispered from a long way away.

  Nick’s eyes didn’t waver from that pale, cold light. He thought he could feel a tug in his chest, his bowels. Surrender. He let the moonlight bathe his naked form, and his skin seemed to tingle with it. Let it pull you. His inner form? Was that what he was, now? A wolf in man’s clothing?

  Nick took a deep breath, and tried to banish his misgivings. Surrender. It had been so easy for Julian—surely if he could do this, so could Nick?

  And this time, it seemed to happen quite suddenly. He could feel the wrenching in his face, his limbs, and he forced himself not to fight it. Determinedly, he allowed his body to rearrange itself, to reform—and was astonished to find the change rushing upon him with the force of his earlier orgasm. It wasn’t pleasure, precisely, but neither was it the searing pain of every other transformation.

  Nick stood there on all fours, panting. He was wolf.

  And there before him stood the Julian-wolf, back arched, eyes lowered. Nick felt almost giddy in his sense of rightness. This was his wolf, his pack. Submitting to him as was proper. He howled his approval to the moon. The Julian-wolf watched him—and then jumped away playfully. Nick growled in mock disapproval, a wonderful lightness in his chest.

  The smaller wolf grinned at him for a moment, then darted into the forest. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Nick followed. They sprang through the trees in a swift slalom, not bothering with stealth—chasing rabbits could wait. Another wolf was a far worthier prey, even if it was all in sport. Julian’s slender form was as agile as a gazelle, and Nick had to work in earnest to keep up with him.

  He had a feeling Julian knew it. Nick’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps the smaller wolf needed a lesson in who was alpha here.

  He got his revenge when, without warning, they arrived at The Ring. Julian yelped as his paws skittered on the steep slopes that led down to the ancient ditch, and he barely escaped the ignominy of sliding down on his rump. Laughing inside, Nick followed at a more cautious pace. Julian growled at him, presumably for the lack of warning—and then cowered at Nick’s answering growl. Good humour entirely restored, Nick jerked his head at the younger wolf and set off along the ditch.

  Julian was quick to catch on and sped along beside him. The Ring could have been tailor-made for two wolves racing along beside one another—and since the trees had not yet spread over it, was a clear racetrack. Here, Nick’s more powerful muscles came into their own. He outstripped Julian easily, his legs working and his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Running as a wolf was nothing like running as a human—at times like this, Nick wondered that he could ever accept that pale imitation, tottering about on two legs, his upper limbs almost useless. Now, his whole body was a machine built for speed, working with perfect efficiency. Had he the breath to spare, Nick would have howled his joy to the skies.

  He stopped when he reached the break in the Ring. There was a path here that led to a grassy central clearing that was practically an all-you-can-eat buffet for a wolf—provided the wolf didn’t mind a fairly monotonous diet of rabbit, rabbit or rabbit. Nick waited for Julian to catch up and led the way to the centre of the Ring, his priority now stealth, not speed.

  Julian followed his lead, and together they slunk through the trees, bellies low. As expected, the clearing—presumably once some kind of garden feature—was teeming with furry bodies nibbling moronically at the grass. Feeling a not-really-deserved but nonetheless real pride in the provision of this bunny buffet, Nick held back, allowing Julian the first kill.

  Like lightning, the pale wolf darted into the clearing and seized a rabbit in his jaws. At the sight of its blood, Nick could hold back no more and leapt after its fleeing, terrified cousins.

  The first taste, when it came, was as always the sweetest.

  The warmth of Nick’s front contrasted sharply with the chill of the rest of him as he woke up next morning to find himself lying naked in the bracken, curled protectively around an equally nude Julian. “It’s getting too bloody cold to do this,” he muttered to cover his embarrassment as he stretched aching muscles. Memories of the previous night flooded back in a rising tide of shame. He’d taken advantage of the boy, knowing how vulnerable he was. He’d lost control.

  Nick disentangled himself from Julian’s drowsy form hurriedly, then shook him by the shoulder. “Come on, wake up. We need to get back.”

  Julian stretched, cat-like, and gave him a Cheshire smile to complete the image. “Morning,” he purred.

  Nick flushed. “Come on, you’ll freeze,” he said roughly, finding himself unable to look the boy in the eye.

  “Nick?” Julian’s voice was quiet, worried, the smile having faded away leaving only the boy behind. It should have been the other way around, Nick noted dully. He turned away and didn’t answer.

  There was an audible sigh, and Julian’s lithe form padded past him, looking all around as if trying to sniff out the location of Nick’s car. Nick couldn’t help looking. He gave a sharp intake of breath. “Christ, what happened to your back?”

  Julian started and then slowly turned. “Discipline.”

  In the grey morning light, the scars across his chest showed up easily as well as those on his back. “What?”

  “In the pack. It was felt I was in need of discipline.”

  Nick’s head whirled. “Your father did this?”

  Julian flinched. “No.” It was almost a whisper. “His beta. I was…given to him. To be trained.”

  “Trained for what? Trained to be beaten bloody? Christ, those look like whip marks!” Nick could barely control his anger. “And what the hell do you mean, given to him?”

  Julian’s back was hunched, his gaze firmly on the ground at his feet. “I was his. To discipline, to—do you really want to hear this?”

  No. “Yes, by God, Julian, tell me! What do you mean, his?” As Julian remained silent, Nick’s temper got the better of him and he grabbed hold of Julian’s shoulders, giving him a rough shake. “Tell me.”

  Julian looked up, then. “We fucked, all right? Happy now? Glad you heard that? Pleased you were right about what a filthy little slut I am?”

  Nick’s hands clenched convulsively, and part of him knew he’d be leaving bruises on the boy’s pale shoulders. A larger part of him didn’t care. “You are not a slut! And you are nobody’s but mine!” Suddenly his fury was exhausted, and he let go.

  Curiously, Julian seemed to straighten at that. Neither of them talked much on the
drive back to college, however, and they parted in the car park with barely a word.

  It was around midnight when Tiff walked through Garden Court. It wasn’t exactly on her way back to her room from the impromptu gathering in a fellow History student’s room—but, well, she felt like a walk. Julian’s window was dark, the curtains open.

  Turning on her heel, Tiff decided she’d take the direct route after all. Back in her room, she pulled off her boots and then looked in the bathroom mirror. The face that stared back at her looked utterly drab—no make-up, round face, straight mousey hair. Rummaging in her desk drawer, Tiff found her pair of scissors. Very deliberately, she pulled her ponytail round to the front and cut it off, just below the band. The face in the mirror was still staring.

  Tiff made a rude gesture at it and went to bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Julian wasn’t in Hall at their usual breakfast time. Tiff latched on to a group of first-years she knew a bit and tried to join in the conversation, uncomfortably aware they were staring at her hair and being far too well-brought-up to mention it.

  She didn’t see Jools until lunchtime, in fact, when he dropped into the seat next to hers in Hall looking irritatingly cheerful. “What happened to your hair, Tiff?” was all she got in the way of greeting.

  “It fell off. Have a good night, did you?”

  “Mm,” he answered annoyingly vaguely, taking a forkful of jacket potato.

  “Was it—” she paused, and looked around with involuntary caution, “—you know who, or did you just go down the Rat & Ferret and meet someone there?”

  “It was who you think it was.” Somehow she’d expected him to be more, well, smug about it. “You know, it looks a bit weird at the back.”

  “What?”

  “Your hair. It’s all ragged and different lengths. Are you busy after lunch?”