Heart Of The Wolf (Eye Of The Storm #3)

by Dianna Hardy

  He nipped at her hips, her stomach, her ribs, bringing her vest up – sweet, lord – her breasts… And when he finally came up to meet her eyes, his face held a searing longing that matched her own. Gone was the sorrow she'd seen on him so many times – whether it was because he'd let it go, or because the moon requested his full attendance, she didn't know.

  He plunged his tongue into her mouth, drowning her in her own taste, then pulled back with a growl that vibrated throughout his entire body. With one of his hands, he flicked her clit lazily, she gasped in surprise and then he drove his fingers in her, coarse words tumbling from his lips… “I was the first one here – dreams aside – do you remember that? I was the first to taste you; the first to feel you come…”

  Holy Christ!

  This man had a hundred layers. Mated Taylor, when he let his wolf reign, was as 'alpha' as her other two mates. For some reason, she hadn't been expecting it, though she had always noticed his feral nature, even when he had denied it; had always seen the wildness he'd tried so hard to bury. Both she and her wolf submitted quite happily.

  “Lydia…” he commanded, as he scraped her earlobe with his teeth, and it was a command, even if only her name was uttered.

  She moaned at his dominance over her. “You were the first one I came for,” she affirmed.

  Her words brought down any final barrier he might have had in place against taking her.

  With a guttural sound of want, his cock replaced his fingers and slid all the way home.

  “Taylor…” Two syllables riding on the breath of a desperate inhalation.

  He was an overwhelming combination of forceful and gentle, rough and smooth, wolf and man, friend and lover…

  “Oh, god, I can't … the wolf – she's so near the surface. One day is too long. I'm so close…”

  He paused, embedded completely inside her.

  “That was not a request for you to stop.”

  He laughed, “Hold on…” and then repositioned himself as he held her down by her hips; moved himself deeper in and further up her body, brought her legs higher, knees up near her shoulders and then—

  “Shit!” she cried, as he pushed into her, hard. She hadn't even known he could go any deeper.

  “Fuck, yes,” he belted out, and then he moved relentlessly, the top of his shaft hitting her sweet spot over and over with every calculated thrust. “I've got you now,” he growled out through gritted teeth.

  With his right arm he held hers into the ground; his left hand brushed the side of her face and then he hooked his thumb into her mouth, knowing she loved the taste of the earth on his skin.

  A keening noise left her as her ache escalated at the rate of knots.

  His body slammed into hers.

  “I've got you now.”

  The force of his approaching climax matched hers.

  Lightning flashed through the sky directly above her, making her body buzz with electricity, but this time, she didn't bring it down. It's not what she was seeking. She was looking for that other type of wonder that she had shared with both Ryan and Lawrence; that strange and beautiful fusion, borne of acceptance, that melded her to her mate in an ecstatic, forever union.

  And there it was.

  Invisible, yet tangible coils ran through and around both her and Taylor, swallowing each of them up in the other.

  He moaned in abandon, finally letting her in – finally losing himself in her… “You've owned me from the first moment I saw you,” he whispered, hoarse and carnal; words from the past now cementing their tie.

  His scent poured off him, blending with hers, and he grew huge and hard inside her as her swollenness sucked him in.

  She screamed his name, and he came in a raw cry of rapture, exploding within her as she convulsed around him, bonded for eternity; willing slaves to the cosmos that threw them together.

  ~*~

  With a rumble that ran through him, he squeezed his throbbing erection with his right hand and came, fast and furious, and as if his life depended on it; that feeling of constant, slight panic – of always being on the edge – the legacy of a travesty befallen him, over twenty years ago now.

  Lawrence clutched the handrails on the side of his bed, to his left, until his knuckles turned white; the need to balance his body – find his central point of gravity – the reason for his brutal grip, but not the reason for his brutal climax.

  No.

  That had to do with the zesty red-head he was mated to … and by blood, too. He wondered if she knew the extent to which he could feel her reaction to pretty much every goddamn thing. It sent him into a tailspin. It sent him wild. It sent him needing to bring himself off in synchronicity to her don't-you-just-love-the-universe, cosmo-bonding with Taylor.

  Fuck.

  He'd known it would be like this when Ryan had demanded he save her. Wolves didn't mate through blood and couldn't … unless they carried the storm-wielder gene, which both he and Lydia did. But he hadn't been able to deny the former rogue wolf – not when Ryan had saved his life all that time ago and looked after the pack at his request.

  Sperm coated his chest and … shit … the wall behind him.

  He reached over to the nightstand on his left and snarled lightly when he found his tissue box empty.

  Quadruple fuck. Skip the double and the triple – it would save him time, because the 'fucks' just kept on coming.

  With effort – because he'd just ejaculated half his fucking body weight – he hauled himself up to sitting, reached for his wheelchair (always by the side of the bed) brought it around and levered himself into it, before steering his way to the bathroom.

  ~*~

  The Egyptian sun rose over the dusty horizon, piercing its rays into the blue-grey sky, still sprayed with pinks and oranges … and this was the bit he loved most about his life, whether as a Trident or a human: the sun would always rise.

  The moon could throw as many tantrums as it liked, but the sun, in all its splendour, would always meet it head on.

  Sitting on the edge of the Cairo-Belbes Desert Road, Amil surveyed the faint outline of the monuments and temple ruins he could see in the far distance, scattered as they were at points across the country, some towering over all, and some fallen with the dynasties and lying horizontal on the powdery ground: depictions of humans with animal heads and claws and the like.

  He wondered if any of the ancient scriptures had prophesied the creation of The Trident.

  He wondered if the werewolf had any bearing on the image of Anubis.

  Rowdy laughter erupted behind him, some distance away, coming from the tiny village he had spent the night in. The laughter belonged to three men who had just left the brothel – the only rest stop that had been available on immediate request – the scent of sex tingeing the air, only noticeable to him because of his Trident nature.

  Amil, himself, had refused rest in the brothel, despite the painful ache in his loins that heralded the full moon. He had chosen a shielded alleyway instead, and had nestled down for the night between two of the white-washed houses. He needed to, and wanted to, keep his last memory of Sarah intact. Engaging in lewd acts with some other woman, or women, no matter how much he lusted after the thought, would unmake everything that Sarah had made of him. He was not the same man he had been four days ago. That he thought of himself as a man at all was a small miracle in itself. Their sole time together had held a purity and innocence only she could be responsible for, and it had changed him – he'd die before he tainted that of his own free will.

  He stood against the broken dawn, faced north, and continued walking towards his destination: the city of Bubastis. He had thought of hitching a lift, or hiring a car with whatever little cash he'd brought with him, but the truth was that the arduous walk in the unforgiving heat diffused the sexual energy trying to claim his system, and made everything more bearable – the sun, once again, saving him.

  Will you save me before three months is up and a soulless death takes me?
<
br />   He had a feeling he'd know the answer before the moon was round.

  Chapter One

  Lydia moaned lazily, surfacing from sleep as warm wet lips trailed kisses across the back of her shoulders.

  “I love your freckles. I've counted seventy-eight so far.”

  “You're counting my freckles?”

  “And kissing them.”

  She smiled and turned in Taylor's arms, the sun already blanketing the grass to the east. “The summer brings them out, and they all sort of morph together. I'll be one giant freckle soon.”

  “Mmm … sexy.”

  She laughed.

  “No, it is.”

  “You're sexy.”

  “For a non-freckly bloke, I brush up okay, huh?”

  She laughed some more, then stretched in greeting of the day, delighting in the feel of her naked skin against his.

  “Do that again – your breasts look fabulous.”

  “Taylor!” she exclaimed in mock shock. “You're full of it this morning. Is Ryan rubbing off on you?”

  “I prefer the image of you rubbing off on me, but if it turns you on…”

  “I was joking – and I didn't mean it like that.”

  “Thank god.”

  “Ha-di-ha,” she grinned. “So…”

  “So?”

  “Was last night … I mean, was it…”

  He rolled her on top of him, his contented smile making his entire face look youthful – no sorrow, no grief, no angsty internal pain. “It was bloody wonderful. Tell me that bonding thing happens more than once.”

  “I think it does. There's only been the once with Lawrence, but with Ryan – including the dreams – quite a few.” And then she stopped, her smile falling away. “Is it okay to talk about them?” Shit. It was so hard not to, with them all being such an integrated part of her – of each other.

  He brought her head down and kissed her. “It's more than all right,” he whispered. “We all know the way things are. Remember when I told you there was nothing about our mating arrangement that puts me off? Well, I meant it. And I meant what I said last night, too.”

  “Let's see … there was 'I was the first one here' and 'I've got you now' and—”

  He landed a light slap on her bare backside.

  She squealed in surprise and then dropped another affectionate kiss on him. Wolf-Taylor really was playful and it felt damn nice to know she might have a hand in bringing that out in him.

  He held her fast, and transformed her light peck into a deep well of gratitude and meaning, and she groaned willingly, never wanting to throw herself down a well so much in her life. I hope there's a ladder I can climb back up with…

  When he released her, his eyes shone with seriousness. “That you've owned me from the first moment I saw you.”

  Wow.

  She caught her breath at his intense gaze, and those three terrifying words that had snuck up on her a few days ago, now hammered away at the door of her heart once more. Was now the right time to say them? Would he say them back?

  No, it's too soon, and we're all in such a mess. Your timing could not be worse.

  Taylor swept her overhanging hair, which enclosed them both in a fiery, orange haze, behind her right ear. “How are you doing, Lydia?”

  Her chest tightened. She knew what he was referring to and she didn't want to talk about it. Bad enough she had to relive it in her mind all the fucking time. Add Lawrence's memories to the mix and it was a wonder she wasn't a total basket case.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Wolves make bad liars.”

  Her shoulders sagged and she rolled off him with a sigh. Talk about landing back in reality with a thump. It was more like bungee jumping with the wrong rope. She shook her head. “Taylor—”

  “The police are stopping by early afternoon, and then we've got an official meeting with the pack at seven o'clock tonight, before the moon rises. And tomorrow, your dad's coming to visit.”

  Her stomach churned again – it had been doing that a lot recently, as if she was on the verge of throwing up 24/7. If she could just get rid of the scent of Brendan's blood, which had somehow branded itself into her nasal passages…

  “None of us will let anyone say a word against you, you know that.”

  “Are you talking about the police, the pack, or my dad?” she said, a little too curtly. Ooo, her snarky-self was back wearing her cloak of defensiveness like armour.

  Taylor didn't let it faze him, just as Ryan never did, and this was why she loved her mates. And crap it, she didn't need to be thinking about that either.

  “All three. But we can't keep the police away and we need that meeting with the pack – they're restless and scared.”

  “I know.” And what exactly were her three mates going to do when the entire pack shouted for her banishment, or worse – her blood? She'd learnt a lot about storm-wielders in the past month – no one loved them too much – and that's what cut her up the most: she had brought this to their door. The pack was in danger, and hanging on by a thread because of her. No wonder Lawrence blew hot and cold where she was concerned: the 'hot' of it he couldn't help – it was down to biology – and the 'cold' of it was that it was safest for him and his pack (and they were his pack, even if Ryan led it) if he stayed as far away from her as possible.

  Great.

  Shame her wolf had the constant, frustrating urge to heal him of all his ills. It made the 'staying away from him' part extremely difficult.

  She had thought that after their last shared foursome, Lawrence might begin to let her in a bit more, but he had just grown quiet and retreated further into himself.

  One step forward, two steps back.

  Bad analogy, Lydia.

  Pushing the perplexing blond wolf to the back of her mind, she stood up, Taylor following her. She turned to face him, blinking back hot tears and wishing she had better control over them – but she and her emotions had never been the best of friends. “I hate myself for bringing this mess your way. If it weren't for—”

  “No, no, no, don't you dare do this.” She was crushed against his chest; a kiss landing squarely on her forehead.

  “If I hadn't gone back to see Brendan—”

  “Don't.” That was bitten out with a mini-growl. “Lawrence's past was going to explode at some point, and if he thinks any differently, he's deluding himself. It was a matter of time. At the very worst your presence was the catalyst, but you're certainly not the reason.” He frowned. “The 'reason' is among us, though.”

  They both tensed, suddenly more aware of their surroundings. They had a traitor in their midst – someone who had been following Lydia. Someone who had driven her truck back from Barry's Café, straight onto private property. With Brendan's dead body in the back.

  Including the four of them, there were only fourteen members in their pack. If she didn't count her mates, that only narrowed it down to ten potential suspects, assuming the keys to the property gates hadn't been handed to an outsider.

  “Ryan's hoping the meeting tonight will flush the traitor out. We'll be able to tell if they're lying, especially with the full moon bringing out everyone's true feelings, and Ryan will definitely be putting the pressure on. That's why he chose the meeting for tonight.”

  Yeah, Ryan did ballsy things like that. Gather together an angry mob on the full moon – great idea. “What about The Trident? Shouldn't we be on high alert in case they come a-knocking?”

  “They're unlikely to try anything too elaborate near the full moon – they have their own needs to fulfil, and as a species, they rely on their baser needs way more than we do. They'll be feeling vulnerable and looking out for themselves until the moon starts to wane.”

  Footfalls sounded from behind her.

  They both looked up to find Ryan striding towards them, carrying gardening overalls and taking in their nude forms.

  She practically felt Taylor's hackles rise behind her in case he had to defend himself. He might be okay
with the foursome-mating thing they had going on, but it seemed he wasn't sure if Ryan was.

  She reached behind her and placed a soothing hand on his arm.

  It didn't go unnoticed.

  Ryan's eyes travelled back and forth between her and Taylor, until he stopped in front of them, his nostrils flaring.

  Still with one hand on Taylor's, she placed her other one on Ryan's chest in reassurance. “Morning,” she smiled.

  “I woke up and you were gone,” he replied, angrily. He was still in protective mode because crazy, werewolf hybrids knew of her existence and wanted to capture her, enslave her and use her as a lightning conductor.

  “I couldn't have woken you up, even if I'd wanted to,” she teased, hoping to arouse his more jovial side.

  He didn't smile.

  Not letting go of either of her wolves, she took another step towards Ryan so they were almost skin to skin, and then met his eyes. “I needed Taylor.”

  Sometimes three words were enough.

  Ryan's eyes softened as his nostrils flared again, taking in their combined scent.

  He leaned down and tentatively brushed her lips with his, and then with his tongue. She opened her mouth and the tip of his tongue touched hers in a purposeful stroke.

  He was scenting her. Tasting where she'd been; tasting her and Taylor's union.

  Her heart leapt right up to her throat, heat claiming her once more. A whimper left her, but he pulled away and zeroed in on Taylor instead, the movement so swift that Taylor instinctively growled in defence.

  Ryan's growl was both louder and deeper, stating in no uncertain terms who was in charge, and Taylor submitted, lowering his head.

  Ryan lifted it again with one large hand gripping his jaw and tapped on his mouth with his thumb.

  Taylor opened for him, darting his tongue out for Ryan to taste, and Lydia might have melted on the spot 'cause she sure as fuck couldn't feel her body anymore.