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

by Dianna Hardy

Wait, that wasn't quite true, she could feel that too familiar torturous ache and the relentless heat.

  Good god!

  She knew what was happening was a gustatory exchange of what had taken place, and nothing more, but that didn't mean her eyes weren't enjoying the undeniable treat of two muscled, male bodies colliding as tongues entwined.

  She had meant it earlier, when she'd said she was joking about Ryan 'rubbing off' on Taylor. Never in her human life had she even played with the idea of watching two men make out, either with or without her, but she'd never been mated to three werewolves before. It hadn't even entered her mind that two men she loved could potentially find pleasure in each other, and at this precise moment, the wicked image filled her mind more boldly than her two mates filled her vision.

  She tried to wipe it from her shell-shocked brain, not really wanting either of them to catch onto her line of thought.

  Ryan pulled away, hovered around Taylor's neck for another two seconds, swaying his head a little to breathe him in, and then threw the overalls he'd been carrying at him.

  Taylor caught them.

  “'Bout bloody time you two sorted it out. Good. We've got work to do. Lydia, sweetheart, Lawrence needs you at the house.”

  She nodded, even though she wasn't sure she fancied seeing Lawrence in her need-to-climax state. Fuck. Was there any other state nowadays?

  Not on the morning of the full moon, and it's only going to get worse…

  Ryan threw a wink in her direction, obvious lust in his eyes, which he was clearly keeping a rein on for now, and then he signalled for Taylor to follow him towards the rest of the pack who were out working in force. Timber and foods from the land still brought in an income – there were still chores to be done.

  With overalls in hand, Taylor came in for a quick goodbye kiss. “I'll see you at lunch.”

  She nodded, not able to form words because Ryan's aroma on Taylor now sent her head reeling to some place she couldn't reach … and the rest of her body into a furnace.

  Taylor left, and with difficulty, she forced her legs to work and made her way back to the mansion.

  How was she going to survive like this – fucking sex-starved – through the police being here, and the pack meeting?

  She glanced up and spotted the moon still in the sky, barely visible against the blue of day, but there nonetheless.

  I can't cope. I can't…

  She wanted to flay her skin off – everything felt too hot and too tight. Was this her wolf trying to surface? Was this a hint of what shifting actually felt like?

  When she reached the house, Lawrence wasn't in sight.

  Racing up the stairs, she ran straight to her room and into the adjoining bathroom. Stepping swiftly into the shower unit, she turned the dial towards blue, and heaved a sigh of relief when the cold water hit her.

  I am not an animal – not completely – I can control myself for fuck's sake.

  And she would, damn it. She would.

  She didn't let her hand meander down to find that swollen bud between her legs that permanently throbbed now. She would not be a slave to it.

  Nope.

  Not even if illicit visions of Ryan's mouth on Taylor's saturated her mind.

  ~*~

  Selena repeatedly tapped the spoon lightly against the ceramic bowl, her cereal looking like gloop because she hadn't been able to eat a bite owing to the pain scorching her lower half, not to mention that monthly stabbing in her heart that all unmated females suffered from.

  In the past, Ryan had happily obliged her; Lawrence at a push, but he'd never denied her – the males never denied the females around the full moon – it was too bloody dangerous.

  Except Taylor.

  He had denied her over and over again for eight months, and it had frustrated her no end because he intrigued her the most. She had wanted him – still did. Why Ryan and Lawrence had let him get away with spurning every female, every month, was a mystery to her.

  But what did it matter now – all three of them were gone.

  Anger coursed through her as surely as her hazardous mating pains.

  Who was there left to turn to?

  Marco and Bill were boys, and certainly not Alphas. If she were fifteen, she'd be all gooey-eyed for them, but she was fast-approaching twenty-five and in need of an actual mate – not a monthly service, even though that aspect was unavoidable. If someone in the pack didn't soon sprout a 'Selena gene' she could kiss her short life goodbye.

  Doug was already mated and Pete was creepy as fuck – 'sinister' was the word that sprang to mind. He and her dad were good friends, although she really didn't know why, other than the fact that he was also an older wolf. Others said he used to be mated, but he never talked about it – had his mate died? What else could it be? Mates never left any other way. Throughout her childhood, she had made up scenarios about Pete. She imagined some epic brawl for the sake of his loved one, or perhaps to protect family, because he had had his face mauled at some point in his past which he never talked about – it was not too pretty a sight.

  But she held enough reality to know that her fantasies were ideals, and the reality was most likely much more sobering: he had probably been the one causing the trouble. There was gossip that he liked his females a certain way. It involved ropes and chains, and there was even talk of blades. She'd never once run to Pete for lunar relief and like hell was she starting now.

  Hendrickson and Amelia kept themselves to themselves, and although it was all hush-hush, she suspected they relieved each other. With the wolf clans becoming more and more scattered (on the verge of extinction was more like it) it wasn't unheard of for unmated siblings to turn to each other in their hour of need.

  Gross.

  She eyed her brother – two years her senior – from across the table.

  No way.

  But her clit already throbbed in response to his biceps contracting as he brought his toast up to his mouth; his strong jaw moving as he chewed. He was Alpha material, but in the wrong pack for his liking.

  Yeah, aren't we all.

  A warmth rushed between her legs at his presence – some fucked up biological response because her cells would be dying soon and there weren't enough wolves to go around – and her anger turned to rage as disgust mingled right in there along with the lust.

  He suddenly stopped chewing, and glanced up at her, his nostrils flaring…

  Selena stood abruptly. “I'm going out. See if I can help with any chores. Where's Dad?”

  Stephen shrugged slowly, his gaze still on her. The usual Stephen response … except for his glazed, questioning eyes. “You haven't eaten,” he stated.

  “Not hungry.”

  Silence.

  “We're always hungry near the full moon.”

  She ignored him and wandered into the living room to find the trainers she'd discarded there last night, briefly wondering if she should change out of her short sun dress for working in the woods … but it was so blinkin' hot, and it's not like brambles and thorns annoyed her too much as a wolf – all wolves had a natural tough layer of skin under the visible one. It was part of the reason they healed so quickly.

  Stephen appeared at the doorway as she was tying up the laces of her trainers. “Dad and I were talking yesterday, about the new female.”

  “Lydia?” asked Selena, not even bothering to hide the snarl that accompanied that bitch's name.

  “Yes.”

  Still crouching, she swapped feet and did those laces up too.

  Stephen came up behind her. “Everyone knows she's taken three mates: Ryan, Lawrence and Taylor. But there are rumours about her being a storm-wielder. We've all seen and heard the flashes of lightning around here since she arrived.”

  She kept her mouth shut because she already knew that juicy bit of information was true. Saying a single word might out that fact – she doubted she'd be able to hide the taint of the secret she harboured, or the scent of what she kept covered up. And it was a blo
ody big cover up.

  'Bloody' being the operative word, she grimaced, keeping her head down.

  “And now there's the dead human and they're sayin' Lydia knew him.” There was a pause before he continued. “What are you going to do with three less males in the pack?”

  She threw his shrug back at him, feigning nonchalance. “There are other packs. My mate's out there somewhere. Somerset's only a couple of hours drive, I could—”

  “We have a meeting tonight.”

  Fuck. She needed to find a way out of that meeting and fast.

  “And the other packs are all shunning us.”

  She stood, surprised. “What?” That was news to her.

  “Rumours spread fast. Turns out that most have heard about the storm-wielder and they want nothing to do with us. Pete, Marco, Bill and I went out last night – you know we always meet the London females every month. Well, they rejected us, and brought their males with them to warn us off.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, it is shit.”

  He was suddenly looming over her. She grabbed the back of the sofa for balance.

  “There are four males in this pack with nowhere to go, and you're the only available female in it.” His words were possessive and … oh, god … was that his mating scent?

  “No,” she bit out, injecting as much warning as she could into the single syllable to hide her fear. “There's Amelia.”

  “Hendrickson's odour is all over her – in her. Breaking her away from him for our own needs would cause a rift. They're our only medics. We need them.”

  He leaned down and sniffed her hair, and she damn well knew she was excreting pheromones all over the place.

  She backed away, but he followed her, keeping barely an inch between them. “Stay away from me, Stephen.”

  “One of the others will claim you by tonight if I don't. Is that what you want? Our goodbyes were strained last night – they already have designs on you, I can tell. We've always had choice before, and now we have none. You have none. Do you understand? You'll be taken whether you want it or not, by the male who proves himself the strongest and you'll be tied to him every full moon until you find your mate or die. The days where you can choose who services you is gone.”

  She placed a hand on his chest and shoved him.

  His eyes flashed in anger.

  “And your solution is what?” she bit out. “To keep it in the family? Amelia signed her own death warrant by letting Hendrickson mark her with his scent – we all know it. It took them from Betas to below the Deltas; the crap at the bottom of the heap. Even if she finds her mate—”

  “She won't find her mate and she's always known it. This is her twenty-fifth year and Hendrickson's only got two left – that's why they chose the road they did. Might as well go together – blood ties and all that; they've done everything else together. They wouldn't be the first to go down that path.”

  He advanced towards her once more, and she pushed him hard with a growl. “I'm not fucking my own brother like an outcast – we're not werewolf scum, our pack is royalty!”

  “Was. A long time ago before the Gunvalds were slaughtered and their only surviving son, too much of a weakling to lead us.”

  “Don't let Dad hear you say that about Lawrence.”

  “Dad's an old fool,” his tone dropped low, “and you're one step behind him if you think I'm letting you out of here for every other male to have.”

  “No!” She was spun back towards the sofa before she knew it, Stephen catapulting her there by the weight of his body.

  She landed hard on the cushioned seats, the base of her neck hitting the arm of the couch and making her wince. “Get off. I don't want this!”

  And curse the heat in her for rising in response. Despite her words, the wolf in her whimpered in submission, her body already opening for his.

  She raked his face with her nails.

  His fangs bared at her denial of him, and then her wrists were pinned above her head, uncomfortably so, a bone-felt pain shooting through her where he pushed her forearms, bent backwards at the wrong angle, over the armrest.

  She hissed in anger, lunging at him in any way she could, prepared to bite, and managed to graze the edge of his jaw with her teeth.

  He slapped her across the face.

  It was hard and it stung, and it was the first time he'd ever done that.

  A sob erupted from her before she even understood the extent of her hurt at the loss of her brother, because that's what was happening: if he did this, she would lose him forever. There'd be no going back. “Please no – I don't want this. I don't want you … like this.”

  “It's not about want.” He shoved her dress up around her waist, tearing at her underwear. “It's about survival.”

  “Not like this!”

  His eyes, the same hazel as hers, shone with that luminous glow specific to their kind. It was the first indication of wolf taking over man; of desire taking over reason. When a werewolf's eyes glowed, you could rarely make them see sense anymore. It was like trying to talk logic with a starving beast. “What about my survival? My needs? All the females strut around like they're the only ones craving relief; as if their pain is somehow greater.”

  His fingers slipped under her gusset; slid along her entrance. “DON'T!”

  The front door was flung open with enough force that it crashed into the wall.

  Stephen turned, already half-shifted, to face their father who glowered at him. He filled up the door frame almost completely, looking murderous, and Selena suddenly wondered how she had even thought of him as a washed up old wolf for most of her life. Oh, neither of them crossed him – he'd always been a firm father with a right hook that, although rarely used, never missed its target. But neither had they respected him all that much either. He had never been around since her mother – his mate – had passed away. Physically he was here, but inside… He was a vacant hotel with the lights still on.

  She had heard stories. Stories of how great her dad, 'Richard, Richard, the Trident killer', had been in his youth; stories of how Tridents and deserter wolves had feared him based on his reputation alone. Stories about how he had courted her mother with unrivalled passion, went to every known length to protect her from all and every enemy before she had died.

  Selena had always taken those stories with a pinch of salt. Right this second, seeing his face as he took in the scene in front of him, she believed them.

  He didn't give his son the chance to say a word. On the bellow of a roar, he barrelled himself into Stephen at breakneck speed, and then Stephen was off her, and she rolled off the sofa, still sobbing; grabbing at her knickers to pull them back up … and the door was open.

  She ran.

  Maybe she should stay, but she knew her dad wouldn't harm his only son. Teach him a lesson, yes, but actually harm him? No.

  So she ran.

  The wind dried her tears from her cheeks as the wood sped past her on both sides, a blurry mass of greens and brown.

  She ran and wondered how she was going to look Stephen in the eye again, or if she was going to feel safe sleeping in her own bed.

  She ran, and suddenly realised she was heading towards the small clearing in which she'd dumped Lydia's truck with Brendan's body in the back.

  No – don't go back there.

  She ran, veering to the right and hurtled straight into Ryan.

  “Hey! Selena…”

  She tried to scramble past him, still fuelled by panic, but trying to get past Ryan was kinda like trying to climb over the Great Wall of China.

  “Stop. What happened?”

  Yet another growl erupted from her, this one triggered by her earlier fear, humiliation rising at the thought of having to explain.

  Stupid girl! You don't growl at your Alpha.

  Ryan literally barked her down, one loud and clear warning, despite the fact that he was in human form.

  She jumped out of her skin at the impact of it, and then her kn
ees started to shake.

  “It's okay. Ryan…” That was Taylor.

  She turned in the direction of his voice.

  He came towards them quickly, his eyes shooting back and forth between herself and Ryan; caring eyes, reading between the lines – so unlike the other wolves. Maybe that's why she'd fallen for him.

  He placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder for the briefest of seconds in an attempt to relax him, and for that brief second, Selena asked herself, once more, how he got away with the things that he did. Any other male approaching – touching – an Alpha in attack mode would have had that hand ripped off.

  “She's scared,” he said, softly. “She's scared.”

  And then his scent crashed down on her like an avalanche.

  He's bonded.

  Oh, fuck.

  He'd bonded with the bitch, not just mated with her. The 'mating' was the crucial bit that ensured you were physically linked with your mate and shared longevity – it saved your life, and it could only take place during a full moon thunderstorm. But the bonding … that could happen at any time and it was the only choice a werewolf was given. It took place between mates – no thunderstorm necessary – the minute they accepted each other into the joined lives that destiny (or genetics) had chosen for them; the minute they opened their souls to it … their hearts.

  Most wolves never bonded.

  The bitch had bonded with all three of them.

  Selena reeled back from him.

  Knowing it was her – Lydia – that she could smell on him, turned their united scent into a stench. She felt sick. And she could still smell Stephen on herself.

  Taylor looked at her in question.

  Her eyes welled up again, but she couldn't tell if it was owing to her embarrassment, her hurt, her anger or the destructive jealousy that rampaged through her.

  “Selena,” said Ryan, his words still holding an element of danger. Her name was an unequivocal demand for her full attention.

  She forced the pieces of herself back together and, with difficulty, met Ryan's gaze. She could do this – she could say the words. Especially if it took her mind off Taylor and Lydia's consummation.

  Her stomach churned.