Heart Of The Wolf (20 page)

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.”

Shocked, she
met his gaze. “You do?”

He offered her
a small, crappy smile. “Yeah – it's part of the blood exchange. I
see you dance. I feel what it was like for you; how freeing it was
and it makes me want to see you dance again – I want that for you.
When you told me what memories of mine you have … fuck it, that
almost broke me – you got the raw end of the deal. I'd do anything
to take those away from y—”

“No.” Two
steps forward saw her lips crush his.

He seemed
briefly stunned at her actions, and then his hands were in her
hair, tilting her head back for a better angle while his tongue
explored every inch of her mouth – no rushing this time; no anger
or rage; no self-loathing or hesitation; no pulling away…

She moaned at
the feel of him. Consuming her. He'd once called her expressive.
Did he not know he was the same? His expressiveness was just hidden
under his history, that's all. She felt the brunt of it now –
always had, from the first moment he'd laid his piercing, pale eyes
on her.

“Don't take
them away,” she breathed into his kiss. “Explain them to me; talk
me through them. Show me how to heal from them.”

“I haven't
healed.”

“We'll heal
together.
This
is how you run with me.”

“Christ,
Lydia…” He stilled with her face in his hands.

“What? What is
it?”

“Where the
fuck did you come from? You're like the wish I never dared
voice.”

Oh, shit, she
couldn't help it – a giggle erupted from her.

His eyebrows
shot up.

She smacked
her lips shut tight in an attempt to suppress her laughter.

“Did I say
something funny?”

“No…”

“Are you lying
again?”

A chortle
hurtled out of her closed mouth and she tried to lower her head,
but he wasn't having any of that. His grip on her face remained
firm.

“Lydia Martin,
are you laughing at me?”

Her mouth
opened and a hoot went flying out.

“Does my
romantic side amuse you?”

“It's just …
oh, fuck, I'm sorry…”

He swiped at
her tears of laughter with his thumb, still bemused. “It's just
what?”

“I never
expected the … corny edge to the—”

“Oh, I'm corny
now?
Corny
? Well, I'm out of bloody practice.”

“I said, I'm
sorry.”

“You will be.”
A wicked glint in his eye she'd never seen there before turned his
words into a promise.

“What do you—”
That question ended, unfinished, on the hitch of her breath as
Lawrence slid his hand under her dress and up the back of her
thigh.

It settled
briefly on the curve of her smooth buttocks, and then carried on up
to the small of her back, finally wandering around her side and
stopping on the swell of her abdomen.

Jesus Christ …
she
burned
everywhere he made contact. “What are you doing?”
And for a second she wasn't sure she'd said that out loud, with her
throat feeling as tight as it did at his touch.

A smile slowly
crept over his face. “Making you sorry.”

He tickled
her.

She squealed
in surprise and tried to grab his arms to stop him, already
doubling over at the waist to avoid his playful attack.

It didn't
work. Her squeal turned into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
“Stop it – STOP IT!”

“Nope.”

She was spun
this way and that way as she tried to evade him. For a guy with no
legs he was pretty damn agile.

“
Stop!
”

“Nope.”

It was finally
she who stopped, the sudden realisation of what she was hearing
catching her off-guard and filling her with a kind of warmth that
was new.

“Hey … what is
it? I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No … I…” She
turned to face him fully, and he released his grip on her. Every
inch of her stilled and a strange, fulfilling calm washed over her
– his entire face was lit up. “You're laughing,” she said, quietly,
and then reached up to stroke his lips with a finger. “It's the
first time I've heard you laugh.”

But nothing
was funny anymore. Ridiculousness had been replaced with an
electricity that tinged the air, made up of every molecule that
stood between them. Heat rose, and it rose fast. His lips were on
hers again, teasing her mouth open; his fingers no longer tickling,
but stroking, purposefully, to ignite her fire.

“Lawrence…”

“Fuck, I need
you. I need to be inside you.” He took one of her hands and pressed
it right against his cock.

Her mind went
into overdrive at the feel of it filling her hand through his
pants.
Oh, god…
“Sarah … what about—”

“She can wait
– she's got Pete. She's in good hands.”

She rubbed him
hard through his trousers.

He growled
low, and a lazy smirk graced her features. “Do you want to be in
good hands too?”

The growl
became a groan of want. “That
mouth
of yours…” His thumb
pressed in the dip of her lower lip. “Do you want to know what I
want?” His irises flamed, and she was struck dumb at his beauty.
She'd always noticed he was a beautiful man – kinda hard not to –
but right now, it shone brighter than it had since she'd known
him.

Something's
changed. Something's changed since I walked out of his room…

She nodded,
barely breathing.

He caressed
her lip. “I want
this
wrapped around me.”

Up to that
point, she hadn't known it was possible for anyone's mouth to be
dry, yet pool with saliva, at the exact same time. She gulped back
her drool before she made herself look stupid.

“I want you to
taste me…”

Her tongue
came out of its own accord and licked her lips, and the tip of his
thumb…

“…go down on
me; suck me off, hard … think you can do that, baby?”

She answered
him with another loll of her tongue, lapping at this thumb again,
but this time, she drew the digit into her, curved her tongue
around it, let it settle on the groove of it, and then sucked as
hard as she imagined he'd like her to.

“
Jesus
Christ…
” He grabbed the back of her neck with his free hand.
“Just like that … god, just like that.”

Her hands
reached for his belt.

Gripping her
hair, he pushed her downwards, and why exactly this was so wildly
erotic, she hadn't a clue. Men in her past had squeezed in requests
for blow jobs during sex – it was nothing new – but not one of
those requests had had this affect on her.

She remembered
when she'd bumped into Lawrence in the hallway straight after her
three-day sleep as her body had started its transformation from
woman to werewolf. She had wanted to fall at his feet then.

Her knees met
the ground, his hand still clutching her hair. She fumbled with his
belt –
stupid belt –
and the heavier, more musky scent of
his arousal seeped into her, enticing a whimper from her. Her need
grew frantic.

The belt came
apart, and suddenly everything changed.

He pulled her
up with a hiss, and clamped a hand over her mouth; coiled sexual
energy morphing into urgency. “Sssshhhh.”

What
the
—

“We're not
alone.”

They both
froze in place, ears pricked, senses heightened…

His nostrils
flared, and at that same moment, she smelled it.
Uck!
Gross!
Whatever it was, it was foul and coming from some
distance away.

She wrinkled
her nose and he brought his hand down. “Operiphur,” he whispered in
her ear. “Someone's trying to hide their identity – I think we have
visitors. Listen carefully, I'm going to say this once: run
straight through the bluebell wood, due south, and then keep going
until you hit a hollow oak. Three yews stand around it – you'll
know it when you see it. Turn left there and carry on until you
come to a tall hedge, then go straight
through
the hedge.
There's an opening further up along it, but it's overgrown – you'll
have to search for it. You'll see a path through a field on the
other side. Follow it – it leads to a lake that looks like a
flooded quarry. You'll be at the very top of it and it's a hell of
a drop, so mind your footing. I'll meet you there.”

“What are you
going to do?”

“I need to see
who's here.”

“No, come with
me.”

“It's my
fucking land – I need to know.”

“Lawrence—”

“I'll stay
hidden. But I need to keep the pack safe, and I need to keep
you
safe. Now
go
.”

Shit!

Leaving him in
danger was like cutting her arm off.

“Wait for me
there –
that's
my safe place. I'll be there, Lydia.” And his
gaze held that promise.

That
disgusting stench of Operiphur was getting closer.

“You'd better
be.” She landed a last kiss on the crease of his mouth, before
wrenching herself away and taking off towards the bluebell wood as
fast as her legs would take her.

Chapter Fourteen

“So … do you
want a cup of tea, or something?” Selena glanced up at Taylor. He
looked more uncomfortable than she'd ever seen him.

“No, I'm good,
thanks. Listen, I'm just gonna check out the parameters of the
house; make sure no one's been hanging around. I have to head back
ASAP.”

She feigned
indifference. “Okay. Thanks, by the way.”

He smiled a
little. It didn't reach his eyes. “No problem.”

Taylor walked
back out the front door, and Selena wasted no time. She ran up the
stairs and into her room.

Yanking open
the drawer on her bedside table, she pulled out the potion bottle
with instructions, the syringe and the formula bottle. Fuck, her
hands were shaking – not helpful.

She had to
cover all bases and she had to do it fast.

She unscrewed
the top off the formula bottle, picked up the syringe, uncapped it,
held it into the liquid and filled it to 10 mls. Five for her, five
for Taylor.

After making
sure there were no air bubbles in it, she injected herself first,
up to the 5 ml mark – at least this meant she was ready. When the
thunderstorm came, and the potion had worked on Taylor, all she had
to do was inject what was left into him, and voilà – mating
accomplished.

Providing this
wasn't all just gobbledygook, of course, which a part of her still
felt it was. Desperation got you trusting in the craziest
things.

The grimaced
slightly at the feel of the liquid rushing into her veins.
What
did you expect? That forcing a mating would feel like being stroked
by feathers?