by Dianna Hardy
Shocked, she met his gaze. “You do?”
He offered her a small, crappy smile. “Yeah – it's part of the blood exchange. I see you dance. I feel what it was like for you; how freeing it was and it makes me want to see you dance again – I want that for you. When you told me what memories of mine you have … fuck it, that almost broke me – you got the raw end of the deal. I'd do anything to take those away from y—”
“No.” Two steps forward saw her lips crush his.
He seemed briefly stunned at her actions, and then his hands were in her hair, tilting her head back for a better angle while his tongue explored every inch of her mouth – no rushing this time; no anger or rage; no self-loathing or hesitation; no pulling away…
She moaned at the feel of him. Consuming her. He'd once called her expressive. Did he not know he was the same? His expressiveness was just hidden under his history, that's all. She felt the brunt of it now – always had, from the first moment he'd laid his piercing, pale eyes on her.
“Don't take them away,” she breathed into his kiss. “Explain them to me; talk me through them. Show me how to heal from them.”
“I haven't healed.”
“We'll heal together. This is how you run with me.”
“Christ, Lydia…” He stilled with her face in his hands.
“What? What is it?”
“Where the fuck did you come from? You're like the wish I never dared voice.”
Oh, shit, she couldn't help it – a giggle erupted from her.
His eyebrows shot up.
She smacked her lips shut tight in an attempt to suppress her laughter.
“Did I say something funny?”
“No…”
“Are you lying again?”
A chortle hurtled out of her closed mouth and she tried to lower her head, but he wasn't having any of that. His grip on her face remained firm.
“Lydia Martin, are you laughing at me?”
Her mouth opened and a hoot went flying out.
“Does my romantic side amuse you?”
“It's just … oh, fuck, I'm sorry…”
He swiped at her tears of laughter with his thumb, still bemused. “It's just what?”
“I never expected the … corny edge to the—”
“Oh, I'm corny now? Corny? Well, I'm out of bloody practice.”
“I said, I'm sorry.”
“You will be.” A wicked glint in his eye she'd never seen there before turned his words into a promise.
“What do you—” That question ended, unfinished, on the hitch of her breath as Lawrence slid his hand under her dress and up the back of her thigh.
It settled briefly on the curve of her smooth buttocks, and then carried on up to the small of her back, finally wandering around her side and stopping on the swell of her abdomen.
Jesus Christ … she burned everywhere he made contact. “What are you doing?” And for a second she wasn't sure she'd said that out loud, with her throat feeling as tight as it did at his touch.
A smile slowly crept over his face. “Making you sorry.”
He tickled her.
She squealed in surprise and tried to grab his arms to stop him, already doubling over at the waist to avoid his playful attack.
It didn't work. Her squeal turned into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. “Stop it – STOP IT!”
“Nope.”
She was spun this way and that way as she tried to evade him. For a guy with no legs he was pretty damn agile.
“Stop!”
“Nope.”
It was finally she who stopped, the sudden realisation of what she was hearing catching her off-guard and filling her with a kind of warmth that was new.
“Hey … what is it? I didn't hurt you, did I?”
“No … I…” She turned to face him fully, and he released his grip on her. Every inch of her stilled and a strange, fulfilling calm washed over her – his entire face was lit up. “You're laughing,” she said, quietly, and then reached up to stroke his lips with a finger. “It's the first time I've heard you laugh.”
But nothing was funny anymore. Ridiculousness had been replaced with an electricity that tinged the air, made up of every molecule that stood between them. Heat rose, and it rose fast. His lips were on hers again, teasing her mouth open; his fingers no longer tickling, but stroking, purposefully, to ignite her fire.
“Lawrence…”
“Fuck, I need you. I need to be inside you.” He took one of her hands and pressed it right against his cock.
Her mind went into overdrive at the feel of it filling her hand through his pants. Oh, god… “Sarah … what about—”
“She can wait – she's got Pete. She's in good hands.”
She rubbed him hard through his trousers.
He growled low, and a lazy smirk graced her features. “Do you want to be in good hands too?”
The growl became a groan of want. “That mouth of yours…” His thumb pressed in the dip of her lower lip. “Do you want to know what I want?” His irises flamed, and she was struck dumb at his beauty. She'd always noticed he was a beautiful man – kinda hard not to – but right now, it shone brighter than it had since she'd known him.
Something's changed. Something's changed since I walked out of his room…
She nodded, barely breathing.
He caressed her lip. “I want this wrapped around me.”
Up to that point, she hadn't known it was possible for anyone's mouth to be dry, yet pool with saliva, at the exact same time. She gulped back her drool before she made herself look stupid.
“I want you to taste me…”
Her tongue came out of its own accord and licked her lips, and the tip of his thumb…
“…go down on me; suck me off, hard … think you can do that, baby?”
She answered him with another loll of her tongue, lapping at this thumb again, but this time, she drew the digit into her, curved her tongue around it, let it settle on the groove of it, and then sucked as hard as she imagined he'd like her to.
“Jesus Christ…” He grabbed the back of her neck with his free hand. “Just like that … god, just like that.”
Her hands reached for his belt.
Gripping her hair, he pushed her downwards, and why exactly this was so wildly erotic, she hadn't a clue. Men in her past had squeezed in requests for blow jobs during sex – it was nothing new – but not one of those requests had had this affect on her.
She remembered when she'd bumped into Lawrence in the hallway straight after her three-day sleep as her body had started its transformation from woman to werewolf. She had wanted to fall at his feet then.
Her knees met the ground, his hand still clutching her hair. She fumbled with his belt – stupid belt – and the heavier, more musky scent of his arousal seeped into her, enticing a whimper from her. Her need grew frantic.
The belt came apart, and suddenly everything changed.
He pulled her up with a hiss, and clamped a hand over her mouth; coiled sexual energy morphing into urgency. “Sssshhhh.”
What the—
“We're not alone.”
They both froze in place, ears pricked, senses heightened…
His nostrils flared, and at that same moment, she smelled it. Uck! Gross! Whatever it was, it was foul and coming from some distance away.
She wrinkled her nose and he brought his hand down. “Operiphur,” he whispered in her ear. “Someone's trying to hide their identity – I think we have visitors. Listen carefully, I'm going to say this once: run straight through the bluebell wood, due south, and then keep going until you hit a hollow oak. Three yews stand around it – you'll know it when you see it. Turn left there and carry on until you come to a tall hedge, then go straight through the hedge. There's an opening further up along it, but it's overgrown – you'll have to search for it. You'll see a path through a field on the other side. Follow it – it leads to a lake that looks like a flooded quarry. You'll be at the very
top of it and it's a hell of a drop, so mind your footing. I'll meet you there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I need to see who's here.”
“No, come with me.”
“It's my fucking land – I need to know.”
“Lawrence—”
“I'll stay hidden. But I need to keep the pack safe, and I need to keep you safe. Now go.”
Shit!
Leaving him in danger was like cutting her arm off.
“Wait for me there – that's my safe place. I'll be there, Lydia.” And his gaze held that promise.
That disgusting stench of Operiphur was getting closer.
“You'd better be.” She landed a last kiss on the crease of his mouth, before wrenching herself away and taking off towards the bluebell wood as fast as her legs would take her.
Chapter Fourteen
“So … do you want a cup of tea, or something?” Selena glanced up at Taylor. He looked more uncomfortable than she'd ever seen him.
“No, I'm good, thanks. Listen, I'm just gonna check out the parameters of the house; make sure no one's been hanging around. I have to head back ASAP.”
She feigned indifference. “Okay. Thanks, by the way.”
He smiled a little. It didn't reach his eyes. “No problem.”
Taylor walked back out the front door, and Selena wasted no time. She ran up the stairs and into her room.
Yanking open the drawer on her bedside table, she pulled out the potion bottle with instructions, the syringe and the formula bottle. Fuck, her hands were shaking – not helpful.
She had to cover all bases and she had to do it fast.
She unscrewed the top off the formula bottle, picked up the syringe, uncapped it, held it into the liquid and filled it to 10 mls. Five for her, five for Taylor.
After making sure there were no air bubbles in it, she injected herself first, up to the 5 ml mark – at least this meant she was ready. When the thunderstorm came, and the potion had worked on Taylor, all she had to do was inject what was left into him, and voilà – mating accomplished.
Providing this wasn't all just gobbledygook, of course, which a part of her still felt it was. Desperation got you trusting in the craziest things.
The grimaced slightly at the feel of the liquid rushing into her veins. What did you expect? That forcing a mating would feel like being stroked by feathers?
Task completed, she pulled the needle out of her left arm and gave the puncture wound a quick lick. She capped the syringe once more and placed it in the pocket of her light, summer's cardigan for safe-keeping. A few seconds would be all it took once Taylor was knocked out. Speaking of which…
She unfolded the piece of paper Gladys had given her – not so much instructions as an incantation in some foreign language she didn't recognise – not Latin.
Whatever.
She laid if flat on the top of the nightstand.
With her nail, she cut through Taylor's strand of hair and it unwound from around the neck of the bottle. She laid it out next to the paper, a slightly darker brown than the surface of the wood it decorated. It curled in on itself, looking a bit like it was in pain and trying to hold itself together.
Guilt invaded her like the enemy it was. She took a deep breath and shut the lid on it – it was a fucking useless emotion anyway. It got you nowhere – it got you dead.
Hands still shaking, she pulled the top off the potion bottle, her eyes falling on the strange words she had to say.
The front door downstairs opened, and she froze.
“Selena?” called out Taylor.
Fuck.
“Coming! I'll be right down – hang on!”
Now or never.
Don't do it!
Now or never.
She poured half the contents of the bottle over his hair.
Somewhere inside her, her wolf cried.
Cry all you want. Crying's better than dying.
In a whispered rush, she read out the words on the paper, not understanding them, but pronouncing each syllable the way she thought it ought to sound and trying not to feel damn stupid about it.
On her utterance of the very last word, everything seemed to go deathly quiet – you could have heard a pin drop – and that was it.
Nothing.
“Selena!”
Gladys said it would take up to an hour to work, remember? You've timed it exactly right. If it all goes to plan, Taylor's absence at the meeting will overshadow hers, and by moonrise, she'll have a mate – finally!
“Okay – coming!”
She swiped everything on the nightstand into its open drawer, patted her cardigan pocket to make sure the syringe was safe, and hurried downstairs.
Taylor's eyes hovered over her. “Are you all right? You look … a bit harried.”
“It's been a long day – I'm tired, and I miss Stephen. I'm fine.”
Sympathy flitted over his features and he nodded. “Well, I had a good look. I didn't see anything untoward, but there was one thing…”
“There was?” And what the crap would that be? I made the whole intruder thing up.
“I can smell Operiphur in the air. It's faint, but it's there, so while there's no trace of anyone having actually been here, I can't rule it out. But because of the Operiphur, I've got nothing to go on.” He frowned. “I can't figure out why—”
His phone beeped.
He brought it out of his back pocket and read the screen. “Shit!”
“What?”
“It's from Lawrence. Meeting's cancelled…”
She almost whooped for joy, and then he finished the sentence… “He's spotted Tridents on the land.”
Selena paled.
She'd sworn. The old woman had sworn the Tridents would leave the pack alone after the 'message' she had unwittingly helped to deliver courtesy of one dead human.
Too late, she noticed Taylor had shed his trousers, along with his top – both of them piled up on her living room floor. “What are you doing?”
“Lock the door and stay inside.”
Before she could say another word, he had shifted and was out the door, racing towards … wherever Lawrence was, she presumed. “Wait!”
Oh, no.
Oh, NO… If the potion took effect while he was in mid-flight or … god – or fighting Tridents!
Panic swelled.
She ran outside and slammed the cottage door shut behind her.
Cursing all females' genetic inability to shift before mating, she sprinted after him.
~*~
The woods got darker and darker as they were led deeper and deeper in. The urge to scream was pretty paramount roundabout now, but a new feeling was blooming from the base of Sarah's gut: anger. Maybe it was the fear that had led to the anger. Whatever it was, she felt grateful for it. The fear and anxiety that so often permeated her nowadays was crippling – she could do so much more with anger. “Where are you taking us?”
“Somewhere safe,” was the gravelly reply.
Uncertainty finally started to show on Holly's face. Beth still seemed oblivious to the potential danger they were all in.
“Safe from what?”
He turned back, glanced at her for a second, his stare giving nothing away, and then resumed walking.
Oh, for fuck's sake – quit with the cryptic!
Beth hurried forward until she was side by side with him. “Do you live here?”
Sarah thought she saw him nod.
“Does it catch much daylight? You're really pale.”
Holly mumbled something indecipherable at Beth's audaciousness.
“Have you ever had rickets?”
“Beth!” hissed Sarah, and she didn't care who heard.
The guy – who hadn't even given them his name yet, for Christ's sake – came to an abrupt halt.
Looking back at Sarah's exclamation, Beth didn't see him stop and crashed into his side.
His hands automatically came up to her arms
to steady her, and Beth visibly gulped.
She'd love to think it was from the trepidation that every other sensible person was feeling, but her body language and the weird way the air suddenly went all intense around the two of them, suggested it was more from desire. And for the very first time, Sarah got the inkling it might just be reciprocated.
Well, how lovely. That would all be well and good if the guy wasn't potentially a criminal about to bump the three of them off.
“Are you seeing this?” whispered Holly by her side. “It's like the creepiest romance film ever.”
Mr Creepy gestured with his head to somewhere off to his right.
“Oh!” exclaimed Beth, and Sarah and Holly finally saw what she saw when they came forward a few more steps.
A house, large and dark – fittingly foreboding – came into view behind the trees.
“Er…” began Sarah, “is this the main house? Is this where Taylor lives?”
“No. Not the main house. And this is where I live.”
Beth's jaw dropped. “Wow!”
Yeah – no shit. Wow as in, 'wow, I'd never stop here for help if my car broke down'.
Sarah scolded her brain for inviting the imagery of broken down cars into its field of thinking. Damn.
“Let's go in,” said the man. More of a command than anything else. Beth didn't seem to have a problem with his suggestion.
She sure as hell did. “How about, no.”
Beth looked at her with her 'what the fuck are you doing?' expression. Really … what the fuck am I doing?
Sarah marched forward, took Beth by the arm, and smiled as sweetly as she could manage at the man-with-no-name. “Will you excuse us for a second?” Without waiting for an answer, she dragged Beth away until she was sure he wouldn't be able to hear them whispering.
Beth shrugged her off. “What's the matter with you? We're close to finding Taylor.”
“Are you insane? We're close to getting killed – possibly.”
She laughed. “No way. I'm not getting any danger vibes.”
“You have got to be kidding! That guy – who hasn't even told us his name, by the way – has danger written all over him in bright, neon, lights.”