Heart Of The Wolf (Eye Of The Storm #3)

by Dianna Hardy

  “I'll have to leave the pack. If they find out what I did…”

  Gladys practically snarled. “Follow the instructions and no one will ever be any the wiser. They'll conclude that his straying is an anomaly of the four-way mating, after all, wolves aren't supposed to have three mates. The Trident are the only ones with access to this formula – it's a secret. Tell no one. Make sure Taylor is unconscious when you inject him. When he wakes up it will be done – he'll only have eyes for you.”

  She shook herself out of that past conversation, her heart thumping erratically.

  Don't do this, whimpered her wolf, and really, she was getting fed up of the animal's righteous attitude. She shut the wolf out and picked up the single strand of hair that she had pulled from Taylor's head earlier when he had hugged her – he hadn't even noticed.

  She tied it around the neck of the potion bottle, just about managing to put a knot in it, for safe keeping.

  The full moon would rise at 8:03 p.m. She had about seven hours left to change her mind, otherwise she'd be performing the 'spell' just before the meeting – the meeting where everyone would be whispering about her; the meeting she couldn't get out of.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  Her chest took the brunt of the weight as she remembered Stephen's departure and his final words to her; tears threatened once more…

  She'd have to go in fearful and grieving to mask any scent of a lie – it's not like she had no reason to be afraid or sad with everything that had happened this morning. And Taylor would understand her emotions – he would stick up for her.

  Her gaze landed on his strand of hair and she smiled. He calmed her in so many ways. Forget the meeting – what she needed to focus on was the end goal.

  That's all you have to do, and your wolf will be yours – forever.

  ~*~

  So maybe he'd exaggerated. Two minutes felt like forever underwater and he'd only counted fifty seconds.

  Amil pushed away from the wall of the well and shot upwards to the surface, gasping for breath as he broke through it. “Fuck!” he yelled out, raggedly, pissed off at his pathetic lungs, then cringed as his voice reverberated all around him.

  Great idea, idiot – let everyone know you're down here.

  Maybe he had counted the number of stones wrong.

  No. Seventy-five stones down, facing directly east, and then three to the right. He'd taken great care with his numbers.

  Again.

  He breathed in and plunged down once more, letting his fingers trace the brick-shaped stones and going as fast as he dared. One minute to reach the right stone, then one minute left to unlock the door… That is, if his lungs didn't collapse on him first.

  He'd packed lightly, but his rucksack really needed to weigh less right this second.

  There.

  And this time, he'd gotten it right. The tips of his fingers probed the small rectangular hole in the stone that wasn't a stone, as his chest began to burn with the need for air.

  As quickly as he could, which was never quick enough when submerged in water, he pulled the ankh off from around his neck.

  Panic grabbed him when he thought he'd lost the hole, but then his fingers were running over it again, and he lined up the end of the ankh with it, gave it a push and a wiggle, push and wiggle … shit, I need to fucking breathe! … and the key slammed home. Holding the loop of the ancient symbol, he twisted it to the right, put his whole body against the wall and pushed forward with everything he had.

  He'd expected this to be the hardest part, with the weight of the water against him, but the wall shifted with ease and the next thing he knew, both the water and him were surging out the other side – downwards – like he was at the bloody water park, careening down a slide.

  He greedily took in oxygen as soon as the water left his face, and he was still speeding downwards on a torrent, not even able to feel the rock of the tunnel beneath him.

  Everything ended abruptly and at once.

  His feet found the ground before any other part of him, way too fast for any kind of safe landing, and he bounced, catapulted through the air, somersaulting into … he had no idea what, but he hoped it wasn't concussion.

  Amil landed heavily on his chest, the wind knocked out of him; wheezing and face down in lush, green grass.

  Fuzzy, bright dots swam in front of his eyes, and for a moment, he thought he was going to pass out. Christ, he couldn't feel his body.

  But he didn't pass out. His vision cleared, giving way to a pair of sandaled feet just a yard in front of him. He tried to look up; tried to move his head, but all he accomplished was a groan of defeat as his body pin-pricked back into sensation.

  Oh, now I'm going to pass out.

  Dear god, he felt bruised all over. Had he broken bones?

  That was his last thought before blackness engulfed him.

  Chapter Seven

  This isn't real. It isn't real…

  But that was definitely her in a wedding gown, glowing like all brides do, and smiling adoringly at a man with gorgeous green eyes and a smile that lit up his entire face. A kind face. A handsome face.

  Beth was steaming to her left as she also took in the wedding photos before her from Holly's album. “What do you take us for?” Her voice shook with anger. “What the fuck is your problem? What are you trying to prove? That you're a Photoshop whiz?”

  “These aren't Photoshopped,” Holly snapped back. “Look at them – they're my photos, taken the way I always take photos, with my Canon SLR and then developed the old-fashioned way onto chloride-free, resin-coated photographic paper. Get some expert to hold them under a microscope if you like – no one's this good at Photoshop! For god's sake, Sarah,” she said, turning back to her, “this was your wedding. My 'fucking problem' is you two going around pretending like it never happened.”

  This is what Holly had gone to her mum's for: to pick up the album.

  Sarah turned another page, and Beth and herself stared out of it; Beth, her Matron of Honour. The light from what looked like a pale morning sun, emphasised the blue of her eye shadow in the very corner of her left eye, the tips of her eyelashes also catching the rays and sparkling with the … silver mascara? … that she wore. But Holly had always been good at capturing the light with the camera for as long as she'd known her. And she'd never altered a single one of her photographs to her knowledge – took pride in the fact that she hadn't and wouldn't – she just discarded the ones that weren't any good. In fact, Sarah had often said she should have been a photographer, not a fashion designer, but Holly was Holly, and photography, although it always calmed her from her usual, high maintenance self, had never caught her passion the way that fashion did.

  “No, these aren't Photoshopped,” whispered Sarah, her voice sounding like it came from a million miles away.

  Holly threw up her hands in relief, or despair – or both. “Finally!”

  Sarah's legs gave way and she fell heavily onto her sofa, her mind unable to let go of the image of those happy, green eyes.

  Holly promptly moved the album onto the floor and shuffled up to give her room, and then she took Sarah's hand. “I get that whatever happened between you and Taylor caused you a whole load of pain and hurt and agony – I mean, you two did everything together; you were best friends – but it's time to face up to it and let it go.”

  Beth snorted from the middle of the room and glared at Holly. “You're not buying this shit, are you?”

  Holly glared back. “You can shut the fuck right up. You've always been callous, Bethany Michaels, but I never took you for an underhanded bitch.”

  And Sarah's living room turned into a wrestling ring.

  Beth came at Holly.

  Holly stood to face her, not backing down for an instant; neither of them showing any signs of maturity or sense.

  “Guys!” Sarah yelled, to no avail.

  Beth shrieked as Holly yanked her hair, and Holly yelped when Beth pinched her hard on the … oh, for fu
ck's sake – her boob. She'd actually gone for the boob!

  “Enough!” Sarah threw herself at them, somehow managing to get between them both, and forced them apart, to either side of her, with one arm each. “I'll disown you both if you don't quit it!”

  Amid frenzied huffing and puffing, her two best friends showed some form of restraint, Beth clutching her head and Holly clutching her chest. But the glaring didn't let up.

  “Right,” she grabbed Beth's arm and steered her to the single sofa chair on the far side of the room. “Sit!” She tugged her downwards and Beth complied. “Stay. And you…” She gestured for Holly to sit in the middle of the main sofa where Sarah had been just a minute ago.

  She took her seat.

  “Good.” Sarah stood in the centre of the room, fidgeting with both nerves and anger and, deep down, just a little bit of fear – that familiar, irrational fear that crept up when she thought about broken down cars. “Holly, I accept that those photos are real. What I don't get is how they're real.”

  Holly went to speak, but Sarah held her palm up sharply and she stopped short.

  “You have to understand something, and this is something I need you to accept: Beth and I have no recollection of those photos, of my wedding, or of Taylor. That's the part I don't get. That's the part that makes everything seem like you're making the whole thing up which,” she added quickly, “I know you're not.”

  “You do?” retorted Beth.

  “I said enough!”

  And Beth paled slightly and shrank back in her chair, because Sarah almost never got angry, and right at this moment it wasn't just palpable, it was an emotion she was willing to indulge until her living room was once more the sanctuary it had always been to her. She didn't have many possessions in life, but she had her home, it was her safe haven, and it was going to stay that way, thank you very much. If anyone wanted to piss all over it with their childish tantrums, they would have to deal with exactly what that brought out in her.

  In the silence that ensued, Beth picked at her fingernails, refusing to look at anyone, and Holly frowned, deep in thought. She was the first to speak. “So … you really don't remember anything? Neither of you? Really, truly?”

  “Really, truly.”

  “You don't remember Taylor at all? Nothing about him? Not one, little bit?”

  “No. Nothing, although … I phoned the number that you had for him, and a Taylor answered and,” she had to repress a shiver, “he knew my name.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Holly, “because he's real and he remembers you. Both of you. He told me when I called him that he had an affair with Beth and that was why you two go around pretending he doesn't exist, and pretending it never happened – so you can still be friends with each other or something. I didn't really get it.”

  “I would never do that to Sarah,” said Beth, hurt riding on her anger.

  “I didn't think so either, which is why I'm so furious with you … was… I tried to call Taylor again when I arrived in the UK to get the story straight, because the more I thought about it, the more what he said made no sense, but his number's been disconnected or something.”

  This time, Sarah couldn't stop the shiver. “It was dead when I phoned back the second time, too. So, what's going on?”

  Blank stares passed between them all.

  “Sarah,” pressed Holly, “I swear this all happened. You met him in our last year of uni, you got married after just a year 'cause you knew you were it for each other; you were happy, Taylor was a honey and you were both together for … it will be six years in September since your first date.”

  Inexplicably, tears gathered in her eyes. She glanced down at the wedding photos and tried to blink them away, unsuccessfully. “Then why can't I remember him?”

  “That's the million dollar question. Maybe you hit your head. It's like he's been knocked straight out of your mind, or something. Haven't you found any evidence of his existence in this place? You shared this house together, you know.”

  “We did?” Somehow, that shocked her more than her alleged marriage.

  “Yes. And haven't you wondered why your surname is Harper, and how his name is Taylor Harper on your marriage certificate?”

  “I … I don't have a marriage certificate. I mean, I have deed poll certificates upstairs in the filing cabinet showing that I changed my name to Harper.”

  “And is that something you remember doing? Changing your name by deed poll?”

  Her breath caught in her throat, and that fainting feeling swam around her head again. “No,” she confessed, her tone hushed, “I don't remember that.”

  Beth and Holly both stared at her, Beth now looking as confused as her, and Holly looking hopeful.

  “I just … I just assumed there must be a good reason why I had. I've never … shit … I've never had a reason to really sit down and think about it before, you know? I don't remember getting my name changed, or … oh, my god! What's my real name?”

  “It's okay.” Holly rose from the sofa and came towards her, tentatively touching her arm in comfort. “Your birth name was Allen – Sarah Allen – before you married Taylor.”

  “My family's name is Allen – my mum, dad and sister. Why have I never stopped to wonder why I don't have the same surname as them?”

  “Because you never knew anything was wrong with the life that you have. And something is really wrong here, Sarah. Someone's fucking with you, and it's freaking me out thinking about it.”

  “It's freaking you out? My parents … do they remember the wedding?”

  “There's only one way to find out,” added Beth, rising from her chair and bringing her mobile phone out of her pocket. “Let's give them a call.”

  ~*~

  The shrill sound of Lydia's phone ringing brought her out of her deep thoughts. The police were finally leaving, all three of her mates practically barging them out the door… And they were worried about her overreacting. She felt emotionally drained, but relieved that the interrogation was over – at least for now.

  She had had to speak to them alone after all, accompanied by the lawyer, but it wasn't half as bad as she had feared. The questions were probing – questions about her and Brendan's relationship – which she had been expecting, but since she had nothing to hide, answering them had come easily and she had divulged pretty much everything, including their 'friends with benefits' agreement. The hardest question to answer, she concluded with the grimace, had been the one about why she'd had so many packs of condoms in her rucksack at the time of visiting Brendan.

  Lovely.

  “How many 'benefits' do you receive exactly?” one the officers had asked, without a hint of remorse at his snarkiness.

  Wonderful.

  “They were buy one, get one free,” had been her pointed reply. Completely true, as the receipt proved, and it had shut him up, and earned her a small smile from policeman number two.

  Now, she was going to have to deal with all the questions she was no doubt going to get from her males, because there was no way they hadn't been listening in on the conversation with their super-sharp hearing.

  And her dad was phoning her.

  She cursed under her breath, wondering whether to answer it, or ignore him. She hadn't spoken to him at all since she'd discovered she was a werewolf a month ago, and she didn't know what the fuck to say to him. But then, did she really want to face him tomorrow without having some clue as to how that meeting would go?

  With another muttered expletive, she pressed the answer button and held the phone up to her ear. “Dad.”

  A pause at the other end as he gathered himself. Maybe he hadn't expected her to pick up. “Lydia.” His voice crumbled a little over her name and an unexpected surge of tears shot to her eyes. “Baby girl … how are you?”

  'Baby girl?' Sod it, that was the most endearing term he'd used for her since she could remember. How was she? How did she answer that? “Mated.”

  “Right. Of course. I wanted to … see h
ow you are – your first full moon since… I've been worried.”

  “Are you kidding me? My whole life you tell me nothing about what I really am, and now you're worried?”

  “I had my reaso—”

  “It's too little, too late, don't you think?”

  A sigh. “Hear me out, Lydia, please.”

  God, she was tired, and upset, and angry. “Tomorrow. That's what tomorrow's for, right? I'll see you then.”

  She hung up, half of her wishing she hadn't and half of her never wanting to see him again.

  “Heya, darlin'.”

  She looked up to find Ryan filling the doorway, concern and what looked like love in his eyes. For a minute her heart stopped. It reached out to him just as it had in their shared dreams – in the dreams where he had loved her over and over again; where he'd said it every time. She hadn't heard him say it in real life – not once in the last four weeks – and all the sudden, she realised how much she missed their dreams; the safety of them; the comfort of them.

  She promptly burst into tears, sinking her head into her hands and dropping her stupid mobile onto the floor, her dad's voice still in her ears.

  “Sweetheart…” He sat next to her on the large footstool and cradled her as she tried to pull herself together.

  “I'm sorry, I'm… Everything's just happening all at once.”

  “No need to apologise. Life's a bit like that right now.” His voice was strained and a sense of uneasiness invaded her.

  “Where's Lawrence and Taylor?”

  “They're around. I needed to talk to you alone for a minute.”

  Alarm bells sounded and she whipped her head up to make sure he was listening to her. “Is it about the condoms? I was going to talk to you about that. It's just … I know you're all about the breeding, but seriously, I've only been a werewolf for a month – not even a proper werewolf since I haven't changed yet – and I don't know if a hoard of babies, or puppies, is really on my life plan right now, and if we all have longevity now we're mated, then waiting a bit before starting a family's not such a big deal, right? I mean—”