by Dianna Hardy
Heart Of The Wolf
(Eye Of The Storm)
by Dianna Hardy
A dark, adult paranormal fantasy
for the call of the wild in us all.
Set in the Surrey Hills, England.
Smashwords Edition
Heart Of The Wolf (Eye Of The Storm)
copyright © 2013, Dianna Hardy
Published by Satin Smoke Press, via Smashwords, December, 2013
Satin Smoke Press is an imprint of Bitten Fruit Books
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
In this work of fiction, the characters, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination, or they are used entirely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means or in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles or reviews.
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Cover photo © Wallenrock | Shutterstock.com
Cover design by Dianna Hardy
Satin Smoke Press
Surrey, UK
http://www.satinsmoke.com
Blurb
(Book three of the Eye Of The Storm series.)
Lydia becomes ever closer to her three mates. However, with unrest all around, she is struggling to keep her wolves together for her first full moon, just twenty-four hours away.
A trip back home for Ryan could bring much needed support for them all, but at what cost?
As The Trident close in on Ryan's pack, the pack itself becomes divided over Lydia's presence and Lawrence is encouraged to return as the Alpha. But they don't know his secret, and he's doubtful of his ability to protect them. Can he fulfil his rightful role, or will his efforts prove fatal?
Meanwhile, among the arid plains of Egypt, in a long-forgotten city, one man is pitting himself against the beast inside him in order to find salvation, only to realise, so much more is at stake than his soul.
NOTES: This is an adult paranormal fantasy novel (at over 63,000 words) containing scenes of explicit sexual content and some violence, entwined with romantic elements. Written in British English.
Contents
Recap: Werewolf Biology and Other Terms
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About The Author
A Brief Recap of Werewolf Biology and Other Terms.
Werewolves are a natural animal-human hybrid of unknown origin. Generally, werewolves are born, not created. However, 1 in 10,000 human males bitten by a werewolf on the night of a full moon will become genetically altered and turn into a werewolf. Women cannot be turned in this way.
Hunted by humans over the centuries, and more recently, Tridents, they are now on the verge of extinction. Although werewolves can be killed by most means, it is very difficult to do so. They heal quickly. Silver is their one weakness and acts as a potent poison when ingested or injected into their system.
Mating
Werewolves have no say in who their mates are. There is, traditionally, one mate of the opposite sex for each wolf. Who their mate is, is determined by DNA compatibility. This is mostly discovered through scent.
Male wolves must find their mates by the age of forty or their cells deteriorate and they die, and the age is exact.
Female wolves must find their mates by their mid-twenties (the age is less exact) or they will also suffer from cell deterioration and die.
Both genders suffer from intense mating pains every lunar cycle, peaking at the full moon, until they are able to mate. Mating creates longevity for each wolf, and both are subsequently able to live for up to three hundred years, although because of societal and environmental dangers, most will not live beyond one hundred.
Mating can only occur on the night of a full moon, during an electrical thunderstorm, the lightning acting as some sort of charge that binds both mates' genes.
Once mated, breeding (impregnation) can take place at any time, and is very easily achieved.
'Bonding' is separate to mating, although the two terms are often used interchangeably. It can happen at any time between two wolves, after they have mated. Whereas mating cements their biology, bonding is a more personal act that seems to be triggered by 'feelings'. Most wolves never bond.
Shifting
Male werewolves are able to shift into their wolf forms from birth.
Female werewolves can not shift until their first change. Their first change can only occur one lunar month after the mating takes place, their body needing that time to fully accept and integrate the genetic alteration.
Storm-wielders
A female werewolf with the ability to manifest and draw down a storm, including lightning. The male can also carry the gene, but it is not active within them. Extremely rare, storm-wielders have become feared by packs worldwide since Tridents discovered of their existence and have been hunting them down, infiltrating and destroying packs in the process, in order to use them for their own mating and breeding needs. For decades they have been killed at birth, or banished, to ensure the pack's safety, but as a result, no one knows enough about storm-wielders. There is no known research on them. It is rumoured that their unusual gene also demands that they take three males as mates instead of one. This rumour adds fuel to the fear surrounding them, most wolves believing that where a storm-wielder exists, two other female wolves will die from having their [potential] mates taken from them.
Tridents
A Trident; plural, Tridents, or 'The Trident' when referring to their entire species as a group. A 'medical experiment gone wrong', Dr Evan Trident, obsessed with werewolves, succeeded in creating his own breed of 'werewolves' from human beings in 1789, by combining their genes with that of the werewolf and using the newly discovered lightning rod to activate the merged cells. Tridents are monsters of the werewolf world and have become their number one enemy. They look more beast than wolf and are ruled by primal, animal needs and savage instincts. Although they can be killed by most means, it is very difficult to do so. Nectar from the Datura flower is their one weakness and acts as a potent poison when ingested or injected into their system.
Tridents rarely find their mates, but when they do, it is usually in a human who they will then turn into a Trident.
Unmated, Tridents only live for five years. Mating brings them longevity in the same way it does for werewolves.
Tridents cannot breed, but increase their numbers by using the same method that Dr Trident used to turn humans into Tridents.
Operiphur
A pungent liquid used by b
oth werewolves and Tridents, that when adorned or released into the atmosphere, acts as a shield for all other scents. It is often used to cover tracks and hide scents that can be used to identify a werewolf, person or object. It is expensive and used sparingly.
Dedication
To all those with the courage to open the door…
no matter where it might lead.
“Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”
Mahatma Gandhi
Heart Of The Wolf
Prologue
He retched.
Retched into the gag – the only thing trapping his soul in his body at this precise moment, he was sure.
His sister screamed to his left, the shriek of it deafening, and expressing everything he could not.
The roar of a chainsaw filled the room, but nothing was louder than his heart pounding in his ears – only marginally greater than the high pitch of metal meeting bone.
And the sound of everything he was, being ripped to shreds.
Lydia's eyes flew open, already wet from tears she had shed in her sleep. If she'd made any noise on waking, Ryan hadn't heard it. He lay to her right, snoring in slumber; one protective, heavy arm slung across her abdomen.
“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. These weren't dreams – they were memories. Lawrence's memories cascading through her system because his blood also did.
Brendan's lifeless face embedded itself in her mind's eye, and Lawrence's historic pain imprinted itself on the rest of her.
On instinct, she wiggled her toes and cried more silent tears when she could feel them.
Christ.
It had been four days. Four days since all manner of shit had hit the fan – since she'd found Brendan dead and mutilated, his legs sawn off in a show of dominance and warning to the pack, and particularly, to Lawrence. On his own property.
Everything had been said in one brutal act: We know who you are; we know where you live, and we know about your storm-wielder… We're coming to get you.
Her stomach churned in a wave of combined nausea and exhaustion.
Lydia wriggled herself out from under Ryan's arm.
She froze when he mumbled something incoherent, his voice thick with sleep, and then his arm was around her waist once more as he effortlessly yanked her back into his embrace, still asleep, and spooned her into the curve of his muscled torso.
She caught her breath at the feel of his prominent cock pressed firmly against her rear, her arousal already blooming under the demand of the nearly full moon.
But she couldn't wipe away the memory that had woken her.
Another twenty seconds and Ryan was snoring again.
In one fluid movement – her lithe body and timing still pretty damn impeccable from her early years dancing – she lifted his arm, rolled out from under it, and brought down her pillow, angling it where her body had been, before jumping lightly out of bed.
More sluggish words; a possessive squeeze and rub of the pillow and … snoring.
She smiled, despite herself, and blew her mate a kiss. It's a good job you're mean as fuck when you're awake, because if anyone saw you right now…
Grabbing her vest and kickers, she slipped out the bedroom and into the hallway before putting them on. The moon lit the hardwood floor through the window.
She couldn't sleep now – hadn't been able to sleep for four days without tortuous visions invading her, and, where Lawrence's memories were concerned, torturous feelings. She hadn't mentioned it to him – that she relived the memory of his demise. She wondered if he knew; after all, he knew that his blood flowed through her. Maybe it came with the package: shared blood, shared pain.
Stepping lightly, she approached the stairs, then hesitated, looking up towards the third floor. Lawrence slept on the third floor, and she'd never once been in his bedroom. His door was always shut. Did he sleep with his prosthetics on? Surely not.
A part of her, right in the centre of her navel, pulled her in that direction; yet, another part – also from her navel – called her down the stairs and out the front door.
She couldn't deal with the complexity that was Lawrence right now, and that made up her mind for her. She padded down the stairs on her bare, human feet, quietly opened the front door, and breathed in deep when she stepped outside. The fresh, woodland air was welcome, but the beams from the moon – one day from being full – were not. It bathed her in a silver haze that had lust careening sharply through her body. Her skin prickled where beads of pheromone-coated sweat seeped out of her pores; her breathing grew shallow as she tried to control the flushes traversing her.
Led by that aching tug in her navel, she ventured towards the pine trees that lined the woods, acutely aware that she was inflamed and wet between her legs, every stride she took grazing her against the cotton of her underwear … and it felt like the moonlight grazed her everywhere else.
A half-whimper, half-moan left her as she swayed slightly from what felt like a head-rush, her hand coming out to find purchase against a tree.
She collapsed against it, her breasts sensitised to the feel of the bark against them; that tug in her navel now the wrong side of painful.
Arching her back, she rubbed her swollen clit against the pine, or tried to – she couldn't quite reach the spot… Damn it!
Her navel throbbed.
His name left her lips in a whispered plea … “Taylor…” Where was he?
Blood rushed through her ears sounding like the ocean. Her red hair matted against her face with her drenched skin.
A rustle to her left.
She moaned in relief and anticipation.
Taylor emerged in wolf form – golden brown and glorious.
The past four days, when everything had fallen apart, Taylor had been her balance – no, he'd been the group's balance. Something small, but noticeable had changed within him since the fiasco with Sarah and his last visit to his old house: there was more of an ease about him. He could often be found in wolf form now, seeming to prefer it even to some extent. And while Ryan had been preoccupied with strategies to keep the pack safe, and Lawrence had been blowing his usual hot and cold with her, Taylor had been her stability. Some part of him had made peace with itself, and it put her at peace when she was with him.
She turned to face him, swivelling so her back was now against the bark, her legs shaking with expectation, barely able to hold her up.
He trotted towards her with no hesitation, his green wolf eyes, bright, and fixed on hers. With his muzzle he tapped the inside of her leg and she opened for him; grabbed his fur as he sniffed her crotch, taking in her scent. He licked the insides of her thighs, slick with her need, and when his nose bumped the seat of her underwear, it was just about all she could take. A “please” tumbled out of her, and the next thing she knew, nimble fingers were bringing her pale blue briefs down.
A human Taylor knelt at her feet, eyes wild with fire, fangs bared in desire.
Since the murder, the heat, fuelled by the moon, had been building between them. Nevertheless, Taylor had kept his distance, allowing her to mourn; allowing Ryan to fulfil his role as the Alpha, and Ryan had completely possessed her in a bid to protect and comfort her.
Four days ago, the four of them had shared one moment of intense healing – sexual, yet purifying – bringing them all closer together. Since then, with their union established, albeit still on shaky ground, Ryan had been the only wolf to lavish her body with his own, offering her assuage when her grief threatened to overflow. Taylor had stepped aside, and Lawrence had retreated into the background, perhaps to nurse his own wounds.
But a storm-wielder bound to three mates needed more, or so it seemed – she needed to feel the union of the quartet, and it was getting harder to ignore by the second, but first…
She needed Taylor.
Teeth scraped her sensitive clitoris, the
tip of his tongue sliding the length of her sex, and she threw her head back, crying out with abandon as she gripped his hair, so near to the edge already … for days…
Her legs were lifted over his shoulders, her back pressed harder into the tree trunk as he supported her with hands against her backside, thumbs sliding up her soaking slit, opening her further…
He drove his tongue inside her.
God help her, that was all it took. She came with a shriek, more animal than human, holding Taylor fast to her as she writhed against his lips. A quick glance down through heavy lids caught the way his stubbled jaw moved – open, close, open, close – lapping up her release, and she was already spiralling at what the sight did to her.
Thunder sounded overhead.
Inside her, the wolf howled. It was so near the surface… One more night!
She was swung through the air, Taylor's mouth still on her, until he brought her down and she landed with a small thud on her back; the grass beneath her soft and slightly dewy.
