by Dianna Hardy
Her hips swayed as she cried out at the ecstasy of it; Ryan pounded into her, a little higher, a little harder… She felt a tremble deep inside her…
“Ohhh!”
Teeth scraped her neck; Lawrence’s voice, a whisper in her ear, “Lydia … please.” And she automatically understood two things: that he was asking her permission to bite her, and that it was one of the few times he would ever ask her permission for anything.
“Yes,” she whimpered in reply, not sure if she should be annoyed that Lawrence brought out her whimpering side.
She urgently reached for Taylor, her hand no longer in his, but seeking out his face.
His green eyes glowed, and there was none of the hesitation she’d grown accustomed to from him. He dived onto her open mouth, driving his tongue into her as she fisted her hand in his hair. She reached behind her with her right hand and did the same with Lawrence’s white-gold strands.
Lawrence bit down hard with a moan, and the suction of his mouth – the pull of her blood into him – alternated with Ryan’s thrusts; with the plunge of Taylor’s tongue…
Parts of her clicked into place – parts she hadn’t even known had been disjointed, or misaligned. Something new in her was forming; or maybe it had just finally found its way home…
Someone’s finger or thumb nestled against her clit, teased her, stroked it too gently for the fire that was about to consume her – that was about to consume them all. The kneading of her aching nipples roughened; inside, she clenched around Ryan, who groaned as his rhythm became a race, and he swelled … “Lydia!”
Lightning struck all four of them, although it didn’t hurt this time, but fed the fire. Through half-closed eyes she could make out the storm. It had been brought to ground with the lightning – a mini-tornado that swirled around them as they consummated their union in its eye. She wasn’t sure if it was herself that commanded the storm, or all four of them together, but either way, it didn’t matter. Her orgasm crashed through her as fast, hard and hot as the lightning.
She heard Ryan curse as he exploded inside her; Lawrence jerked under her as he sank his teeth deeper; she felt Taylor spill his seed against her thigh, and she cried her ecstasy into his mouth.
Oh god oh god oh god…
She was floating, writhing in bliss … it seemed like it would last forever. And it was fine that she was blacking out, fading away into unconsciousness… If she died right now it would be all right … because completion was hers. At long last, after twenty-five years, she was whole. She finally made sense… This was a good way to go.
Chapter Ten
The warmth of the sun on her skin caressed her out of sleep.
Lydia smiled. It felt wonderful. And for the first time in a long time, her sleep had been dreamless.
She awoke with full memory of everything that had taken place, and her smile widened. That was a good sign. That meant she was whole – really and truly – there was nothing to remember; nothing to put back together. Everything was there.
A contented sigh left her lips and she rolled over on the pillow, not wanting to open her eyes. Bliss. That’s what this was – pure bliss.
And she was a werewolf.
That revelation did snap her eyes open, but she refused to move; the bed and its duvet far too wonderful a luxury to just give up – and they smelled like Ryan. She guessed she was in Ryan’s room.
I wonder how long I’ve been sleeping for.
She dared a quick glance down at herself. Still no fur. Hmmm. Sort of lame for a werewolf.
With a growing need to explore, she reluctantly surrendered the softness of the bed, taking the duvet with her; draping and tucking it across her like a towel because she had no clothes on and she sure as hell couldn’t see them piled up anywhere.
And this bedroom was huuuuuge! Lord almighty, was Ryan a millionaire? She wondered how many bedrooms were in this place. She wondered what this mansion – because it surely had to be a mansion – looked like from the outside.
She caught sight of herself in the full length, free standing mirror in the far corner of the room. She had been taken care of. Her skin exuded a healthy glow, and felt smooth and clean; her hair had been taken out of its ponytail and brushed, so that it now hung loosely around her shoulders.
It occurred to her she should feel confused or aghast about last night’s events – god knows, she didn’t really know the meaning of what had taken place – but the truth was, she just felt complete. A new strength flowed through her veins, and she didn’t just mean that figuratively – she literally felt stronger. She felt alert and energised, and underlying it all, an odd acceptance of the change in her, for which she was grateful or she’d be screaming like a lunatic right now.
From gazing at the magnificent woodland view out of the open bedroom window, she could already tell that her vision was different. The edges of things – leaves, trees – were more defined, the slightest movement jumped out at her, impossible for her to miss, and her heightened sense of smell seemed to sharpen her vision’s focus to the point where the story of the scene in front of her became virtually three dimensional. And then there was her hearing…
She could already detect footfalls heading her way from beyond the bedroom door, too heavy for a woman. But for a man, he stepped lightly. Instinctively, her nostrils flared as she tried to decipher who it was.
Taylor.
He knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
It swung open. “Hey,” smiled Taylor, as he stepped inside. A smiling Taylor was truly a beautiful sight.
“Hey yourself. Where’s my fur?”
He chuckled and shut the door behind him, then dropped the plastic bag that he was carrying onto a chair that stood by the door. “No, really, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”
She shot him a grin.
“Don’t worry, the fur will come. Your body’s changing, inside first, then outside when its ready. You should be ready to run next full moon.”
“Run?”
“With the pack.”
“Ah … the sex cult.”
He frowned. “Not a sex cult.”
She raised her eyebrows. “So a thunderstorm ménage isn’t a common occurrence in your day-to-day lives?”
He actually blushed. She fought to keep a straight face.
“No. Erm … that was … unexpected. And rare. As a rule, wolves don’t like to share their mates.”
Yeah, Ryan had said as much in her dreams. “So, what – am I now mated to all three of you?”
He faltered. “Well, er… In a word…?”
“Tell me again how this isn’t a sex cult?”
He went beetroot. “It’s not a—”
“I know,” she smiled. “I’m teasing. Although, I gotta say, ‘sex cult’ is easier to believe than ‘werewolf’.”
Taylor smirked. “That I understand.”
“You do, don’t you,” she added, gently. She approached him, reached up and placed a palm on his chest, searching his eyes… “Why do you always look so sad?”
He didn’t seem so taken aback at her question this time, although he did still.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask, but it seems so monumental for you… You don’t have to talk about it.”
He stared at her, his face a mask, and just when she thought he was going to change the subject, he did the exact opposite. “Most werewolves are born werewolves. It’s in the genes, you see. Very occasionally, you can find a werewolf that’s been turned from human, through a bite from another wolf, but it’s highly unusual. Most of the time a wolf’s bite does nothing; once in about ten thousand times, the bite will cause an irreversible change in the human’s genetic blueprint, turning them into a werewolf.” He paused.
“You were one of the ten thousand, weren’t you?”
He nodded. “Eight months ago. It was 1 a.m. on Halloween, ironically. It was a full moon. Our car had broken down coming back from a friend’s party in the Kent countrysi
de – near Sevenoaks.”
“Our?”
“I was with my wife.”
“Oh, no…” Tears sprung up in her eyes. “Taylor…”
“I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the car. Graphic Design is a useless career to have when suffering car trouble in the middle of nowhere,” he scoffed. “I didn’t know anything about cars. I had no signal on my mobile phone, and Sarah hadn’t brought hers out. I told her to stay put. I guessed the nearest village was a fifteen minute walk, then I could knock on someone’s door and phone for breakdown recovery. I only managed fifteen steps before I was attacked by a big dog.”
“The werewolf.”
“Yes, not that I knew that at the time. I later found out he was a rogue wolf – you get them sometimes – deserters from their pack, or banished. Many go crazy before too long; we don’t do ‘alone’ very well.
“Sarah saw it attack me. It bit me, I screamed, then I heard her scream, heard her get out of the car… I yelled at her to get back inside, but she came at the wolf – threw herself on it, and I’ll never forget what happened next… He shifted.
“What I thought was a dog became a man right in front of my eyes, and before I had time to take any of it in properly, he’d flipped Sarah over and was on her, ripping at her clothes. I lost it then. Something inside me kicked into gear – I couldn’t feel my bite any more, I just wanted him off her. I don’t remember grabbing a stick – it was more like a small branch really – but I must have done, because the next thing I knew I’d tackled him onto his back and shoved it into his chest.
“Sarah was beside herself, hysterical; I was bleeding out on the ground, and there was a dead man lying next to us…” His eyes misted over as he relived his past. “Lawrence and Ryan found us one hour later. I was almost unconscious, and Sarah was in shock. I couldn’t…” his voice broke… “I couldn’t comfort her.”
Lydia wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder, not bothering to keep her tears from falling on his T-shirt.
“Lawrence shot the rogue with a silver bullet, straight through the head, then they brought us back here, and I don’t really remember too much else because I passed out in the back of their van.
“When I woke up, it was three days later. My wounds had healed – all except one.”
“Sarah…”
She felt him nod. “While we were here and I was healing, Lawrence entered our home, went through it with a fine-toothed comb and cleared it of all traces of me. He then took Sarah’s memory of all that had happened that night … and of me. She forgot that I existed at all.”
“No…”
“Yes. And not just her – he did the same to our family and friends. Those closest to us who knew my name.
“How—”
“Through a combination of hypnosis and an illegal drug called Amnesthipine. It’s thorough, and it’s painless.”
“For everyone but you.” Her voice cracked.
He hugged her tighter. “It couldn’t be any other way. I know that now, but for the longest time I hated Lawrence; hated myself and what I had become.”
His chest rose against her as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “Every month on the full moon, up until this month, I went back to see Sarah, from a distance of course. I went to make sure she was doing okay, to escape what I had become, and to escape my ‘duties’ as an unmated male.”
“Duties?”
“To service the unmated females – sexually. It keeps the mating pains at bay, it can even save their lives – I didn’t care about any of that. I only cared about Sarah. I loved her, she was my wife, how could I… You’re…” he hesitated. “You’re the first woman I’ve…”
Her eyes widened.
He didn’t finish the sentence, and nor did he need to.
“Taylor—”
“I spoke to her once, you know,” he interrupted. “Two months back. She was locking up her shop – she owns a wedding dress boutique – and when she turned, I was standing in front of her on the pavement. She smiled at me politely and said, ‘I’m afraid we’re closed. Can I help you?’”
His frame shook in her arms and she knew he was crying. She wept with him, his pain swelling in her heart as if it were her own. And that’s how they stood for a good five minutes, until their tears became silent, and the silence stretched between them, filling the room with a strange comfort that Lydia was beginning to associate with him and him alone.
Taylor cleared his throat and broke the quiet. “I came in here to see how you feel, not to wallow in my own past. Do you feel good? I mean, your energy levels, your senses—”
“Oh, yes,” she replied gently. “Turning all Supergirl here.”
“Good.” He smiled down at her. “You were born a wolf – the transition shouldn’t give you any bother.”
“I didn’t know I was born a wolf,” she said, her voice hushed. A multitude of questions tumbled around in her mind, mostly ones concerning her mother, her father and Great Aunt Gladys, who had always been a shadow within their lives. It was painfully clear to her that she’d been lied to, or at the very least, truths had been omitted. How the hell she was going to approach her father about it all was something she couldn’t get her head around at the moment. She didn’t know if she was furious with him, or disappointed, or both. Surely he’d known…
“I know. I’m sorry about that. Lawrence is doing a background check on your family. I’m sure he’ll find some answers for you soon.” He bent down and picked up the plastic bag that he’d dropped on entering the room. Her clothes were in them. “Washed and pressed,” he smiled.
“In one night?”
His smile faded a fraction, and he reached out to tuck a strand of her forever-disarrayed hair behind her ear. Such a tender action. So ‘Taylor’. Her stomach flipped, and her heart warmed at his care of her.
“Lydia, you’ve been asleep for three days.”
“Three days?” His tragic story flashed through her mind. Three days. Of course she’d been sleeping for three fucking days. She suddenly felt woozy. So, it turned out she could cope with being a werewolf, but to lose three days… That meant… “Oh my god, is it Saturday? I’ve got to get to work! I was supposed to pay the phone bill yesterday – shit! I missed my appointment with the shrink.”
“You see a shrink?”
“Well, not now I don’t,” she scowled. “Why didn’t someone wake me up?”
“Same reason you don’t open a cocoon before the butterfly’s ready to emerge.”
“Very poetic.” She yanked her clothes from him.
“Calm down. You don’t need to pay any bills – it’s taken care of.”
Warning bells sounded in her mind. “What do you mean exactly?”
“What I mean exactly,” he shuffled from foot to foot, “is that it’s not my fault. I said you wouldn’t appreciate it.”
“Taylor,” she growled.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth and regarded her warily. “Lawrence paid your rent and terminated your contract with your landlord. Ryan moved all your stuff here. You no longer live in that studio. You live here now.”
“WHAT?”
“Your jobs at the café and the pub have also been terminated, and you’ve been given a promotion at the theatre restaurant – to maître d’.”
“Wait—what?—wait—NO! You cannot do this!”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Just the messenger.”
“I hate that restaurant. I love the café. And you just waltz into my flat and take my stuff?”
“Have you ever tried to reason with Lawrence and Ryan when they get an idea stuck in their heads?”
“Arrgh! Where are they?”
“Er—”
She shoved past him – she didn’t need him to answer. As soon as the question was out of her mouth, her new ‘sixth sense’ or whatever it was, reared its head and beckoned her out of the room. She stood still for a second and breathed in the air, taking a moment
to differentiate between all the smells and tastes – yes, she could taste the air…
There. Ryan!
“Arrgh!” she cried again in rage and stormed off down the hall, spots of fury dancing in front of her eyes.
Taylor didn’t follow her, and she almost stopped in her tracks and ran back to him, because her heart suddenly panged and she realised she missed him.
Great. Weird mated symptom #1.
Her anger was paramount. She stopped outside another door, knowing Ryan was on the other side of it, and hammered it with her fist. Not waiting for a reply, she flung the door open and—
Holy Christ!
Chapter Eleven
She hadn’t been prepared for real Ryan.
Not. At. All.
This wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t half unconscious, or being consumed by lightning. She was fully awake, it was day time, and Ryan was … beaming at her. His smile lit up the whole friggin’ room, which was saying something because it was painted a pastel yellow. The paint smelled fresh.
It probably didn’t help that Ryan stood there looking like Ryan and doing an even better job of it than he did in her dreams; all bulging muscles defined under a casual grey T-shirt and faded jeans. Fuck, look at his arse in those jeans!
No, don’t look at his arse in those jeans.
She wandered around the room to try and clear her lusty thoughts.
This was another bedroom – also humongous – and her belongings were all neatly housed in various places: on chests of drawers, in the drawers, in the wardrobe, on the mantelpiece – every single thing put away or displayed with care. A vase of small sunflowers sat on the window frame, with such an obviously failed attempt at arranging them it conveyed a boyish charm. The overwhelming effort to make her room homely was evident in every corner she looked.
All trace of anger at their intrusion into her life melted into a puddle on the floor. “You did this?”
“I picked the yellow,” he said, his barely contained excitement etched into every word. “It’s sunny. It reminded me of you.”