by Dianna Hardy
“Since they won’t let anyone know anything about them, I don’t have a fucking clue, but I don’t trust them with shit. Here, stick your helmet on.”
She took the helmet and did as instructed, not sure she wanted to carry on the conversation anyway. What a bloody odd morning. Good thing she was seeing a shrink tomorrow.
She straddled the motorcycle, Brendan took it off the stand and kicked it to life. She knew next to nothing about motorcycles, but she had been on Brendan’s a couple of times before. She couldn’t deny the total feeling of freedom when speeding through wherever on one of these things … or the way it sort of got her horny, but then she’d always had a high libido – her dreams proved that. She wondered if she should ask her therapist for some kind of pill. Could she do that? Take a pill to make her sex drive less and her dream man go ‘poof’ into the thin air he’d come from?
The ache that had eased throughout the morning suddenly pounded in her chest. You’ll die without him, it affirmed with every painful throb.
Dying of a broken heart. For a man who doesn’t even exist.
You’re screwed, Lydia. Utterly screwed.
~*~
Taylor resisted the urge to kick the heavy oak door shut with his heel. Lawrence was house-proud. If the slightest crack appeared anywhere, he’d bloody well spot it.
“There you are,” purred Selena to his right, and he sighed. He wasn’t in the mood. The full moon was tonight. Selena was dangerous around the full moon – actually, she was dangerous at any time – and he was pissed because with Ryan missing he couldn’t be where he really wanted to be.
“Is that little exhalation because you’re pleased to see me?”
“Selena—”
“I thought you’d run off again like you do every month … back to her.”
He couldn’t stop the low growl that rumbled through him. “Her is no one you ever need talk about.”
Selena tutted, swishing her strawberry-blonde hair from side to side as she shook her head. “Yet she’s the only one that can make you lose your cool. I could make you lose your cool … if you’d just let me.”
“Where’s Lawrence.”
She pushed air out between her teeth at his rebuttal of her. “Where he always is.”
He made to go up the stairs, but she placed herself in his path as she too often did.
“Taylor, how long are we going to play this little game for?”
“It is all just a game to you, isn’t it?”
“She’s not like us—”
“I told you—” he marched her up against the end of the cherry wood banister, and pinned her there with his stare “—not to talk about her.”
“We don’t have to talk about her,” she grinned, the tip of her tongue poking out to flick across her top lip. She suddenly reached out, yanked him forwards and he fell against her.
His body responded immediately, his dick hardening, and of course, she wasted no time in grabbing him through his trousers. “There are other things – many more wonderful things – I could do with my mouth.”
He stood there for a second, pressed against her, letting her rub herself on him and doing his darnedest not to breathe in her mating scent.
“See how hard I make you?” she said hoarsely.
He took in her eyes, brown and seductive, yet watery with a need that all unmated females had when in their early twenties – especially at this time of month. His frustration with her waned. It wasn’t her fault. She was as ruined as himself; as most of them were. “Biology, Selena. That’s all.”
“Biology can make this easier for both of us.” She went to slip her hand past the waistband of his trousers, but he caught her wrist and stopped her.
“I’m sorry this is hard for you, but I’m not what you’re looking for – I don’t want it easy.” He brushed past her and ascended the stairs.
“It’s your duty as an unmated male!” she spat out after him. “God-damned martyr!”
Guilt twinged his heart, because she wasn’t wrong. It was his duty. He had no ties. Except that wasn’t true: he had one tie he refused to let go of.
“Taylor.” Lawrence’s icy voice – which matched his icy blue eyes – reached him from across the corridor at the top of the staircase. The blond man stood well over six foot tall, and was as imposing as any assassin – god knows, he had the air of one.
“Lawrence, I was coming to speak to you.”
“Are you upsetting Selena again?”
Ah … there was that guilt once more, and always accompanied with the grief for the one he couldn’t forget.
“She’s right, you know,” he continued. “You should let her go, before you end up like me.” And that wasn’t said lightly – no one wanted to end up like Lawrence.
“Selena will find herself another male to—”
“She’ll come to me. And I’ll relieve her, as I always do, because I know my duty.”
Taylor winced. The silence that followed wrapped those words around him like a vice.
Lawrence leaned against the banister, casually. Only it wasn’t casual, and Ryan, along with Taylor, were the only ones who knew the truth about him. “Did you find any more information?”
“No.”
More silence. The full moon was upon them now, which meant fearing the worst for Ryan was the most realistic outcome.
“But there’s a female. I caught her name – Lydia – right after I caught her scent.”
“And?”
“I haven’t seen her before. She’s one of us, and I sensed she was very close to the change.”
“Unmated?”
“Judging by the pheromones coming off her, I would say yes.”
“Which pack is she with?”
“I didn’t stick around to ask, but she looked … she didn’t look well, Lawrence. I thought, maybe—”
“Do you think she’s your mate?”
The question took him aback for a second before he recomposed himself. “No. Her scent was alluring, but not for me. I wondered…” he hesitated “…maybe you—”
“No,” stated Lawrence, flatly.
Taylor knew not to push.
“Leave her. She’s no concern of ours.”
He glanced up at him, surprised. “But … without a mate she might die. It’s the full moon—”
“Her pack will look after her.”
Lawrence’s eagle eyes caught the slight sway in Taylor’s stance. That damn man saw everything. “What is it?” he asked.
“I can’t be sure … there was something in the way she carried herself, and I couldn’t pick up the scent of any males – my instincts tell me she’s on her own.”
His shoulders stiffened at that. “No pack?”
Taylor shook his head, and Lawrence exhaled a string of expletives. He understood the anger: what pack would abandon a female? What had she done to deserve banishment? It was unheard of. The females were more precious than the rarest metals.
“There’s also a storm coming in,” pressed Taylor. “The wind’s already picking up a bit. It’s supposed to hit us around three in the morning.”
The blond’s features hardened and he stared Taylor down. “Fine. Do what you want with her, but do not bring her back here unless you see to her needs. I have my hands full every month with every other female you reject. You want to save her – you service her. Got it?”
His heart simultaneously rose with hope and sank with trepidation … because there had been something about her that seemed familiar; something that had screamed at him to protect her, and he could turn away from that no more than he could turn away from the woman he’d ruined. He nodded. “Fine.”
“Good.” The would-be-but-refused-to-be pack master slid past Taylor and made his way down the stairs. “I’m taking the Honda. I need to get out before my dinner engagement. I’ll see if I can find out anything else about Ryan.”
The front door slammed behind him, and Taylor found himself irritated that he had closed it gently f
or Lawrence’s sake, when Lawrence hadn’t bothered. But the man was a conundrum, and one that no one crossed.
Alone in the house, and thankful that Selena seemed to have disappeared, Taylor headed for his room. They were all feeling Ryan’s absence heavily, and not just because he was their leader – Ryan was the life and soul of the party. He always diffused tension with his ridiculous humour and carefree attitude. Without Ryan, Lawrence was a royal pain in the arse, and Taylor … well, he was “sorrow personified” – Ryan’s description of him and his never-ending moroseness.
His fear heightened for their pack leader. No one had any doubt The Trident had him, but no one knew where The Trident kept themselves hidden, and it was rare that anyone ever escaped their clutches once caught. His thoughts drifted to … her.
No – don’t think about her.
And for once, he listened to his brain for the sake of his heart. He thought of Lydia instead. It wouldn’t be too difficult to trace her scent – he had no doubt he’d find her. When he’d caught her staring at him, she hadn’t seemed standoffish or aggressive, just openly curious … and like she was about to faint, but then, that was to be expected if she was unmated on a full moon … and close to the change – Jesus… He wondered if she’d be easy to approach once the night drew in.
Hmmm … guess you’re about to find out.
Chapter Four
Lydia slid in through the theatre’s back door as quietly and quickly as possible. Shit, shit, shit… She was late. Only by five minutes, but on a show night that would be a red card warning if Simon was in a good mood. If he was in a crappy mood, that would be her out of a job.
She hadn’t slept – not at first. She’d tossed and turned, trying to sleep; trying to ignore the way her fever seemed to want to burst out of her in a sweat, but never quite managed to. Eventually, she’d fallen asleep and it had been a fitful one with weird dreams of imprisonment and suffocation. She had slept through her alarm beeping, finally woken up twenty minutes late, and practically legged it out of her High Street flat and ran the fifteen minutes it took to get here, somehow managing not to stumble in her woozy state.
Now she was flushed red, her hair must be in a state, and she felt like she was going to spontaneously combust.
She rounded the corner and walked straight into someone: Lisa, the head waitress. But whereas Simon was a snidey git, Lisa was fabulous.
“Lydia! Jeez, you are late, girl. Simon’s going to kick your arse to the curb if you don’t do some serious grovelling.”
Fuck.
“And you look like shit – you cannot see him like this. Come here…” She grabbed her arm, and they raced to the toilets which was just further down the hall.
“Lees, I feel like shit, and I don’t know if I should be here, but I need the cash.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t go home. Becky called in sick, which is why Simon’s on the war path – we’re already one short, and he’s freaking out because apparently, we’ve got celebrities in tonight.”
Lydia snorted. Their ‘celebrities’ consisted of B and C list TV actors who never made it that big.
“Nope,” said Lisa, shaking her head as she interpreted her snort correctly. She pulled a hairbrush out of her waitress’ pinafore and handed it to her. “We’ve got a real celebrity in: Russell Maddox.”
Lydia undid her ponytail and tugged the brush through her strands. “Russell who? I don’t know him.”
That was met with an eye roll from Lisa. “Do you have a life?”
No. I’m working all the god-damn time.
“Lydia, he’s Hollywood. His last film was Running On Love – you know the one; it came out at the beginning of the year. Huge success. Everyone’s saying he’s going to be the next Brad Pitt. Anyway… the theatre owner is here – the actual owner – and Simon’s brought out the silverware.”
“The what?” she asked, pulling her copper-coloured hair back into a new, neater ponytail. Unfortunately, she could do nothing about the shorter strands that insisted on escaping the hair-tie’s clutches. They framed her face in disarray, making her look like some sort of wild jungle creature.
Lisa wrinkled her nose as she studied Lydia’s hair. “It’ll have to do. Good thing you’ve got those gorgeous violet-blue eyes. Come on, let’s go.”
They hurried out of the toilets and towards the restaurant. “Lees, were you joking about the silverware?”
“Nope. Kathleen told me the last time Simon got it out was three years ago. It’s only reserved for special occasions.”
“Oh, crap.”
“What is it?”
“I’m allergic to silver.”
Lisa threw her a glare. “Trust you to be awkward.”
“Well, I can’t help it!”
“How allergic?”
“It gives me a rash if I touch it, and the rash sort of burns – doesn’t look pretty.”
She groaned. “You’re gonna have to work around it. Don’t touch the cutlery, okay? Pick everything up with a napkin. Think you can do that?”
“Guess I’ll have to.” Although she suddenly felt queasy just thinking about the silver cutlery. The last thing she wanted to do was nurse an allergy when she already felt like one of the dead – or soon to be dead. What a horrible thought. A shiver snaked its way down her spine, and she wondered if someone had prematurely walked over her grave.
An uneasy feeling skirted around the edges of her nerves. Foreboding – that’s what it was. Odd. She wasn’t the foreboding type.
Another set of double doors, and they were in the restaurant. The chatter was loud, the people, many, all buzzing with expectation of tonight’s performance which would start in just over an hour, and the lights suddenly seemed too bright.
Lydia stumbled but caught herself, and Lisa glared at her again. She didn’t need to say anything. The tips were shared equally amongst everyone. If one of them fucked up, they all paid for it.
Lydia threw her an apologetic smile and gave a head a little shake to clear it.
Four hours, Lydia. You’re only here for four hours. Get a grip.
Sometimes she was grateful for her great aunt’s voice.
“Start with table twenty-one,” hissed Lisa. “Nice and easy – there’s just two of them.” Then she turned and walked towards her own table, beaming a hundred watts, and looking as professional and confident as she always did.
Lydia sighed, grabbed a clean notepad and pen, and headed over to twenty-one.
The man and woman sitting there were a wonderful, friendly couple, and she slowly eased into the evening. She was handling it, and the people, better than she thought she would. The silver – although still making her queasy whenever she thought about it for any length of time – was bearable as long as she picked it up with the napkins. Everyone’s anticipation at watching and potentially meeting so-called celebrity, Russell Maddox, was catching. This was starting to look like a really good evening.
Bad things always happen when you let your guard down – she’d learnt that early on in life. It was very rare for her to let her guard slip, but tonight – as she began to enjoy the hustle and bustle of her job – she had.
So the scent completely took her by surprise.
She stiffened, pen in hand, mid-order, as that smell raced through her mind as well as her body, awaking some primal desire. That smell of ‘green’.
Taylor.
She turned towards it, eyes scanning for him, but it wasn’t Taylor they landed on.
All at once she could tell that his smell was a little different, although no less intoxicating. The man that sat where Taylor should be was tall, well-built – even through his jacket she could see that – with flaxen blond hair that fell to his shoulders and the palest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
And he was staring at her, his expression nothing short of icy.
Her legs sort of trembled. No, her entire body trembled, and she just about managed to ignore the nonsensical urge she had to drop to her knees. But she c
ouldn’t ignore the heat that rose up from within her. It seemed to centre on her neck, and she suddenly felt like she was being strangled by her own hot flush. Without thinking, she undid the top button of her blouse and tilted her head up to expose her neck to the cooling air, and she did it all without dropping her gaze from his.
His eyebrows rose a fraction, and his eyes softened for a millisecond before resuming their iciness. That millisecond was enough – she’d done something right. She didn’t know what it was, but for the first time in a long time, she had done something right.
“Lydia!” That was Simon. Oh, fuck, that was Simon!
“Lydia!” He barked her name out again, and she landed back to earth with a thump.
Oh, god…
He grabbed her by the elbow and steered her away from the table she’d neglected when the scent had caught her attention. Double fuck.
Lisa swooped into it instead, without missing a beat, apologised emphatically for Lydia’s behaviour and offered dessert on the house.
Lydia was steered towards the sauces and condiments cabinet at the far section of the restaurant where the tables had already been cleared. It was separated from the main part of the restaurant by a set of swinging doors.
Guess he’s too mad to take me all the way to his office…
“What the hell was that little display for?” he bit out, his anger barely contained.
“Display?”
He lowered his voice. “You were practically coming on to the owner of the theatre. A second later and I thought you might whip your blouse off!”
Her indignation won over her embarrassment. “I was not!”
“You are on your last warning. Ever since you started working here four months ago, you’ve been nothing but a liability. Tonight you took it to a whole new level.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I saw exactly what you were doing, you little slut.”
Her mouth dropped open. That was so not PC. Her brain searched for some kind of witty comeback but, in truth, it was shocked that he had had the gall to say such a thing at all. Was that even allowed?