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

by Dianna Hardy

  She caught the shake of Beth's head from her left. “We're not going back yet – we need answers. And if anyone throws a hissy fit because we're traipsing through their land, we'll just have to explain politely, but firmly, that we need to see them, that it's important, and there was no other way to do it.”

  “Can't we get shot for being here without permission?”

  “Sarah,” Beth rolled her eyes. “That's dogs. Farmers are allowed to shoot dogs if they trespass on their land – not people. We don't shoot people in this country.”

  “But what if they're psychos or something! Maybe it's inaccessible for a reason; maybe they're dealing in illegal stuff and we're just about to blow their cover. They're probably hiding drugs or something.”

  “They're hiding your husband,” Holly retorted.

  “There's someone there.” Beth held her right arm out in front of them to halt them.

  They all looked up to see a tall figure about a hundred yards away stepping out from behind a tree.

  The urge to scream was all Sarah could feel in her throat … and the weirdest feeling of déjà vu, like she'd been here before or something.

  “What the hell is wrong with his face?” whispered Holly.

  Sarah slapped her on the arm.

  “Ow!”

  “He'll hear you!”

  “He's really far away, and I was whispering, for god's sake, not even a microphone would have picked that up.”

  Beth started forward. “Let's go introduce ourselves.”

  “Are you insane?” Sarah squeaked.

  “Er … no. This is what we came here for.”

  “But he's—”

  “He's just a man. Sarah, what's wrong with you? You're usually the sensible one with her head screwed on.”

  She had no idea what the matter was. She'd been skittish ever since they'd parked up. How had she ever thought this would be a good idea?

  “Just let me do the talking,” reassured Beth, which was hardly a soothing thought – Beth and talking were never a good combination.

  She crossed her arms, suddenly cold despite the warm evening sun, and followed Beth.

  Holly, to her right, linked her arm through hers. “Relax. She's right – this is what we came here for.”

  Sarah nodded, still unable to get rid of that ache in her throat that had sprung up when she'd held back her scream. She fixed her eyes on the stranger as they approached him, and couldn't look away. He was mesmerising in all the wrong ways; for a start he seemed to be missing half a face, and that instantly made her think of the wild dog that had attacked her at the theatre a few days back. But oddly, it wasn't that, alone, that made him mesmerising: it was everything else. His stare was dark – black eyes on a white marble face, framed by black hair – and only now, nearing him, could she actually see how tall he really was.

  Bloody hell! He had to be over six and half foot! And she had thought Amil was tall. This guy didn't have Amil's bulk, but he was clearly well-defined, and solid through and through. From what she could tell, his physique was all hard, lean muscle, and they were in so much shit if he was an axe-wielding murderer.

  From in front of her, Beth stretched her arm behind her back and formed an 'OK' sign with her fingers and thumb.

  No way! When they were horny teens, fantasising about who their next boyfriends should be, that had been their secret signal for 'he's hot'.

  Are you kidding me?! You think HE is hot?

  But she daren't rip into her for her shoddy taste in men, now that they were within hearing distance of said man.

  “Hi!” greeted Beth, all teeth and smiles.

  The man said nothing. In fact, he sort of did look like marble the way he was all staring and unmoving.

  Undeterred, Beth put her right hand out in greeting. “I'm Beth.”

  No response.

  Well, this was awkward.

  Holly gripped her arm a little tighter.

  After a longer pause than necessary, Sarah almost lunged forward to slap Beth upside her head when she stepped forward, took the might-be-a-murderer's hand in hers and shook it anyway.

  Holly's breath hitched in her ear. “That woman is so bull-headed,” she whispered. And honest-to-god, she couldn't figure out if the man looked amused or pissed off – his expression didn't give much away and it was hard to tell what expression it actually was with only half his face in working order.

  “Are you the owner here?” pressed Beth.

  He grunted – could have been a yes, could have been a no.

  It didn't faze her best friend. “Well, you need a clearer entrance. We've been wandering around for ages trying to find the main house. We're here to see Taylor Harper.”

  Those piercing, black eyes roamed over Sarah, then Holly, and then settled back on Beth.

  Sarah caught a faint blush creeping up the back of Beth's neck. Unbelievable. The absolute worst taste in men.

  Ever.

  “He expectin' ya?”

  He said what? His voice was so low, and kinda gravelly, she was only fifty percent sure she'd heard him right. Maybe whatever had happened to his face had ruined his vocal chords too.

  “Nope. Surprise visit.” Beth grinned again. That smile had simultaneously attracted and repulsed a whole army of men. Fierce was the word for it. Beth went into things – as proven exactly sixty seconds ago – with no holds barred. She was so completely full-on that most potential boyfriends fled before they got to know her. In her early twenties, she'd gone through a phase of intense dating, in which she'd lost a man every three days, for about a month. Out-of-character for Beth, she had sunk to a low after that, and Sarah had sat her down, with cocoa, and had had it out with her – brutal honesty, friend-to-friend. “You come on too strong,” she'd said. “You need to tone it down. Be subtle. Be … you know – a lady.”

  Right.

  Beth had listened.

  Beth had tried.

  It had lasted one week before she'd thrown off that mask, pulled herself together and decided any man too scared to get to know her could stay on the other side of town.

  Could-be-a-killer took a step closer, towering over her.

  Oh, my god. Sarah finally found her voice and piped up. “Of course, we'll leave whenever you like.”

  That earned her a stare from Beth. “After Taylor knows we're here.” She squared her shoulders and turned back to face him.

  “Bull-headed,” whispered Holly once more.

  The man suddenly looked up as if he'd heard something or seen something, or … smelled something? She could have sworn she'd just seen his nostrils flare, although, again, the slight movement was sort of obscured by his scarred face.

  “What is it?” she asked, not really meaning to speak, but that apprehension she'd been feeling this whole time had just shot up again.

  He didn't seem pleased. In fact, his entire self darkened with an equally dark look on his face, and Sarah had the insane impression he was about to turn into something … else. She shook the bizarre thought out of her head.

  “Trouble,” was the curt reply. “Come on.” He turned and walked deeper into the woods.

  The three of them stared at each other, unsure of what to do. “Where are we going?” Beth asked after him.

  “You wanted to see Taylor. Looks like you might get what you want.”

  Beth threw Sarah a triumphant smile and a thumbs up, then hurried after him.

  Sarah looked at Holly.

  Holly shrugged. “This is what we came here for.”

  Sarah sighed, wishing she was anywhere else on earth, and then followed Beth with Holly still glued to her side. “If it turns out I am married, when we finally get out of here, remind me to get a divorce.”

  ~*~

  “Wake up.”

  Amil groaned and tried to move. But maybe he'd drowned. Drowned down that well, because he wasn't even sure he was breathing. Movement seemed impossible.

  “You have to wake up.”

  A young voice.
A child's voice – too young to tell if it belonged to a boy or a girl.

  “This is what you came here for.”

  Five years old? Couldn't be much older.

  “Remember what you came here for.”

  He turned towards the voice – or tried – and perhaps he succeeded, because a wave of an aroma encircled him; enticed him and got him hard in an instant. Sarah.

  His hand travelled straight to his ridiculously painful erection, took hold of it and squeezed.

  “Oh, fuck that's good.”

  “No, no … that's the moon. Lunar. Lunacy. Illusion. Remember what you came here for.”

  The child's voice knocked him for six this time – broke through some barrier keeping him under the spell of slumber. There's a child right next to you, idiot!

  “Shit!” Probably not the best thing to say, but his exclamation threw him awake, ripping him out of his drugged state.

  Drugged! That Sekhmet-serving bitch!

  Awareness didn't creep up on him slowly – it hit him all at once. That woman had pounced on him (what had she done to him?), he was no longer in the stone chamber, but lying on sand, stark naked, close to climax with a fucking child next to him.

  With another curse, he rolled onto his front to hide his nudity. “I'm sorry,” he called out to the child, and then risked looking up so he or she might see his sincerity and not be frightened. “I'm sorry – I didn't mean to…”

  He was alone.

  That's not possible.

  He looked around him, but all he saw was desert floor reaching beyond his vision in every direction. There was nowhere for anyone to hide.

  “Hello?”

  He'd expected silence as his reply. What he got was a drawn-out moan of someone in pain … or ecstasy.

  This time, when he turned towards the sound, he spied a female body – adult, thank god – writhing on the ground, grains of sand glistening off her pale skin under the silver full moon. When had it become dark? And where, by all things holy, had she come from? Her hand was moving frantically between her legs, anything there he could see, also glistening, and that was all he could see from this angle: feet, legs and an inviting cunt.

  He growled with want, his teeth elongating, before he could stop himself. The need to shift and claim, pounced on him the way he wanted to pounce on that shapely form working itself into a frenzy. Oh … he could give her what she wanted – hard and fast, too.

  And he almost did.

  With the moonlight beating down on him .. and beating down and beating down … he almost threw away all he'd come here for. What stopped him was the sudden glimpse of her blonde hair, and something familiar about it.

  Oh, no … “Emily?”

  She turned her head at the sound of her name. Her hooded eyes – wanton, lust-filled – met his, and she opened her mouth in an 'O' that signalled her nearing state.

  Christ! He could feel his sperm surge to the tip of his cock.

  “Amil.” His name on her tongue, the word drenched in sex, was just about all he could take.

  Hold it together!

  He rose onto all fours and dug his hands and nails into the sand, as far down as he could, to keep from leaping over to her and embedding himself in her. It didn't help that he'd been somewhat attracted to her in the first place. And it really didn't help that he could see every fucking inch of her, open and slippery.

  “You promised you'd meet me.”

  Was it seven o'clock already? Wait … no … what was she doing here? This wasn't right…

  Her fingers slid over her swollen clit faster, her knees bending, her legs parting and widening to aid her in her goal. “You promised. Remember?”

  Dear god! He looked down so he wouldn't see her, although that didn't erase the musk of her need permeating the air, and his nose, his taste buds, his skin…

  He bucked his hips, unable to help it. His balls tightened.

  “Oh, god, Amil, please … you promised … remember?”

  Remember…

  Remember what you came here for.

  Upon the sand he fixed his gaze on, the moonlight drew his shadow. It wasn't the shadow of a monster, but of a man. He hadn't shifted yet – hadn't given in to the Trident that wanted to best him.

  Remember what you came here for.

  To beat the Trident.

  Remember what you came here for.

  For a second chance at life.

  Remember what you came here for.

  For wild, dark hair on creamy skin. For full breasts upon the gentle swell of a smooth stomach and strong, wide hips.

  Remember what you came here for.

  For her.

  The image of Sarah consumed his mind, and he let it … their last meeting. She'd been so brave, so trusting of him.

  It was odd how her face, her body, the memory of that final night, calmed him down and took the edge off his urge. It should have been the other way around and he couldn't make sense of it, but it was his heart that swelled, not his pulsing cock. It earthed him. And she smelled of earth, didn't she? Sarah was always an intoxicating blend of flowers and fresh rain; of the coolness of spring.

  Refusing to look up, he turned and fled, still on all fours, and that's when he realised that he had just shifted. He had shifted and remained in control.

  The man in him led the Trident's body.

  Although, he hadn't a clue where they were both going.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It had taken her ages to find Lawrence. When she had, he'd been standing outside the boarded up doorway of one of the dilapidated outbuildings next to house, staring off into the distance and seeing god knows what.

  When he'd heard her approach, he had turned to face her and the regret in his eyes had almost skewered her, but it hadn't been the time to talk about it – healing would have to wait.

  “Sarah's here with two other women. They're looking for Taylor. Pete's with them.”

  They hadn't wasted another second. They had raced to Lawrence's motorbike and were now hurtling their way through one of the narrow paths through the woods that led to where she said she'd heard Sarah.

  He slowed to a stop and Lydia leaned forward behind him so he'd catch her words over the sound of the engine. “I think it's further that way. I was near a huge patch of bluebells. I remember thinking this is the wrong season for them.”

  “I know where you mean. I can't go any further on the bike – the path ends. Come on.” He switched off the ignition and took himself off the seat. Lydia followed.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” he mumbled.

  “They must have found something to indicate her connection with Taylor. I heard them refer to him as her husband.”

  “Does he know she's here?”

  “I don't think so – I haven't seen him anywhere to tell him. I came straight to you.”

  He glanced at her quickly, an indecipherable question in his eyes, and then looked away as they hurried to reach their destination. “Did Pete say he'd stay with them?”

  “Er … he said they'd be safe until you got there.”

  Lawrence nodded. “Pete's good to his word.”

  “Really? 'Cause he looks kinda—”

  “He's proven himself time and time again within the pack; don't judge him by his looks.” And that had come out rather snappy.

  “Hey,” Lydia grabbed his arm, annoyed, and brought him to a halt as she swung him around to face her. “I wasn't judging, it was just an observation. It's not to do with how he looks – it's to do with his response to things and how he carries himself. Is that what you think I do? Base everything on looks?”

  Lawrence sighed. “Lydia, now's not the time to—”

  “No, it's not. But it's never going to be the time.”

  “Lydia—”

  “Do you think I only see your past when I look at you?”

  He faltered.

  “Well, do you?

  “I think it's obvious you're not comfortable with—”
/>   “The only thing I'm not comfortable with is the way you shut me out, over and over again. Let's get one thing straight: it wasn't me who mated you last month; we mated – you and me – it took two … or four, but you get the point. You have no idea what I'm comfortable with – none – because you've never once asked. Don't think you know me because we happen to be bonded. Newsflash: to know someone, you actually have to get to know them. Get it?” Damn it! How did he rile her up so much? She threw her arms up in frustration and turned away. “Let's go find Sarah.”

  “You used to dance.”

  She froze mid-stride. How the frig did he know that? She never talked about dancing.

  “You could have mentioned that to me, and I know Ryan told you a bit about who I used to be and my involvement with the theatre. You could have let me in, but you didn't.”

  “I don't—”

  “Talk about dancing. I know. You stopped as soon as your mother died.”

  It was suddenly way too hot. And cold. She hadn't even opened the door and he'd somehow found his way into her most private place. Ryan must have told him.

  “We need to go find Sarah,” she whispered.

  Lawrence approached her, and somehow, she couldn't move, even though half of her wanted to run a mile.

  “I know you a little, Lydia. Because we're not that different in some ways.” He came up behind her, not touching her at all, although she felt his breath in her hair when he spoke. “You saw me at my very worst a couple of hours ago. What I did was beyond shitty. I'm not proud of it, and I wish you knew how sorry I was. You're right – I hadn't let you in, but you found your way in anyway, and I was a jerk because of that – because you, standing in my past and future simultaneously, scared the living daylights out of me. I'm going to make it up to you, by the way. I'll earn your forgiveness. What I took from you – I'll find a way to give it back.”

  It was he who turned her this time, by the arm. “What you said about reliving my memories … it shouldn't have surprised me: I live some of yours too.”