by Dianna Hardy
The quip never came. Instead, he glanced up to find Ryan gazing at him, intently, with an expression he couldn't make head or tail of.
And still gazing…
Dark eyes, the colour of the darkest coffee, spearing him.
The centre of his navel started to coil; heat up…
Ryan looked away.
What the fuck was that?
“You're right,” said the Alpha, softly. “As you often are.”
Well … 'fuck me' didn't quite seem to cover it. The shock must have shown on his face, because Ryan almost smirked. “Don't worry about the meeting. Lawrence has a plan. He's the most planned guy I know – it's a fucking OCD – and when it comes to diplomacy, you ain't seen nothin' yet. He knows how to work a room. It's in the noble blood … of which I have none, by the way.”
“There's one more thing. Selena's asked to be excused from the meeting. She—”
“No.” That was a point-blank 'no'. “I get that she's feeling vulnerable, but so are all of us, and she'd not the only one to have shit happen to her, so no. Everyone goes tonight.” He turned to Richard. “You'll both be there.” More of a statement, although his stare still held the question.
“At the meeting?” The old wolf's grey, weathered eyes took on a light with some hidden meaning Taylor didn't get. Almost a year as a wolf and he still felt like a clumsy outsider at times, with all the 'not-getting' he always accomplished.
“I wouldn't miss this meeting for the world. Long time coming, it's been, Ryan. Too long. I've been loyal to the Gunvalds since Amadeus took me in – a scruffy stray from Yorkshire; treated me like his own son, beside his own son. This place was just a plot of unkempt land then. I watched Lawrence's father and his grandfather build it into what it is today, and then I watched it all fade into the distance twenty years ago when all royalty was raped and murdered – almost all. It became a ghost of itself, as if the land was haunted with memories it couldn't forget. You weren't here. I was. Stephen was six; Selena four. Because Amadeus took me in as family, we lived in that mansion alongside them. Stephen idolised Lawrence, although he'd never admit it in a million years. Selena wanted to dance just like Elana… It was a tragedy what happened.” His gruff voice dropped lower. “The slaughter took place in the outbuilding next to the mansion – the one no one sets foot in now. The kids and I had been on the other side of the woods treating an old Elm tree that had become diseased… It wasn't the screams we heard first. It was the smell of blood, so subtle, riding on the breeze … so much like four days ago.”
Taylor's stomach turned. He'd never forget the smell.
“I ran Stephen and Selena into the copse behind the Elm – told them to huddle and stay there. And then I shifted and ran. I got there too late. The building was a bloody grave, the entire Gunvald family, bar one, all in their dead wolf forms and heaped up in the main room. Lawrence was in the adjoining room, mutilated and lying in a pool of his blood, his dead sister wrapped up in his arms. I thought he was dead too, by god, I swear I did. So much blood… I assumed he hadn't shifted in death the way wolves do, because his injuries had exhausted him too much for his body to make the change.
“I threw up. And then, I heard Tridents around the back of the building – they were still fucking here. I ran back to my children, praying they wouldn't notice us, and took them off the land through the south entrance, with nothing but our clothes on our backs. I had friends in Sussex who owed me a favour or two. They took Stephen and Selena in for a few days. I came straight back late that night to clear the bodies and prepare burials … and to mourn the adopted family I'd lost.” He looked straight at Ryan. “And I found Lawrence, gone.”
Ryan said nothing.
“For years, I wondered why The Trident came back for his body, and who else would, 'cause he sure as hell didn't get up and make his way out of there… I brought my family back here to live a year later, although I refused to stay in the mansion. I built us this cottage instead. Took in Pete, then Doug and others, until one day, lo and behold … the 'king' returns, eight years older and a shell of himself, with an appointed Alpha to lead the way. I cannot begin to explain to you the complexity of everything I felt when I saw him emerge from his house for the first time since that horrendous day … walking.”
Taylor hadn't realised he was holding his breath. He knew? Fuck. All this time, and Richard, the old, quiet, grizzly wolf knew about Lawrence?
“He can walk, Richard,” said Ryan, with complete certainty. “And he can lead.”
“He's got no legs.”
“And you wouldn't fucking know it. You saw the decimation; I saw the years he spent putting himself back together. He can lead.”
“Everything's falling apart.”
“He knows what that's like – he's been at the very bottom of the rubble. And risen. He's going to tell everyone tonight. He's coming back to us.”
That strange light gleamed in Richard's eye once more. Hope, Taylor realised – that's what it was: hope. The man smiled. He didn't think he'd seen him smile before – it didn't make him look any less hardened.
“When he was a small lad, he used to call me uncle. I used to call him Prancelot 'cause all he did was dance.”
Ryan choked on a laugh, and Taylor hid a smile. “And now?”
After a pause, the older wolf made his way out of the kitchen.
Damn. Was that it? Had he turned his back on them? He looked over at Ryan, but Ryan shook his head. “Wait,” he mouthed.
Sure enough, Richard returned.
In his hands, he held a huge, long cloak made out of … holy Christ! Wolf pelts.
Even Ryan seemed to still in reverence.
Taylor had heard about the 'royal cloak'. The royal line was as such because the blood that ran through it was pure – as genetically close as possible to the very first werewolves that roamed the forests of Scandinavia thousands of years ago. Passed down the royal line, the cloak was made from the pelts of every single king and queen that had died over the past five hundred years, a new pelt sewn on after each death, and he who wore it would continue to rule with the protection of his ancestors around him.
Richard's hands shook as he stroked the cloak – a white-furred section of it. “I gave them a proper burial I did, and I didn't forget the tradition. That someone would ever don this again … I hadn't even dared to dream it.” He let the cloak fall onto the middle of the table, the air that it parted carrying the scent of an unfathomable and layered history, coated in sweat and blood and tears… “Now, I call him 'king'.” He looked steadily at Ryan, then Taylor. “Long live the king.”
Chapter Six
“Did you know?” Taylor ran to catch up with Ryan who was striding at eight miles an hour for Christ's sake. But he'd been like that the past few days: blunt, focused and purposeful. No one got in his way and he was completely in leadership mode getting everything in place to protect his pack's future, whatever that future might be. “Did you know Richard was so close to the Gunvalds? That he knew about Lawrence?”
“Nope. Lawrence has always had a huge amount of respect for him, but you need to understand, Lawrence never said a bloody word to anyone when I brought him back twelve years ago. His house became his prison and I took over the pack and all the duties of Alpha. He only left the house to train and for medical appointments, and always carefully so no one would spot him. He only started to hold meetings and converse with the pack three years back because I railroaded him into it. At least the respect seems to be mutual. Richard's never said a word to anyone about what he saw and he's loyal to the crown.”
“Is there a crown?”
“Eh?”
“Seriously, is there a crown?”
“Nah, the cloak is it.”
“Do you think Lawrence will wear it?”
Ryan halted and Taylor crashed into him. “Whoa…” he exclaimed, retreating a few steps.
“Sorry…” He turned to face Taylor. “His entire family is in that cloak. What Richard did:
coming back, burying the dead, and skinning the wolves – Lawrence's mother and father – to keep the tradition alive, to keep royalty alive, was something of the highest honour. He'll wear the damn cloak.” He paused, studying Taylor with that odd expression, just like back at Richard's house, that held him a beat too long… And there went his navel again, igniting in a perplexing warmth that was a touch uncomfortable.
Ryan dropped his gaze. “I'm taking a trip to Wiltshire straight after the police visit. I'll be gone about five hours: one and a half to get there, two hours talking politics, and another one and half returning. I'll be back for the meeting, for moonrise, and for Lydia's first change.” A rare guilt seeped into his features. “I haven't told Lydia yet.”
And, actually, the nervousness that Lydia would no doubt feel at Ryan's absence, consumed Taylor, too. “You need to be here. The pack needs you here and Lydia's—”
“I have to go.” He paused, staring at Taylor as if willing him to understand. “It's my old pack I'm reaching out to … they could help us here in so many ways if I can just … convince them.”
“You're going back for reinforcements?”
Ryan nodded.
“Can't it wait?”
“Someone inside betrayed us – someone gunning for Lawrence and Lydia's lives. I don't know who they are, or their motives for turning on us, but tonight, we're all vulnerable because of it. I can't wait a second longer.
“What if you're not back in time for her change?”
“Not an option.”
“You're cutting it bloody close.”
“Yeah … you'll be there for her, right? And Lawrence – you'll be there for them both.” His stare pierced Taylor, a silent plea written all over it. Fuck! He was asking him to take on his role while he was gone.
“I … er … Lawrence is the Alpha. I—”
Ryan took a step closer to him. “This isn't a normal pack – not anymore. Lydia came along and changed all that. The dynamics are different. We don't know enough about storm-wielders and their … mating needs … to know exactly what that means, but you can feel it, right? This moon's different to any others.” And another step.
Taylor nodded, strangely short of breath. That warmth in his navel spread out a little, sort of humming in response to … he didn't know what. His temperature was rising; he could feel beads of sweat tease his skin where they seeped out his pores.
“Lawrence is the king by right and by blood, but there are three Alphas in this pack, not one.”
He understood: three mates, three Alphas – because they were all connected to each other through Lydia. Except… “Four.”
“Pardon?”
“There are four Alphas. None of us would exist in this way without Lydia. She's the one who's made it possible.”
Ryan let out a low laugh. “And Taylor brings gender equality into the conversation.”
He frowned, annoyed. “Hey, I mean it. She—”
“You're right.”
He was never going to get used to hearing Ryan say that. “Again? Twice in an hour?”
“Don't let it go to your head. And for fuck's sake, don't tell Lydia she's got any kind of Alpha status or we'll never hear the end of it, and I don't fucking care that if you think that's misogyny or whatever.”
Taylor grinned. “I think deep down, she already knows.”
“Yeah, well, deep down we know a lot of things.” The air turned slightly electric, and Ryan's eyes grew a shade darker as he took a final step forward, until they were a couple of inches apart, chest to chest. “Strip.”
His mouth went dry. “Er … what?”
“You smell of Selena. Every-fucking-where. You're not going back to Lydia like that. Strip.”
“Right…” Shit, no, he didn't want to go back smelling of Selena.
He fumbled with the buttons of his overalls, while Ryan knelt down and began to dig into the earth. This was no big deal – they'd all seen each other naked loads of times, what with the shifting and the lack of garments…
So why did it all the sudden feel like a really big deal?
He ignored the unexpected sense of vulnerability and took off his clothes.
Ryan stood up with his right hand full of wet soil and froze for a second as he took in Taylor.
That heat in his navel was doing its thing all over the place now, far too similar, for his liking, to the mating reaction he got when he thought about Lydia.
Ryan's jaw clenched once, then he spat into his left hand and smacked his palm into Taylor's chest rubbing his spittle all over him.
“Damn it!” exclaimed Taylor through gritted teeth, and he just couldn't help it. Thank god Ryan kept his eyes on his chest and didn't look lower, because he had a good idea what he'd find if he did, and this was waaaaaaaay out of his comfort zone. He couldn't think about … no – no way… No. Fucking. Way.
The soil went over the saliva, rubbed into his chest in the same way, Ryan's hands, rough … warm…
“Do your legs, then your hair, exactly how I did it,” instructed Ryan, his voice hoarse and tight. “Use your own spit first, then the soil. When you're done, shift, and make your way to the mansion. I'll be right behind you.” He turned and walked away.
“Where are you going?” He really wished that hadn't come out sounding like he was begging for him to stay.
“I need time to myself – you want the fucking details?”
Ah … no, no details… Jesus Christ.
Ryan paused by a tree some feet away, and looked back at him, this time taking all of him in, his jaw clenching a mile a minute. “This isn't a normal pack anymore … everything's different now.”
He disappeared for 'time to himself', and Taylor collapsed against the nearest trunk, the fire in him all-consuming, his erection, throbbing and verging on painful… He ignored it, which was sort of like ignoring a bullet wound and damn near impossible, but his reaction to … fuck, he couldn't even say it in his head. His reaction to … whatever the hell had just happened … was too much to think about amid the instability of everything else – talk about coming in from left field…
Instead, he spit into his hand, and took over where Ryan had left off.
~*~
Selena sat in a stony silence, as if made from stone herself. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so still, if ever.
She stared at the two bottles in front of her: two steps that would tear Lydia apart from her mates, ensuring balance to the pack once more. Bottle number one, was a variant of some liquid that The Trident used on both Tridents and humans for the purposes of mating – they called it their 'mating formula'. They had started to use it themselves, only recently, in order to keep their mutant species alive and it was working.
Gladys had given it to her the last time they'd met at the café following Brendan's death. Apparently, they had found a way to make the formula compatible with werewolves and that's what this was. The old woman had informed her it would force the genetic union between herself and a wolf of her choice, as long as all the other requirements were present: the moon was full, there was a thunderstorm and both wolves were unmated.
When Selena had promptly pointed out that no storm was predicted in the area any time soon, and that her 'wolf of choice' was already mated, Gladys had smiled that eerie smile and produced bottle number two.
Bottle number two was airy fairy nonsense that Selena would usually scoff at. But desperation, coupled with rage, was a potent combination. This 'potion' was to be poured over something containing the DNA of the wolf she had chosen, while some ridiculous words were uttered, and then given an hour to work.
“You have to do it at least an hour before the full moon and not a moment later. The connection between your wolf and Lydia will be broken. He will faint from the disconnection to his mate. Inject him with the mating formula when he is unconscious, as soon as the storm in upon you and on the rise of the moon, and then inject yourself. Or inject yourself first if that's easier – it doesn't matter
which way around as long as you get half a dose each. That's all you have to do, and your wolf will be yours – forever.”
She looked at Gladys, dumbfounded and unbelievingly … even as the thrill of the thought of Taylor as 'her wolf' consumed her from head to toe.
“Don't ridicule things you know nothing about, child,” she replied, sharply, at her expression.
“Fine, but what about the storm? There's no mating without a storm.”
“Oh, there'll be a storm this full moon – mark my words: there'll be a storm.”
Selena hesitated, the wolf inside her going frantic, pulling at her to get up and leave and forget the whole thing.
But she needed to save the pack. Lydia couldn't have three mates – it wasn't natural and it meant two other females would die because of it.
Still, her wolf fretted. 'You've already been party to murder,' it whined.
God, she didn't want more blood on her hands, even if it belonged to those she hated the most. “Will Lydia die? If she finds herself without a needed mate?”
“Of course not. Did your father, after your mother died? Life becomes lonely and longevity becomes a curse when you're alone with no hope of ever finding another. But Lydia's got two others.”
Yes, she did, didn't she. Bully for her!
“And what will happen to Ryan and Lawrence?”
“All those mated feel the pain when one is gone, that can't be helped – it happened to your father. He survived, and so will they, and you…” she leaned in closer, “will have the one you want, without the fear of death hanging over your head any longer.”