Cry of the Wolf (24 page)

Tears choked the back of her throat as she sobbed through her gag.

The chainsaw was held against the middle of her right thigh … and then slowly pushed down.

She braced herself for the agony, but was catapulted backwards through some kind of dream space and all too quickly found herself staring at what she knew lay in the back of her truck, still covered.

Even in her dream she couldn’t stop herself from pulling back that tarpaulin.

The scream bubbled up inside her as she looked upon Brendan’s mutilated body once more, every horrific detail scarred into her mind forever. But no scream escaped her this time.

They’d cut off his legs.

The limbs lay next to him by his left side.

Could you puke in a dream? She was going to puke.

The world spun fast; something rustled behind her… The beautiful, white wolf with long fur that hung like silk, sat at her feet. She’d almost killed him, hadn’t she? He’d laid down his life for her. But something looked … wrong. Very wrong… She couldn’t place her finger on what
—

“Lydia.”

Something … no, some
one
stroked her arms. Was she cold? She wasn’t sure, but the stroking felt wonderfully warm.

“You’re thrashing, honey, wake up.”

“Mmmm…”

“That’s it…”

“Talyor?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’re back?” she mumbled, drugged from sleep and exhaustion … and the deep, deep ache of loss that felt too familiar.

“I was a dick. I’m sorry – I should never have taken off like that. I’m back now. I’m here, and I’m staying.”

She peeled her eyes open and realised they’d been crusted shut. She’d been crying in her sleep. “What…”

“It’s lunch time. You’ve been out of it for a few hours. The police wanted to talk to you, but we pretty much rallied them out of here for now.”

Police?

Oh, god.

Brendan.

Some things should be forgotten. If Amnesthipine was offered to her right this second, she wouldn’t hesitate to take it. “Taylor…” His name broke in the air as her sorrow and the horror of what she’d seen strangled her with its lucidity. Did every single detail have to be so brutally etched into her mind?

“I know, I know…” He rose off the side of the bed where he was perched, lifted the covers and slid in next to her. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“What happened? Who would do such a … a…”

“Tridents.”

“But why?
Why?
He didn’t know anything. I never told him … oh, god. It’s me. They did it to get to me, didn’t they?”

“Sshhhh … we don’t know anything yet.”

“They must know I’m a storm-wielder.”

“Lydia, we’re all still investigating—”

“I killed him.”

“That’s daft.”

“No, it’s true. Lawrence tried to warn me to stay away, that I was putting him in danger, and I didn’t listen.”

“Please stop. Don’t do this to yourself.”

She wondered how she was still talking with all the tears streaming down her face, but she was a babbling mess. “Did you see what they did to his legs?” she choked out.

Taylor’s face hardened and he looked grim. “I did. And this isn’t your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“Why would they
do
that?”

He sighed, looking defeated, some burdening thought playing out behind his eyes.

“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

He shook his head. “Ryan came back a few hours ago. He’s with Lawrence.”

She frowned. “Okay.” Was that an answer she was supposed to understand or was he trying to change the subject? “Is Lawrence all right? I almost hit him with…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“He’s not hurt.”

“He shifted.”

“Yeah.” There was an edge to his voice, and abruptly, everything fell into place with vertiginous speed.

He always keeps his trousers on…

The bespoke motorcycle with the grooves in the seat…

He never shifts…

The stunning white wolf, sat at her feet…

I’m no good for you … I’m about as damaged as they come…

The chainsaw…

He never runs with the pack…

“Because he can’t,” she whispered.

“What did you say?”

She stared at Taylor, realisation flooding her system the way Lawrence’s blood did – that hadn’t been her dream; it had been his memory. “He doesn’t run, because he can’t. I don’t believe it.” She bolted out of bed and made for the door.

~*~

It had been years since he’d felt this cold. Not just cold – desolate.

Not even Ryan hurtling out strategies and debating the next move could fire him up. The vision of Brendan’s fate burned into his mind and he felt it all the way down to his…
Fuck.
“I was going to tell her last night.”

Ryan stopped mid-speech. “Going to tell who, what?”

“Lydia. About what happened to me.”

“Good. She should know.”

“Except I didn’t because of the Trident showing up and Taylor tearing off … and now it’s too late.”

“It happened twenty years ago. One more day doesn’t make it too late.”

He slumped forward in his chair. “I was ready to forfeit a mate, you know that. The way I forfeited my Alpha status to you. This is why. What happened this morning is
exactly
why—”

“What the fuck were you going to do? Hide in your study forever? Live the rest of your life out pretending it never happened? It’s not up to you if, when, where or how you find your mate – as proven. You’ve spent two decades secreting yourself away so The Trident would forget who you are, told nobody about your demise – your disability – all so you could keep the pack safe, and it’s worked, but now what? You’re trapped because of your silence. And now they know. Somehow, The Trident know about you. It’s time to come out of hiding.”

Lawrence looked at the wolf who had saved his life all that time ago. It had been too late for his sister, but Ryan hadn’t given up on him. He could have. He could have left him for dead. A rogue at the time, Ryan had found him, killed The Tridents single-handedly and dragged him, bloodied, beaten and ruined, to the derelict building he’d been squatting in. He’d fed him, nursed him, bandaged all that was left of him, and watched him fall apart over the years as he struggled to exist as half a man; as half a wolf. Why? Because of the Gunvald name. Because in werewolf society, Gunvald meant royalty and you were loyal to your crown.

Well, the Gunvald name had all but died that day, his entire family wiped out. He was the last. “Why did you save me?”

Ryan growled at him, his face growing thunderous. “Don’t you start with that self-pity bullshit again. I’ve spent half of my life listening to it; I won’t listen to it any more.”

His anger coiled. “It’s not self-pity, it’s my damned reality. I put everyone in more danger by existing. I’d have been better off—”

“If you say it, I’ll knock you into a whole new reality,” he warned.

Lawrence squared his jaw stubbornly. “I’d have been better off dead.”

In a move that would have put the Incredible Hulk to shame, Ryan lifted Lawrence’s desk and hurled it half way across the study.

“Hey!” Lawrence jumped to his feet, but Ryan shoved him in the chest, hard, and he went flying back down towards his chair. The chair went backwards with him in it. “
Shit!
Are you insane?”

“You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered.

Lawrence rose to his knees – bearable if necessary, but never a comfortable position for him at the best of times – and only then did he realise Ryan was rummaging through his weapons cupboard. The Alpha emerged with a sledgehammer.

What the—

With a kick he didn’t see coming, Ryan sent him tumbling back down again, then planted a foot on his diaphragm, pinning him down and winding him.

The wolf in him rose, but he battled it back down. “I know what you’re doing. I won’t shift. I won’t.”

“You don’t know shit.” He swung the sledgehammer and brought it down across Lawrence’s shins.

“FUCK …
FUCK!
”

He didn’t realise he was screaming until the odd sound of shattering plastics, metals and carbon fibre, reached his ears. Bits of prosthetic limbs flew out the legs of his trousers as Ryan smacked the hammer down again. It didn’t matter that he had nine more pairs of state-of-the-art, designer legs in his wardrobe – the action took him back to his torture and near death at the age of seventeen.

He’d poured himself into leading a normal life since then, mostly so he’d have something to focus on other than the constant replays of his decimation … and that of his sister’s. He’d trained with the best Paralympic coaches, the world’s leading amputee physiologists; he’d invested in the most technologically advanced prosthetics available, partaking in the trials of bionic mechanisms and microchip technology, even collating his own team of scientific designers and prosthetists to invent new artificial components; anything that could be moulded to suit him – to better him in his condition – was: his motorcycle, his living quarters, his wardrobe… But one irreversible fact always remained to torment him every month. Everything he could reinvent for himself as a human, he could not do for his wolf. A man could run on mechanical legs – a wolf could not.

“You think this is what makes you?” bellowed Ryan as he brought the weapon down one more time.

“
Stop!”
Both his trouser legs lay flat against the floor now, although the leather was coming apart and the floor itself might have to be fixed.

Ryan swung the hammer around again, and this time when he dropped it, it fell straight towards Lawrence’s chest.

With a yell, Lawrence grabbed the top of the handle in both fury and terror, stopping it just centimetres from crushing his heart.

“
This
is what makes you.” Ryan let the hammer go and Lawrence fell back to the ground, clutching the thing to his chest and panting a mile a minute. “You didn’t lift a finger when I went for your legs.” He picked up the desk that he’d chucked and settled it back onto its feet, then headed towards the door, his anger still palpable in his stride. “Guess your heart means something to you after all.”

The door banged shut.

He lay there half in shock for another minute.

So, maybe telling Ryan he’d have been better of dead hadn’t been such a bright idea.

Nutter.

Can you blame him? You just told him everything he did to save you, that everything he’s done for the past twenty years, has been worthless too
, scolded his wolf.

Crap. He
hated
being scolded by his wolf. No, he didn’t blame Ryan, and he knew Ryan wouldn’t hold it against him either. The next time they saw each other, the impulsive Alpha would just carry on jovially as if he hadn’t just brought the last two decades crashing down all over his greatest weakness.

Finally dropping the hammer, he reached down and undid his trousers, then sat up and pulled them down until they slid past the ends of his thighs and crumpled on the floor with his damaged prosthetics. The layers of sleeves that the legs attached to remained clothed on his residual limbs. He slid those off too and for the first time in years, looked at his … stumps.
Really
looked.

It could have been worse, couldn’t it?
voiced his wolf.
We’ve come a long way…
‘We’. His wolf had not abandoned him, even though he’d tried so hard to abandon the animal.

Did he really wish he was dead? Ryan wasn’t worthless, by any stretch of the imagination.

That sort of means you’re not either then, doesn’t it?

The door flung open and Lydia rushed in with Taylor at her heels, eyes streaming, face flushed… She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes dropping to where his legs should be.

Taylor’s followed suit.

Nothing moved in the room.

Ryan was right. His heart did mean something to him after all, because it broke right then when her expression turned to one of horror as she backed up against the wall.

“Lydia,” he said, his voice distraught. It would have been nice if it had been steady; manly … if he could feel sure of himself in any small way. Instead, he couldn’t be more vulnerable if he tried. This was him, stripped to the core.

She let out a strangled noise that spoke volumes, but it was her eyes that gave her away. He knew what she was seeing when she looked at him. She saw Brendan.