by Dianna Hardy
“It's because of the full moon,” she stammered out. “And everyone's afraid and desperate for…” Sod it. “Stephen forced himself on me. My father stopped him. I ran out while they were brawling.” Heat flamed her face, and she looked down.
She was surprised at Ryan's softened tone when he next spoke. “Taylor, take Selena to the mansion. Keep her there for now, away from the other males. Selena…”
She glanced up at him once more, although his form was blurry behind her hot tears.
“Leave Stephen to me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, knowing she shouldn't, but damn it, he was still her brother.
Ryan cut her short. “I'll confer with Richard on how to proceed with him.”
She nodded in relief. That would have to do. Her father's input would mean Stephen wouldn't be banished from the pack. “It's the full moon,” she repeated. “There are so few unmated wolves now and—”
Ryan growled, all rock hard again. “He shouldn't have done what he did. He compares himself to Alphas, yet he has no control. An Alpha needs to own his impulses. Taylor…”
“Come on,” said Taylor, gently, and held out his hand to her with a smile.
She returned his smile, but didn't take the hand he offered – couldn't with Lydia's aroma all over him.
He dropped his arm, confusion lighting his eyes, and then gestured for her to follow him as he led them to Lawrence's house.
She did follow him, turning back once to find Ryan already fifty feet away and heading straight to her home.
It dawned on her like the rays of the sun: she'd just found the perfect reason to skip the meeting tonight … if she could just appeal to Ryan's more humane side.
She swivelled back to Taylor, taking in the beauty of his physique through those goddamn ugly overalls, and then ran the few steps it took to catch up with him.
Chapter Two
The shower should have helped, and it had for all of two minutes, but the heat taking over her system – which she was now sure must be more to do with her emerging wolf than the full moon on its own – was crippling.
This is beyond ridiculous, thought Lydia as she made her way to Lawrence's study. It's getting to be worse then last month. Although this time, thank god, there was no wrenching pain in her chest – that had been unbearable. This was unbearable in a completely different way. In the I-need-to-hump-everything-in-sight-ten-times-over-right-now-or-I'm-going-to-burn-alive kind of way. There'd been lots of that feeling last month too, but this month, it seemed to be magnified by not having the mating pains tearing her heart apart.
And again, one step forward, two steps back.
She gritted her teeth as she passed the stairs. There were four floors in this place: the ground floor was comprised of two receptions rooms, a kitchen with a breakfast area and adjoining stone pantry down another few steps, a living room (somehow different to reception rooms, but she was damned if she could figure out how) a garden room, a utility room and a WC.
The first floor had Lawrence's study, Taylor's bedroom and a billiard room. She'd only ever heard of a billiard room in that game, Cluedo, and she wasn't a hundred percent sure what billiards was (some sort of game, like snooker?) but Professor Plum was always killed in there with a knife, so it couldn't be good.
She was currently standing at the top of the stairs on the second floor. This is where her own room was, and also Ryan's bedroom as well as a guest bathroom that Taylor used.
Lastly, the third floor is where Lawrence's bedroom was, and it took up the entire third floor as far as she knew.
Where she stood now, she could smell everything that made up Lawrence wafting down towards her from his floor. It almost undid her on the spot. She knew he was in his study, but the urge to run up to his room and … and … she didn't know exactly what, was virtually painful to ignore. But ignore it she did.
She muffled a growl as she tore herself away from his scent and … well, headed down the stairs towards … his scent. But they were two different scents: his bedroom one and his office one. His office one was all 'work aroma', and she knew it well. The bedroom one was… She groaned as her underwear grew warm – thank heavens for the airiness of dresses. That bedroom scent was real Lawrence. She'd only caught a glimpse of who real Lawrence was, and she was craving more – no, desperate for more. If what she could smell was anything to go by – a deep, woody, musky spice, with a hint of 'lake', or stream or something…
She was panting by the time she reached his study.
Not good, Lydia. For fuck's sake, control yourself! He's. Just. A male.
Yeah, right. Her inner-wolf was already on her back, exposing her belly and writhing around on that musk of his the way cats roll all over catnip. Fuck it. She knocked on the door.
“Come.”
Yeah, she was close.
Arrgh! She shook her heard and called upon 'human Lydia', trying to picture herself the right side of sane, and then opened the door with the biggest 'I'm fine' smile she could manage plastered on her face.
Lawrence looked up and stilled. “Er … are you all right?”
So maybe the smile was on the manic side of sane.
I am not all right – I'm a walking orgasm! “I'm great.”
He put down whatever pile of papers he was sifting through, assessing her, and then nodded for her to close the door behind her, which she did.
She kept her eyes on the floor, taking in the great big dents in it from where Ryan had pulverised the lower half of Lawrence's body just four days ago to prove a point.
“I wanted to go through things with you, about the meetings today with both the police and the pack.”
Okay, formal stuff. Awesome. I can handle that. Formal stuff is boring. It does not lead to thinking about sex. Absolutely not.
“Erm … so … I made some notes that I thought … er … do you want to come closer?”
She was still standing glued against the back of the door, eyes on the ground. “Oh, right. Okay.”
She didn't move, but she did manage to lift her gaze.
Lawrence raised his beautifully arched white-blond eyebrows, waiting, and the wolf inside her did the same in what could only be a dare. Why did her she-wolf like to torture her?
Fuck his scent. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. And fuck the way he looks – so fucking cool and perfect and in control and … god damn it, all white-gold masculinity. Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other, feeling like some kind of borderline crazy nymphomaniac, and approached the desk that Lawrence was perched at the edge of, his torso looking defined through his plain white shirt, his grey trousers hugging his arse where he sat, and his legs, which weren't really legs, dangling over the edge and looking just as good as the rest of him. And it was his legs she concentrated on, because the many questions they brought up for her, coupled with visions of his memories that flashed through her mind, dulled the agonising, sexual ache in her enough for her to be able to focus. Thank god.
It was funny how she'd never noticed the ever so slight precision to the way he walked before. It almost was unnoticeable. It's only now that she knew the truth about him that she could see his stride was not one hundred percent fluid. She knew his artificial limbs, of which he had many pairs that all functioned differently, were made from state of the art prosthetics – he paid for his own team of scientists and designers for Pete's sake – but god … he must have practised relentlessly to hide his disability from everyone. That, and the fact that he simply didn't mingle with the other wolves – not enough for them to take note of anything unusual about his gait.
When she finally hit the edge of the desk, a few inches to his side, she looked up at him again, dragging her eyes away from his limbs.
His returning gaze had altered from slightly bemused to hard as ice.
Shit! No, it's not what you think – that's not why I'm staring at them! She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but he cut her short.
“I've hired a lawyer to be with us
when the police are here. You'll never be questioned on your own. Ideally, I'd like all of us in the room – Ryan, Taylor and myself – but if they ask us to leave, Mr Garrison will stay with you. If there's anything you shouldn't answer, he'll let you know right away. The rest of us have already spoken to the police separately.” His tone softened a shade, although his gaze remained just as cold. “They wanted to take you down the station – we put out all the stops to make sure they questioned you here. We've done our best to buy you the time you needed before you saw them.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked, and wondered why the hell her voice had all but disappeared. But it wouldn't be the first time she found herself speechless around Lawrence. It seemed all she ever managed when with him were angry words or no words at all. She'd like to find some kind of middle ground. The only two tender, warm moments they had shared had both been initiated by him, one of those tender moments only presenting itself after a maelstrom of rage from them both. And she had caved. Of course she had caved, and it wasn't just owing to the fact that she was his mate – it was because she wanted to be his mate. She was starting to realise that. Yeah, they had all found themselves thrown into a foursome – a fact which they had no control over and couldn't undo – but hey-ho, she'd never been one to wallow in things she couldn't change. It was better to focus on making the best out of shitty situations, and most of the time that wasn't too much of a problem. She just shut away any feelings of anger and hurt and got on with it – humour helped too. There was simply no benefit for anyone in her exposing all her frayed feelings in a vulnerable mess.
But shutting stuff out was impossible now. She couldn't do that with all three males ingrained into her DNA, and while being with Ryan and Taylor came naturally in many ways, Lawrence's mere presence brought up everything in her she'd ever tried to suppress. Why on earth he made her feel so much was anyone's guess, but the one thing she knew was that she couldn't 'just get on with it' where he was concerned. If she wanted this man to trust her, to open up to her, she would have to strip every last piece of herself away, like he had been stripped. That's the only way he would let her in. The challenge seemed insurmountable, maybe because he seemed insurmountable.
She was brought out of her thoughts by the heat prickling her skin where his gaze fell, which was pretty much everywhere.
If he was teetering on some kind of lunar orgasmic edge, he didn't show it. But then, he'd spent the last twenty years learning how to control every single aspect of himself, hadn't he. Her heart, her wolf, her entire being suddenly expanded in a swell of empathy for him.
Seemingly unaffected by … anything, he continued. “The meeting with the pack tonight will be difficult. I'm not going to lie and say there won't be any hostility towards you because there will be, but,” and he brought his head down to catch her eye; to make sure she took his words in, “we will not let them say a word against you. Times change, evolution takes place… Wolves aren't good with change by nature, but storm-wielders need to be embraced rather than feared. The only reason we fear them is because we don't know enough about them – that is the message we'll be putting out tonight. That, and…” The first flash of defencelessness crossed his features, so quickly covered up she wasn't sure anyone else would have noticed it. The only reason she had, was because she had felt it, not just seen it. “I will be reclaiming my status as Alpha of the pack … at Ryan's insistence,” he added with a mumble.
“Good,” she blurted out. Smooth, Lydia.
But it just felt right that he should lead the pack on his own grounds, and that meant no disrespect to Ryan at all. Ryan was clearly Alpha material, and it was obvious how everyone respected him. But Lawrence was somehow unsung: a performer without a stage, a dancer without legs, a wolf without family, a king without a crown… A fundamental part of her, which she didn't fully understand, needed to see him shine.
His eyes met hers, surprise lighting them. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in what she hoped was the start of a smile, and she all at once realised she'd never seen him smile. Small, crappy attempts at smiling, yes, but really smile… She wondered what he would look like beaming with joy. A resolution, wrapped up in determination (although her mother had always called her special brand of determination, 'stubbornness') sparked deep inside her with an alarming force. I'm going to make him happy.
“Lydia-knowledge?”
Her own mouth curved upwards. “It's rare and precious – don't knock it.”
Yes! There was the beginning of a smile. Her wolf wagged her tail in delight.
Whatever it takes, I'm going to make him happy.
The 'U' of his smile halted a quarter of the way up and then fell again. “Your first change takes place tonight.”
Her heart rate accelerated.
“Ryan and Taylor will run with you.”
“Run with me?”
“A female's first change is a cause for celebration. It's traditional for her mate to run with her – a symbol of union, freedom and protection… I can't run with you, Lydia. Not in wolf form.”
Oh.
She tried to meet his eyes as he had hers, but he seemed to be finding his desk rather intriguing.
“Then run with me in this form.”
He shook his head, refusing to look at her. “I wouldn't be able to keep up and believe me, you'll want to run fast. That first taste of … liberty … when the wolf is finally free…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “It's a rush. There's nothing like it.”
And now her heart was slamming in her chest, her nerves taut, her eyelids blinking back threatening tears that she didn't even realise had risen … because every single word mattered. This man was so sensitised to pain that one misplaced adjective might send him back into his armed fortress. “Then, I'll run to you.”
Now, he did look up.
“Pick a place you know is safe for your wolf. Tell me where it is, and I'll run to you.”
He looked stunned.
Was it really that weird a suggestion? Maybe it was a dishonourable suggestion – she knew fuck all about werewolf tradition and customs – maybe she'd just insulted him. She could feel embarrassment rising. Obviously, she had said something stupid and it wouldn't be the first time – her foot found her mouth quite often.
Before she could really comprehend it, some flow of emotion passed though Lawrence's eyes – a whole flood of them over the space of a deafening heartbeat – until he had shifted position and was standing over both her and his desk, only half an inch between them; not touching her at all, but they might as well be skin to skin with the weight of his intensity. The ruling emotion that had won the battle and now shone through those pale blue irises was … protective.
Her head spun at his change of course.
“Did he treat you right?”
She shook her head, not understanding, and not able to make her throat work because her entire being was now screaming for his.
“Taylor.” He sank his fingers into her hair against the back of her head, tugged the strands and arched her neck back. “I can smell you've both bonded.” The tip of his tongue, so lightly – far too lightly – touched the scar he had left on her a month ago.
Oh, god! The heat! She was going to combust.
The world tipped again when he brought her head back up, his fingers still entwined in her hair. His stare pierced her right through to her soul. “Did he treat you right?”
She remembered that same protective sheen to his look when he had been warning her off that actor, Russell Maddox. He wants to know if Taylor's worthy.
“Did he do good by you, Lydia?” And now his voice was almost a plea.
“Yes.” She grasped his arms to steady herself; the centre of her balance seemed to be where he held her at the back of her head. “Yes – always.”
Lawrence visibly relaxed, relief taking over that raw protectiveness, but now, it was her who tensed.
The front do
or downstairs opened, and Taylor's scent wafted up towards them along with … Selena's.
Her brain went into shutdown as instinct took over. Fully in attack mode, her snarl filled the room and it was only when she was caught around her middle by Lawrence's arms did she realise she'd catapulted across the room in a bid to get to her mate. What the fuck was that bitch doing with Taylor?
“Whoa, Cujo.”
Oh, he finally cracks a funny, stated some part of her human brain, but it was drowned out by the sheer brutality of the animal inside her, so close to emerging and fuck! Another female's scent was mingling with her mate's!
“Lydia, focus … focus…”
She didn't think she could – could barely hear him over her rush of pumping blood – but somehow, she did calm down, and when calm enough, she undulated against the feel of Lawrence's hand stroking her belly in an almost hypnotic way. “What…” She looked down and mentally orientated herself, to find her back pressed up against his front, his left arm pinning her in place, his right hand under her dress and moving in soothing strokes, up and down her abdomen. “Lawrence…”
“A wolf's underbelly is extremely sensitive,” he murmured in her ear. “You could do a lot of damage if you kicked a wolf here, or a lot of soothing.”
She moaned gently, and let her head fall back onto his shoulder. Even that lust-fuelled heat was dissipating a little.
“Because this is your first change, everything you're feeling is ten times greater than normal – all that fire and desire; every instinct is coming alive in you, demanding to be exercised. It's not your fault, but ask one of us for help if you need to, okay?”
“I don't want to be a slave to this,” she whispered, her body kind of deliciously numb now from his rhythmic stroking.
He paused, and then resumed his caresses. “I know what you mean.”
She stiffened once more when Taylor's scent brushed past her again.
“Sshhh, sshhh, sshhh … It's all right.”
“What's she doing with him?”
“I'm going to go and find out, and I want you to stay here.”