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

by Dianna Hardy

  Was that a smile on the woman? Looked odd. “She, Gabriel. My insider is a she-wolf, and she reminds me very much of myself when I was her age, too long ago to matter now. She will go through with her task, don't you worry about that.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Her stare became glazed and distant. “Because when you don't want to die, and you're faced with only one way to live, you take it.”

  ~*~

  Lawrence swung open the door to his study, then stilled when he caught sight of Lydia asleep in his chair. Wearing his shirt.

  He brought the door shut silently, then hesitated, not sure whether to stay in one spot, head towards her, or leave the room.

  Instead, he ended up just gazing at her and trying to ignore the way his chest felt like it might cave in any second now.

  He was kidding himself. What the fuck did he think he was trying to do? Protect her? There were only fourteen members of their pack left and Selena had caught the brunt of that this morning – he couldn't protect anyone and had no business trying.

  Shadows lay heavy under Lydia's eyes.

  He frowned.

  Had she not been sleeping?

  Maybe Ryan's keeping her awake all night … every night…

  He successfully quashed a growl at that thought, and tentatively made his way to her, careful not to stand in her light in case his shadow stirred her awake.

  Her breathing was even and the rise and fall of her breasts through his shirt did things to him he thought he'd never feel again, and in all honesty, had never really had the chance to feel before. He'd spent time with a couple of females in his youth, but they had not been serious arrangements, his passion for theatre and dance a much greater commitment than any he could give another. Back then, he had been secretly glad he hadn't found his mate young.

  Elana, his sister, had found her mate young, even before her adolescence. Mating, itself, was impossible before puberty kicked in, but once it had, well, biology took care of the rest. She had been in a happy union when The Trident had murdered her. They had barged in one full moon, the numbers in their pack dwindling, looking for the storm-wielder rumoured to be housed here. Elana's storm-wielding abilities had not fully started to flourish yet, and in a bid to protect her daughter, his mother had stepped forward, her fear and desperation coating the scent of the lie, and stated she was the wielder.

  They'd come for the wielder and nothing would stop them from taking her. They killed his father in front of her when he attempted to attack, and his grandfather, and then they'd targeted her children, killing Elana's mate first, before dragging both his sister and himself away from their family's dead bodies, to torture them some more while they forced his mother to listen. By the time the Tridents had finally caught on to his mother's lie, Elena was already dead. They thought he was too. He wished he had been – he had had to endure hearing what they did to his mother before they finally ended her life. Even death had its pros.

  He placed himself at the edge of his desk where he had been earlier, noting the slight discomfort in his residual limbs as he settled into position – there was always slight discomfort.

  Living had its cons.

  Lydia moaned in her sleep, her eyes twitching under their lids.

  Was she dreaming?

  Her breathing turned ragged, her body shaking as if from fever or fear. Fear? He sniffed. Yes, fear radiated off her.

  He hauled himself off the desk and leaned over her, thinking he should crouch or kneel instead so as not to scare her if she woke up, but even though he could crouch (just about), it wasn't the most easy of positions, and a part of him was feeling bone-tired with the events of the last few days.

  “Lydia,” he whispered, only half wanting to rouse her.

  She whimpered, and then her chin wobbled and she made a sort of sobbing noise.

  Seeing her in pain, even if only in a dream, hit him square in the gut. He kissed her forehead, nudging her head deliberately as he did so. “Lydia.”

  Her eyes flew open as a cry burst from her lips. Her hands came up and found his face, clamping either side of it with clammy palms.

  “It's me! It's okay … it's me…” Jesus Christ…

  Her eyes were wide with terror, the blue of them paler than normal, making way for that gorgeous violet just under the surface. Damn, he could get lost in her eyes, and that was a complication he really didn't need right now – there was so much else to get through.

  But he couldn't look away; not when she was so afraid.

  “You're safe. Lydia, you're safe.”

  That ever-present insecurity that lived in him, snaked its way through his system and peaked. Is she? Can you really keep her safe?

  She still made little whimpering sounds, seemingly unable to form words, but it was her touch on his face that brought him out of his mental self-flagellation; feathery strokes across his cheekbones, as if she were somehow soothing him, even though she was the one in anguish.

  He didn't see the kiss coming.

  Her lips brushed his in an almost tender fashion, like she was afraid he would break at her touch.

  Shocked, he froze, but he wasn't sure what exactly had shocked him. Her frightened state? Her gentleness? Her … lovingness?

  No – not that!

  His entire being went on red alert, his chest doing that crushing thing again, and even though a part of him didn't want to pull away, there went his shutters, slamming right down over his ruined heart and a thousand screams he'd never wipe from his memory if he lived a thousand years.

  He pulled away.

  Dazed, she looked confused, and then embarrassed. What got to him though, was the hurt. She'd masked it quickly, but he had seen it, and he was the one who'd just put it there.

  That didn't sit well with him at all, and even less so with his wolf, who stared daggers at him from inside his head. What the fuck was that? You just pushed away your mate.

  “I'm sorry,” Lydia muttered, her entire face beetroot. “I had a bad dream.”

  His brow creased over the scent of … a lie? She was lying to him?

  He quenched the uneasiness that came from that possibility. She doesn't trust you.

  Can you blame her? reprimanded the wolf. You just denied her needs.

  But, wait … how could she be lying? He'd witnessed her having the nightmare…

  “Where's Taylor?”

  Oh, well done, you. She was frightened, needed comfort, you all but told her to fuck off, and now she's asking for another male. You are the Best. Mate. Ever. “Lydia—”

  “Where's Taylor?” she repeated, finality injected into her tone; her own eyes, usually so expressive, now guarded.

  It was clear she didn't want to talk about the dream or her reaction to it. It bothered him more than he'd like. Welcome to the other side of the fence.

  “He's gone back to Selena's house with her—Ryan's there too,” he added quickly. “She was attacked by her own brother this morning. Unfortunately, the full moon, plus a lack of females to go around, can lead to … all kinds of rivalry between males.”

  She raised her eyebrows, briefly, as she took in that information, and then dropped them again, frowning in concern. “That's a shitty thing to happen, and I'm sorry she had to go through it … but I don't trust her, Lawrence. I don't like her around Taylor – he's good natured, kind; maybe more easily taken advantage of because of it, and there's no bloody way she's not thought about having him. I can tell – women know these things about each other. I don't want her around him.”

  Hell, she was suited to the Alpha female role, because that was stated bluntly, possessively, and, quite simply, as if she expected all to comply. He hid a smile. “He's only dropping her off; offering visible protection from the other males on the walk back through the woods. She didn't want to go back – was hoping to stay here I think, which is simply not an option with your first change due. I've asked Taylor to get back ASAP for the police, and also for you. You should have a mal
e around you at all times at the moment. Ryan will handle the situation and join us as soon as he's done.”

  She didn't look convinced, and he didn't miss her bristle at the mention of needing a male around, but thank fuck, she let that aspect go for now. He didn't want to go chasing after a rebelling Lydia every half an hour to make sure she was in a physiologically balanced state. The moon took no prisoners, and he had too much else to organise.

  “There's a desperation about her, Lawrence – I know it because I felt it last month myself. I don't trust her.”

  “That desperation is the burden of being an unmated female in her twenties. I wish it were different for her – for all of you – but there's nothing she can do, and you have nothing to worry about. Taylor's mated to you and bonded to you, as am I, and Ryan. Nothing's taking that away – it isn't possible.” That sense of panic he always felt when thinking of her as his mate rose sharply within him, but almost as quickly, her visible calming over his words, dulled the anxiety. He wanted to make her happy. That realisation was a mix of freeing and … bat-shit scary. He wanted to be her mate – a good one that didn't fuck up at it every two seconds.

  Better let her in then, hadn't you, voiced his wolf, still pissed off that he'd rejected her earlier affections.

  Instead, he stood there awkwardly. Let her in, how? He was pretty damn sure there was nothing about him she'd want to know, and it was obvious his … affliction … bothered her. Of course it fucking did – her friend had just been mutilated in the same way because of it. Because of him. It was a wonder she could stand to be in the same room as him. The way she'd been staring at his legs earlier…

  She stared at him now, at his face, with eyes that still held him at arm's length. It made him feel crappier than crap. Let her in – right: Welcome, madam, to the guest house of pain. Once you enter, you can't leave – you'll be here for the rest of your life. We hope you enjoy your stay … add smiley face.

  She broke through both the silence and his festering thoughts. “I'm gonna go freshen up.”

  “All right.”

  “When will the police be here?”

  “In an hour. We're all meeting in the front reception room.”

  “Right. I'll see you then.” She walked around him, opened the door and walked out.

  And still he didn't move. Just stood there like an idiot when the door swung back shut; the sharp click of it – for the first time in twenty years – the last thing he wanted to hear.

  Chapter Four

  Maybe the full moon influenced her anger, the way it had influenced Stephen forcing himself on her. That, and all the mess they now found themselves in because of Lydia.

  Because of you, betrayed her inner-voice, which she had no doubt belonged to her wolf. It wasn't like they could shut the animal in them out, even when the moon was absent from the sky. Why didn't her wolf get it? That female was going to destroy them all. Selena was trying to protect the pack. She loved her pack, which was in itself a bit of a small miracle, because her father was silent within it, and Stephen had always resented his inability to best the other males. Ryan had appeared on the scene when Stephen had been fourteen years old, and Selena twelve, and from that moment, she had witnessed Stephen's competitive streak twist him into a wolf that always carried a bitterness with him – a jealousy that had always been palpable to her, although he had hidden it well until recent months.

  She had to wonder if the jealous streak was hereditary. She had never thought of herself as competitive until a beaten, almost dead Taylor had been brought in nine months ago. She had heard of 'love' among the human population, even though wolves never mentioned it. It wasn't a thing they thought about, or a concept they dwelled on, because their biology denied it. And the word itself had never entered her system until she had seen him, his arms draped over both Ryan and Lawrence as they dragged him into the mansion, unconscious. She had seen his face and stalled at it; so smooth, so soft … how could someone so seemingly tender become one of them?

  And then, she had seen his woman, Sarah, stumbling out of the van after them, pulled along by Ryan's one free hand, babbling incoherently and on the verge of a breakdown. But even in her crazed state, she had rushed towards Taylor and placed her dainty palm on the small of his back, as if that was somehow enough to save him, and Selena had gotten it for the first time ever: this thing that people called love – they believed it could move mountains. She didn't have that kind of belief in anything, and she sure as shit didn't have love – would never have it – and yet it was accessible to humans whenever they wished. That was the first moment she had known true jealousy.

  Lydia knew about love – she had been brought up as a human. And by some cruel twist of fate, she had ended up with Taylor, even though Selena had been the one endlessly pursuing him for nine months, trying to help him connect with his wolf, trying to help him forget about his wife…

  “Are you all right?”

  She jumped out of her thoughts and glanced up at Taylor, the both of them trekking back through the woods to her house.

  “You look pissed off.”

  Shit. 'Pissed off' was never the most endearing look, was it? “I'm angry about Stephen.” She blinked rapidly, forcing tears to come to the surface – it wasn't that hard considering what had happened this morning – and looked back at Taylor.

  His entire face softened in sympathy.

  Yeah – tears worked with him. “Taylor?” she said, bringing her voice down to almost a whisper. One more blink, and a drop escaped down her cheek. “I don't think I can handle the meeting tonight. Everyone will know … everyone will stare, and I just don't feel safe…”

  “That's the safest place you'll be, with Ryan, Lawrence and myself there.”

  Time for the chin wobble…

  “Hey…” He stopped walking and gently touched her arm, and she broke into sobs, making sure her hair fell in front of her down-turned face in case he saw anything false in it. She brought Stephen's attack to the forefront of her mind, remembering how it all felt and letting the memories consume her, searching for the truth in the feelings that would hide any scent of a lie.

  He brought her into his chest for a hug, and she shuddered in his arms, subtly rubbing her face and tears on his front, and secretly joyous of the fact that Lydia would be able to smell them and know she'd been there – there – against him; touching him… “I can't stand it,” she cried. “I can't … everyone will know … please, just this once. I don't want to be around anyone. I won't have any choice when the moon rises – I'll have to pick a male to be with – but before then, I just want to be on my own.”

  She felt his arms stiffen against her back and knew she had him. “Please … you know what it's like to have to … to be forced to… when you don't want to…” No, she didn't have to finish that sentence. His embrace automatically tightened around her, and she ignored both Lydia's spice branded into him, and the way her lower half somersaulted at his nearness; at his care of her, his caresses…

  She didn't want to give him up. Not yet. It wasn't fair – she'd been so close to winning him … but that would mean she would have to go through with it – with what Gladys had asked her to do before the moon was full. She'd had her reservations. The potential consequences were astronomical. But the consequences of living as she was, like this – some kind of empty shell that always burned for someone she couldn't have; that would burn out into nothing before too long, as if she had never existed in the first place… That was so much worse. Dying unfulfilled, when she could prevent it, was unforgivable. “Please, Taylor…”

  His chin rested on the top of her head, and she sighed. She was practically moulded into him. They fit so perfectly well together – how could she not give this a chance?

  “I'll talk to Ryan,” he finally said, his voice thick with emotion, because he empathised, didn't he? Yes, he empathised with her turmoil. They were supposed to be together, damn it. If humans could choose, then why shouldn't she?

 
Her mind wandered to the two small bottles that Gladys had given her, complete with instructions, that sat, untouched, at the back of her top bedside draw. It was mumbo jumbo nonsense – who the fuck believed in 'witchcraft'? But she had nothing left to lose. And if it was all nonsense, what was the harm in trying? Desperation clawed at her like an unforgiving enemy … or perhaps the best friend she'd ever have. Her heart hammered as her wolf whined in protest.

  It'll be worth it, she told the animal, just you wait. Feel how wonderful this is, just being held like this; just being understood … it'll be worth it. It'll be worth it.

  ~*~

  This had better be fucking worth it, thought Amil as he squinted around him against the glare of the sun, then quickly chastised himself for the negative thought. Of course Sarah was worth it, and the single moment they'd shared – purity redefined (at least, to him) – was more than worth preserving. If there was any chance, any chance at all, that they could have any kind of future together…

  He scolded himself for that thought too. Just focus on the here and now…

  He had reached Bubastis half an hour ago. He now stood in the centre of the temple ruins that dominated the old capital of Egypt, having paid twenty Egyptian pounds to get in, trying to ignore the curious glances that the tourist police kept throwing at him because there was no fucking way he looked like an archaeology student, or a tourist.

  Grabbing his shades from the side pocket of his rucksack, he put them on to give himself a bit more privacy – no need for anyone to see he was glancing around searching for something; something that was just the vague memory of an eight year old boy…