by Dianna Hardy
“No, I—”
“Do you trust yourself around her with how you feel right now?”
Damn logic.
She shook her head in defeat.
“Then you're staying here. I'll take care if it. It sounds bloody weird for me to say this, but by default, he's my mate too. As is Ryan. What happens to them affects you, so it affects me. I'll take care of it Lydia. Trust me to take care of it.”
Trust me to take care of you.
Take care of… Had he said that, or thought it, or had she just imagined it? Sometimes wolves communicated telepathically, but she was a little too dazed to separate reality from illusion, so she just nodded. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” He kissed the top of her head, and then removed his hand from under her dress. Turning her to face him, she watched as he took off his shirt, leaving him in the thin T-shirt he wore beneath, and handed it to her.
She took it, confused, until he moved her hand, holding his shirt, up to her nose.
Aaahh… He was leaving her with a piece of himself in case she flipped out. She breathed his scent in, strongest around the collar.
Lawrence gently pressed his thumb against the dip of her bottom lip, made one of those crappy attempts at smiling, then walked out the door to greet Taylor and Selena.
The silence in the study grew with every second, only disrupted by the faint sounds of the conversation taking place downstairs.
“What the hell just happened?” she said to the empty room, then gave her head a shake to clear it.
You just submitted, that's what.
She gasped in indignation. “I did not!”
Yeah, you did. He tamed you with the stroke of a finger.
She bristled.
Annoyed, she strode towards the door, prepared to break her promise for the sake of her independence, and then Selena's scent hit her again.
In the panic that followed another impromptu snarl, she reeled herself back and brought Lawrence's shirt up to her nose.
She would. She really would attack Selena if she went downstairs.
Shit.
No! Sadness seeped in through the panic. Was this her life now? Was she always going to be some kind of animal unable to follow human decency during whatever crazed moment might happen upon her?
No – he said it was ten times worse during the first change. It's going to get better and easier.
It had better.
She made one last attempt to prove her humanity, walking carefully this time, towards the door. Selena's scent caught her again.
Shaking, she rammed Lawrence's shirt in her face and continued.
And then stopped.
Trust me to take care of you.
Goosebumps danced over her skin at the memory of his words – if she hadn't imagined them.
Who was she doing this for?
It was all well and good needing to believe the human in her could be stronger than the wolf. But Lawrence needed to believe she could trust him.
Go down now, and you might break that trust, just when he's starting to let you in.
Stay up here, and how could she know she had what it took to control herself when needed? The next twelve hours were going to be brutal.
She stood there for what felt like an age, and then she dropped the shirt from her face and retreated her steps, made her way around the desk and sat in the chair. Bringing her legs up, she curled into the seat, getting herself comfy, and then put the shirt on.
Trust me to take care of you.
He needed to prove to himself that he could, not just for them but for his pack – and for every piece of himself he would be exposing to them tonight.
She did a couple of the buttons up and then settled into the groove of the chair.
He needed to know he could protect his pack.
She wouldn't take that away from him.
Chapter Three
“She's not taking anything from you.”
“Only my history, my life—”
“Beth…”
“She's re-writing my past and making me an adulterer!”
Sarah sucked in a breath and held it, determined not to let the tension get to her.
Beth had no such desire. “I'd never bloody do that to you!”
“I know.”
Her best friend huffed and fumed, and blew outwards and upwards, catching the fringe of her hair as she did so.
“Please calm down.”
“I am calm!” she snapped.
Sarah looked down to hide her exasperation and continued sewing, wishing she had been the one to answer the phone fifteen minutes ago. But it had been Beth, and Holly had been on the other end and had proceeded to lay into her because … well, all signs were pointing to Holly being insane – at least temporarily.
Sarah sighed and placed down the wedding dress she was in the middle of making. Holly was due in an hour. She had initially said she'd be down yesterday, but then had had to make a stop at her mum's first. She had ended up spending the night in her old family home in Norfolk and was making her way down today instead. “Look, maybe you shouldn't be here when she turns up.”
“Like hell am I leaving you alone with her – you might catch whatever she's got.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “You think it's a virus?”
“That affects the brain.”
“The Taylor-Virus?”
“Undoubtedly. Taylor this, Taylor that, Taylor your husband, Taylor the cheater, Taylor the new strain of mad cow disease.”
“You think she ate bad beef?”
They both stared at each other in silence, then burst into fits of giggles.
“Oh, shit, Sarah…” Beth wiped at her eyes. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry… God, she just gets me so furious.” And then Sarah was swept up into Beth's arms. “You do know, right? I would never in a million years have an affair with anyone you're with. Ever.”
Sarah squeezed her in return, and then they parted. “Of course I do. Whatever trip Holly's on, please try to remember she's 'Holly'. She's always been a little bit kooky.”
“If this is a little bit kooky, I'd hate to see her if she was ever certified.”
“Ugh.” Sarah shivered. “Don't say stuff like that. Wouldn't that be the most horrendous thing? To have dementia, or amnesia, or some kind of illness that affects your mind like that? I can't imagine anything worse.”
“It's okay – I'm sure Holly's just normal-crazy.”
Sarah shot her a look.
Beth smiled widely, then said in all seriousness, “Please let me stay. I'll be good, I promise.”
“You and her have always bickered.”
“I'll keep my big trap shut.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I will! I really, really will. Come on, she's got stuff to say about me and I want her to say it to my face.”
She stared at Beth.
Beth put on her best 'good girl' look, and Sarah tried not to smile. That look had fooled her parents on many an occasion when they were around five. She could see right through it having known it all her life, but that made it no less endearing. “Fine,” she conceded. “I can tell I'm going to regret this.”
“Thank you!” sang out Beth in triumph, clearly knowing she'd get her way, and then she plonked herself down on Sarah's sofa.
Sarah didn't mind. Truth was, she was glad to have Beth here, because the whole Taylor issue kind of freaked her out. It wasn't that Holly was convinced that she'd been married to a man called Taylor and that Beth had had an affair with him. It wasn't that neither of them had ever even known a 'Taylor', let alone married one. It was that she had phoned the number for Taylor that Holly had given her, and the man at the other end had known her name was Sarah. Since then, the number had been disconnected.
If Holly was playing some kind of weird joke on them, it would be the first, and way out of character for her. She had no time for practical jokes; she was more likely to be swanning off to some luxurious fashion event on the arm of some ga
y friend or her very rich fiancé.
The whole thing was very mysterious and a little bit creepy, and had her feeling like she was in an episode of Colombo. Bring on the dead bodies.
She shivered again. Or not.
“So … how are you holding up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don't play dumb with me. I'm talking about Adonis.”
Ahhh. Her heart tightened in her chest, more painfully than she'd like. What a reaction to a man she hadn't even known for a month. “Amil texted a couple of days ago to say he got there safely – he promised he would.”
Pause.
“And?”
“And?” Did they have to talk about this? Right. Does Beth ever stop talking? She sighed again. “And I haven't heard from him since. He said I wouldn't.”
“That's it?”
“What else is there?”
“The fact that he's an arsehole?”
“Beth,” she warned with a frown. Yes, Beth was blunt. Yes, she always forgave her. But when her personal territory got trampled on, Sarah got as annoyed as the next person.
“He got into your kickers and then he left. Can you say, douche bag?”
“It wasn't like that.”
“That's what men like him want you to think.”
“Beth, I'm telling you it wasn't like that.”
“Then what was it like, because you haven't mentioned a word about it since he left, but you've been mooching for him ever since.”
“I have not been mooching!”
She nodded. “Like an unwanted vagabond that's been tossed aside and doesn't know where to go next. Did he take your sense of direction when he left?”
“Beth!” Her eyes prickled. Shit! Do. Not. Cry.
Beth suddenly saw her face, oblivious to her own callousness as fucking always, and all at once looked crestfallen. “Fuck, I'm sorry. I do have a big mouth. You really did have a thing for him, didn't you?”
Sarah shook her head, not wanting to speak.
“Do you still think you loved him – I mean, love him – even though you only knew him three weeks?”
She shook her head again, and made her way back to her dress. “I don't want to talk about it.” She picked up the needle and thread, but her hands were shaking. Concentrate, Sarah…
Nope. The needle went straight into flesh. “Ouch! Damn it!”
The drop of blood fell on the wedding dress and her tears fell down her cheeks. “It's ruined!”
“No, it's not.” Beth jumped to her feet looking really optimistic in a slightly manic way. She hated it when Sarah got upset, and Sarah knew this – she'd always been the calm one, despite her tendency towards timidity. When chaos ensued, Beth lost her head while Sarah kept hers.
Except where broken down cars, wild dogs and Amil are involved.
Ugh. Her head did actually feel like a jumbled mess right now.
Beth continued to flap around her. “I'm going to make us tea and you're going to fix it because you're the best … clothes-making-person in the world.”
“Seamstress.”
“That too, and you designed it in the first place, so you can…” she gestured with her hands, “you know.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Sarah blinked back more tears. Of course she could fix it. This was just a prototype she was hoping to pitch to the industry, not a commissioned piece for someone.
She'd completely overreacted.
What a ditz. And there I go reprimanding Beth for not keeping her cool.
Nevertheless, that red stain winked at her like a bleeding star in some ghostly sky.
Blood on a wedding dress.
She couldn't shake the feeling it was a really bad omen.
~*~
“Gone?” repeated Gabriel, his tone deathly quiet as it almost always was.
He was speaking to one of his Tridents on the phone – Chris, or Carl, or Carlos or whatever the fuck his name was. He never remembered most of their names, but he knew every single one of their personal scents. He'd ordered this guy on an errand to trace Amil – a Trident whose name he unfortunately did remember because the deserter had just caused him a shitload of grief, and he was certain Amil had deserted. When he'd last spoken to him, he'd been acting shifty, and far too aware of things that Tridents had no business being aware of. Tridents were for following instructions and being useful. You collared them and you commanded them, and when they were good, you rewarded them with treats, such as sex and killing, to temper their base desires and keep them under control. The most intelligent ones, like himself, and Loretta before him, made it past the drones to the top of the pack. But Amil … he'd had a way about him, as if he'd thought himself above them all.
“Yes, his hotel says he checked out four days ago, and his own apartment was mostly untouched, but the essentials were gone.”
“Essentials?”
“Er … toothbrush, toothpaste, razor…”
Gabriel grunted. Yeah, he was right about him. Tridents had no essentials – certainly personal hygiene was not on their list of priorities. Whereas most humans lost their individuality, right along with their humanity, when they became Tridents, Amil had clearly retained a sense of his. He wondered why the fuck that was – what made him so special that he could bypass the laws of genetics … Dr Trident's laws anyway…
“Fine. Chris—”
“Carlos.”
“I don't care what your name is. I want you back here straight away with whatever other information you've managed to find. I'm in a meeting right now, but after that I'll be putting my efforts into tracking that son-of-a-bitch down.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up and turned his attention back to the old woman who occupied the chair opposite him.
“Trouble in the ranks?” she asked, not looking in the least bit like she cared about the answer.
“Not for long.”
“Good, because your efforts need to be on the pack in Surrey and Lawrence Gunvald. Once he is gone, all the werewolf packs across Europe will be deflated and easier to attack if you time it right.”
Gabriel sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. This woman intrigued him. Old people were frail, yet he had the feeling that if he suddenly lunged at her with teeth bared, she'd find a way to knock them out of him. Part of him itched to try it, but he hadn't made it to the top of the heap by being a slave to his every impulse. “I don't understand how one individual can have such an impact upon an entire species.”
“It's not the individual, it's what the individual represents. Do not underestimate the power of hierarchy among werewolves – it's even more cherished than among Tridents. The Gunvald family name gives werewolves meaning and purpose by its reputation alone – it makes them feel … worthy – closer to humanity and farther from the beasts they really are. Lawrence Gunvald is the very last of the royal line. Destroy the name, and you destroy hope.”
The faint tang of obsession crept up Gabriel's nose. Oh, this woman – Gladys? Gloria? – she was most definitely obsessed. She had never divulged exactly what her gripe was with the werewolves, but he scented revenge, hatred and the obsessiveness to see both those urges through. She had been the one to approach The Trident – brave, if not stupid, and she most definitely was not stupid – with the offer of insider information in exchange for the thorough extermination of this Lawrence Gunvald.
He had been in the room when Loretta had turned down her offer; had been on the verge of ripping her throat out and she had not even flinched, but had proceeded, in a startlingly ruthless manner, to tell them all about the storm-wielder that would take Gunvald as her mate. How the hell she'd known that, had been the second thing that had halted their killing of her – not even werewolves could predict who their own mates would be. The first thing to stop them in their tracks had been the mention of the storm-wielder.
Well … storm-wielders were priceless: guaranteed breeding for a pack. The Trident could do with one of those, and Loretta could
go to hell, because if he was the one to provide the storm-wielder, all Tridents across the country would follow his rule – he'd be pack master of them all. Better still, he had the formula needed to alter her DNA and enforce a mating with her, ensuring everyone feared him as much as they would fear her. The only problem? Loretta had fucked up, letting her own need for mating get in the way of the crucial goal: never send a bitch off to do a dog's work. She had let Ryan, the Alpha of the pack they were trying to infiltrate to get to the royal line, slip right through her fingers. The only good thing to have come out of the whole mess was Loretta's untimely death – good for him, anyway. But it was too late to catch the storm-wielder for himself because she had mated – not just to Lawrence, but to three wolves.
That, the old woman had not foreseen, but she shrugged it off as a mild irritation any time he mentioned it … like now.
“Even if I kill the wolf-king for you, his storm-wielder has two other mates to protect her. You get your way and I get nothing.”
“I have an insider taking care of that small inconvenience. The storm-wielder will not be mated for long.”
He looked at her, incredulously. “You can't 'unmate' someone. It's not possible.”
Her lips twisted, cruelly, which he was sure would have gotten him hard had she been sixty years or so younger. “The problem with the path of science, which both Tridents and werewolves hold in such high regard, is that it is restrictive; so rigid. You refuse to think anything could be possible if you don't understand how it works. You have your ways, Gabriel, and I have mine.”
Some mysterious and sinister power flashed in the very depth of her eyes. It prickled his skin with unfamiliar fear, and … fuck, he did get a little hard.
She stood, abruptly, but confidently, and leaning heavily on her cane. “Tonight, the moon will be full and your beasts will be thirsting for flesh. Lydia will be unmated before the moon reaches its peak, you have my word. And then, she's all yours as long as you keep your end of the bargain and destroy Lawrence Gunvald.”
Christ, his erection was now painful, blooming under every evil-coated word she spoke. “That's a lot of faith you're putting in your 'insider'. And I'm putting a lot of faith in you. Wolves and Tridents, unless gone rogue, do not leave the safety of their pack during a full moon – we're all vulnerable this time of the month. I'm risking my pack by going in there tonight. I'm assuming your insider is a wolf? I wouldn't trust a wolf to turn on their own kind.”