by Dianna Hardy
He sighed. This was his minute up. “If you can’t trust me, then trust yourself. Your dreams are real, Lydia. Listen to them. Feel them. Find Ryan. All I’ve done is ease your pain, but he’s your mate; he’s the one who can make it all go away forever.” Fuck it, he almost choked on his words. His own eyes welled up…
“Why are you always so sad?”
He started at her question. Whether at the tenderness behind it or at the question itself, he couldn’t tell.
“Lydia, I’m back!” A key sounded in the door.
Taylor grabbed his clothes and swiftly entered one of the cubicles, swinging the door shut behind him.
He heard the other door open partway before Lydia’s voice bounced off the tiled walls. “Wait. I’ve got the door. Here…” some kind of noise – a soft scraping – Lydia picking up her shoes, he guessed… “Come with me, Lees. I just want to get out of here and forget this night ever happened.”
“I could have sworn I heard a man’s voice in here – are you in here alone? Why the hell are you locked in? I couldn’t believe it when I heard about Simon – oh, Lydia! I wanted to see you before now, but I had to take care of the restaurant, and…” their voices trailed off as they disappeared from his sensitive earshot, behind further doors and walls.
She hadn’t ratted him out. He could only assume that was a good thing. He’d already resolved to find where she lived and check in on her later tonight.
A howl sounded a few miles away to the north. His flesh goosebumped in response. Lawrence.
The pitch of it was urgent – it was a home calling.
Checking in on Lydia would have to wait. At least he’d tamed her heat – she shouldn’t have any problems getting through the night now, and the pull of the moon tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as strong.
Adulterer… whispered the scathing voice in his head. He shook it away, ignoring the pain that threatened to flare in his chest.
Bunching his clothes up, he stuck them behind one of the lavatories, then shifted once more into his wolf form. He padded out of the toilets, then out of the theatre, keeping to the shadows, and once sure he wouldn’t be spotted, sprinted towards Lawrence’s call.
~*~
She wasn’t sure how she’d made it home, despite only living a fifteen minute walk away. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this furious. But maybe what really heightened the fury, was the realisation that somewhere, deep down, she had taken in what he’d said – she’d actually taken it in. Which was ludicrous, and it made her ludicrous.
Her mind rang as she slammed her key into the lock of her front door and stormed her way into her flat, kicking the door shut behind her. She was pretty sure she could feel the beginnings of a headache.
Whipping her phone out of her bag, she pulled up Brendan’s number, hit the green phone symbol and waited for him to pick up.
It went straight to his mailbox.
The sound of his voice took her anger up a notch. She waited for the beep, which finally sounded while she was mentally running through all the insults she could think of.
“Dickhead!” she yelled, then hung up and tossed the phone across the room towards her bed. Luckily, that’s where it landed.
Okay, so that wasn’t very mature, but what the fuck did she care. After tonight, she was done caring – everyone was a nutter.
She stripped off her clothes for a shower and got even more annoyed when it hit her that she didn’t want to take them off because they smelled like Taylor.
“Christ, Lydia! No one’s more of a nutter that you,” she reprimanded as she kicked off her underwear, and then froze in her tracks when the green light on her landline’s answering machine blinked at her in greeting.
She had a message?
Wandering over to it she pressed the ‘Play’ button.
“Lydia, hi. It’s Dad … again.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Her dad never phoned her more than once a week – never.
“Listen, we should meet up. There are … things … we need to catch up on.”
There are? I don’t think so, Dad. Every time we’re in the same room together, we don’t even manage two words to each other. But then, why else would he be phoning? Maybe it’s urgent.
A slight rustling sound. Was he leafing through papers or was it a bad connection?
“Call me. Even if it’s late. Or tomorrow – whenever … um … there’s a storm headed your way tonight.”
In the background she heard a strident voice sounding out clipped words that she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d know that tone anywhere – it had scared the life out of her since she was five years old. Great Aunt Gladys!
What’s she doing at Dad’s?
“Okay, well, I’ll speak to you soon. ‘Bye.”
The machine clicked itself to a halt.
This mistake of a day had taken so much out her she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The ringing in her head turned to dizziness, and all of a sudden, she didn’t feel so good again. She considered calling her dad, but she was bone-tired and couldn’t be a hundred percent certain she wouldn’t puke with her stomach bunched up in knots the way it was – a coherent conversation with her father was not something she felt she could contribute to right this second.
Instead, she continued on towards the bathroom, stopping briefly in front of her wardrobe mirror to take in her nude form. She slowly turned around, craning her head to look at her reflection as far as she could manage it.
Nope. No fur anywhere. Not a werewolf. Eat that, Taylor whatever-your-surname-is!
She strode into the bathroom without bothering to shut the door, stood outside of the bathtub, reached up to turn the showerhead on, then pulled the splash screen across the edge of the bath. Within ten seconds the water was wonderfully hot … and again she hesitated.
That smell of green was just to die for. She didn’t want to wash Taylor off her. But the guy was a lying, deceptive, insane bastard, so really, she should.
Clenching her jaw to strengthen her resolve against her ridiculous reaction, she stepped around the screen and into the tub, straight under the streaming hose, sighing as the wet heat hit her; only a little apprehensive of the way her chest tightened as she soaped herself down.
God, the shower felt good – this was what she needed: to wash this bizarre day away. Tomorrow she could start over … and see about getting that pill from the shrink. It must be almost 11 p.m. already. See? she thought, relaxing into the spray. Everything’s cool – the new day starts in just over an hour.
~*~
Lawrence wasn’t alone. The entire pack was with him – three women and nine men, including himself and Lawrence – all but two of the other males in human form.
Still in his wolf guise, Taylor trotted up to Lawrence – now first in command by default – not flinching when the man bent down and lowered his mouth to his muzzle. They exchanged a lick in greeting, and it had taken Taylor a hell of a long time to get comfortable with this little welcome ritual. But most of what physically took place in the span of a day could be sought in the saliva glands of a person or animal, as if events and places are breathed in and stored. He’d never quite understood the biology of it, but he couldn’t deny the usefulness of such an ability.
Lawrence stared at him briefly, questions clearly in his eyes, then he nodded and stood. Whatever those questions, he wasn’t going to ask them now.
Taylor shifted into human form, and Lawrence began.
“I’ve found Ryan.”
A couple of gasps sounded and everyone held their breath, waiting for him to continue.
“At least, the vicinity that he’s in. There are a number of warehouses behind Walnut Tree Road, along the railway line, before you hit the university campus. That’s where I found this just an hour ago.” He held up a small piece of cloth, and Taylor’s stomach lurched because he could smell the blood on it – Ryan’s blood.
The fabric had clearly been ripp
ed, but on purpose or by accident? The Trident’s sense of smell was almost as good as theirs. He doubted they would have missed it in error. “Lawrence, are you sure—”
“Yes. I ran it under a stereomicroscope – the way the threads bend on the tear suggests this was done over a week ago, not recently. The blood’s over a week old too. I don’t think they planted this for us to find … unless it’s something that’s been planned all along,” he sighed, “which is a possibility, I admit. I realise this isn’t foolproof – there’s a chance it’s a trap – but it’s the best thing we’ve got. It’s the only thing we’ve got.”
Taylor lowered his eyes in acquiescence. He was willing to take Lawrence’s word – he would have weighed his options with complete thoroughness. Almost nothing passed him by. All wolves, including their own pack, knew Ryan as the Alpha. They liked him, they missed him, and they only ever crossed him at the risk of broken bones – Ryan was virtually impossible to bring down; both in physical strength and in his mental outlook on life. Nevertheless, no one challenged Lawrence – ever – even if they didn’t fully understand why.
He passed the fabric around and everyone took in the scent.
“Marco. Bill.”
The two males that had remained in animal form now shifted and waited for their orders.
“Our females need looking after tonight. I need you both to stay here.” They nodded. “The rest of you … we’re going hunting. Be back here at ten to one. The pubs will have closed, but the nightclubs will still be going – the streets will be at their quietest. And prepare yourselves for battle. We’re not coming back without Ryan.”
~*~
Lydia felt much better on stepping out of the shower … except that the pain in her chest had come back – not as badly as before, but bad enough so she didn’t feel comfortable. But then she’d been mostly ill all week. Stupid for her to think that sex with some hot bloke, no matter how orgasmic, could get rid of her flu symptoms.
And even more stupid for her inner-voice to go suggesting it was because she’d washed Taylor’s scent off her. Or because she was a werewolf.
Ha. Yeah, let’s just forget that conversation ever happened, shall we?
Her intercom buzzed and she frowned. A quick glance at her bedside clock told her it was quarter to midnight. Holy hell, had she been in the shower for a whole hour?
Usually she wouldn’t be leaving the restaurant until about quarter to one, but Lisa had ordered her to go home, and to be honest, she hadn’t felt like sticking around with everyone staring at her in sympathy after her fiasco with Simon.
She picked up the handset of the intercom. “Hello?”
“It’s me. Let me up.”
Brendan.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“When someone calls me a dickhead for no apparent reason and without any given explanation, I like to know why.”
“It’s late.”
“And I’ll be gone in two minutes, but I think I deserve to know why you’re pissed at me.”
She huffed in exasperation. “Did you plan to have Taylor seduce me?”
“What? Who … you mean, Taylor? The Taylor we talked about this morning? What the fuck’s happened? Did he do something to you?”
She pinched her forehead in exhaustion. This was all starting to get confusing. “No … I mean … look, just come up, but you only get two minutes.”
She buzzed him in and hung up the receiver.
He must have taken the stairs three at a time, because he seemed to be at her front door before she could gather a thought. She waved him in and closed it.
He took in her washed hair and bathrobe, eyes lingering on the silver burns, now faded but still visible on areas of her skin. His jaw tightened. He plonked his motorcycle helmet down on her dresser. “You’re home early.”
Her tears sprang up out of nowhere, and her face crumpled.
Congratulations, Lydia, you are finally having a normal reaction.
“Hey,” said Brendan, gently pulling her into his arms, and she cried into his T-shirt as she battled the memory of Simon latched onto her neck; between her legs… Oh, god … how had it even happened? Oh, yeah … she had been undressing for that blond guy – Lawrence.
“I think, maybe, it was my fault…” she heaved out between her sobs.
“Jesus Christ, Lydia, tell me what happened.”
She huddled further into his chest, refusing to look up at him. “Simon attacked me. He tried to … you know.”
“The waiter?”
“The maître d’.”
“The wanker, you mean,” he belted out, his voice low with anger. “Did he…”
“No. Lawrence and Taylor were there. They stopped him. Turns out Lawrence owns the theatre.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, honey. And there’s no way it’s your fault – don’t even think it.”
“Oh, really? You know what I’m like. How much I like sex. Maybe I exuded some kind of—”
“Bullshit. You’re not responsible for what any idiot decides to do with his penis. You’re sexy, babe, but you ain’t all that.” He said it teasingly, but she didn’t miss the seriousness behind his light tone.
A smile broke through her tears, and she finally met his gaze.
“Really,” he repeated. “Not your fault. And you damn well know it – you’re smart like that.”
He looked like he really meant it. She felt a little better. “Thank you, Brendan. You’re a good friend.”
“Oh, yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “Not a dickhead, then?”
Oh, crap – she had called him that. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight after what Simon did, and…” And was she really going to tell him about how just a few moments later she had practically begged Taylor to fuck her? About the crazy werewolf conversation and how he’d changed into a dog?
Wolf, corrected her mind.
Whatever. And no – she didn’t fancy going into all that right now. She was feeling so off her game she was starting to wonder whether she’d hallucinated the whole thing – it’s not like her dreams weren’t real to her – maybe she’d imagined it…
Tomorrow. It might all make more sense tomorrow, then she could bring it up with a clearer head.
“You asked me if I’d planned to have Taylor seduce you.”
Shit.
“I did? I meant Simon. Sorry. Taylor was there – I got my words mixed up. You were acting all jealous this morning, and what Simon did was so out of character, and then I just felt confused and made stupid assumptions…”
Lame, Lydia.
Still, Brendan seemed to accept it and sighed with relief. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, you know that, right?”
“Of course I do. I’m really sorry.”
He smiled. “Don’t be. You were just acting out after what happened.”
“Yeah,” she sighed, then settled into his arms once more. “This is nice, just being held.”
“Any time, honey.”
She nestled under his chin, and he tightened his hold of her. A couple of minutes passed before he broke the silence. “It’s getting late – you should try to get a good night’s rest. Do you…” He hesitated. “Do you want me to stay?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but you’re right. I do need some good sleep, and I have tomorrow morning off so I’m going to try and have a lie in. You’d be great company,” she smiled, “but I think I just need to be on my own for a bit.”
Returning her smile, he grabbed his helmet. “Of course.” He leaned in and pecked her on the forehead. “Call if you need anything, all right?”
“I will, and thank you, Brendan,” she added softly.
“No worries.”
He stepped out of her flat and she shut the door behind him, locked it, and leaned heavily against it with another sigh. This one escalated into a yawn.
Her bed beckoned her.
She yawned again.
The clock o
n her bedside table now read 23:59
She smiled, dryly, turned out the light, and made her way to her bed by the moonlight that shone through the window. When she hit it, she crawled under her covers with gratitude, barely able to keep her eyes open.
Goodbye, stinking, horrible day. Hello, tomorrow.
Chapter Seven
“You didn’t tell her?” asked Lawrence, incredulously, as he polished the barrel of his dart-gun. “You shifted in front of her, but you didn’t explain how it all works or why she’s in danger?”
They were in Lawrence’s study, gathering their things for tonight’s mission. The rain had begun to fall about half an hour ago, gently at first, but now it pounded against the window pane.
“It’s not like I didn’t try. We were on limited time – and she was being difficult.”
He made some kind of ‘harrumph’ noise. “That’s not a bad thing if she’s Ryan’s mate.”
“I was going to go back tonight to watch over her; make sure she’s okay, but it can wait until tomorrow. Her mating pains disappeared after…” His heart squeezed in his chest as he thought about her body under his, his own pains banging against his rib cage. It was this way with all unmated wolves. The mating pains increased until you either bonded with your mate or died. The male wolves died at forty, and the age was exact, as if some timed pacemaker kept their hearts beating until then. It was tougher for the females: they died between the ages of twenty-five and twenty-seven. Their pacemaker was a little less picky about the timing, but they had less years to live. The males were born werewolves and could shift from the moment of birth. The females couldn’t. Their werewolf gene could only be activated by bonding with their mate – up until that time, they grew up within their packs virtually as humans.
What made things worse was that since the separation of the wolf clans and their near annihilation in the late 18th century, finding your mate was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and once you did, the bonding could only occur under a full moon … during a thunderstorm. It came down to a crazy combination of biology, genetics and physics, which Taylor still hadn’t entirely gotten his head around. None of them had. The Trident were the only ones with answers, and they weren’t sharing.