Heart Of The Wolf (27 page)

He sighed at
her ministrations. “Hell, yes.”

“Good,” she
smiled. “Let me be a good queen.” Before he could stop her, she
sank under the surface, heading for gold.

His cock, now
fully erect, lay thick and long against his belly. Grabbing its
base, she sealed her mouth around the crown and worked her way
down.

He thrust
greedily into her mouth. She felt his fingers in her hair.

Holding onto
his hips for balance, she set to work, licking, sucking, letting
her teeth scrape the parts most sensitive, and relishing in
satisfaction every time his muscles betrayed his control, hardening
and quivering under her touch.

Her lungs were
starting to burn, but the salty taste if him set her alight.

Literally.

Her eyes
widened in surprise when she realised she was throwing off
lightning under the water. Was that even possible? The water
started to ripple all around her.

Lawrence
tugged on her hair, and she made her way back up, taking in a deep
breath on breaking through the surface.

She came up to
rain pelting her face and a clap of thunder.

“Jesus
Christ,” he drowned her mouth with his own, “you brought that storm
in fast.”

She wasn't
even aware that she had. Usually, there was a floating, out-of-body
sensation before she was able to do that – not this time. But the
hows and whys of it could wait, for a more primal urge was calling,
dominating all else.

She extended a
hand, tendrils all over it, and placed it over his heart, watching
in fascination as the lightning spread out and danced all over him.
I know what to do…

“Fuck, Lydia!”
His head fell back and he pressed himself against her. “That
feels…” The sentence ended on a long, deep moan.

“Inside me …
now.”

“Further along
the rock – there's a small ledge. I can rest on it.”

They pulled
themselves along until they found it. Most of the ledge still lay
under the water and it stuck out from the main rock, long and
narrow like a small bench. Lawrence hauled himself astride it,
supporting his back with the rock, and Lydia wasted no time in
hauling herself onto him. Her sex found his, both of them ready,
and she gasped.

“Wait…”

She growled.
Wrong thing to say.

He laughed,
then touched her face gently, “I brought condoms.”

Her cheeks
went red as embarrassment rose.

“Wait, no,
look at me – I'm serious. I know it's important to you, but they're
up on the bank. It won't take me long to—”

“We don't need
them.”

His eyes
widened, surprise lighting them, followed by concern. “Lydia—”

“Do you know
what that Trident wanted to do to me?”

Concern turned
to fury at her words – beautiful, awe-inspiring fury as his fangs
extended and his eyes glowed with the most iridescent white-blue
light; hot-white heat and ice-cold fire, all rolled into one. “Ryan
said he hadn't hurt you. He said he hadn't—”

“Sssshhh…” She
stroked her tongue over his lips, then over his fangs in a bid to
calm him. “He didn't get that far – you stopped him. But many
things fell into place for me last night. Maybe a wolf's first
change is about what changes inside too.”

Lydia took him
in, her eyes drinking up his regal beauty. “Did you know, that you
carry yourself like a king, even though you have nothing on which
to stand?”

Her words
clearly moved him. His teeth shrunk back a few millimetres, his
eyes shimmering as he looked at her in question.

“You had your
whole existence taken from you, the ground ripped from under your
feet – most people can only say that figuratively.

“A month ago,
you shared your blood with me and gave me life. I didn't know it at
the time. I had no idea what that meant, to me or you. Today, you
opened the door and gave me this.” She stroked his chest, above his
heart, her lightning still doing its magic as the rain fell on them
both. “And in so doing,” she took one of his hands and placed it
over her own heart, “you gave me mine back.

“You're a
conundrum, Lawrence Gunvald,” she smiled. “You're a sometimes-arse
who just keeps giving and giving, and not even realising that your
capable of giving. Ryan knows it, Taylor knows it, your pack knows
it.”

“Our pack,” he
whispered, still bewildered at her words.

“Our pack,”
she repeated. She ran a finger along his brow. “Our king.”

One upwards
movement and she had the tip of his cock nestled against her
centre; one downwards thrust and she was impaled by him.

He hissed as
she sank onto him, all the way down. “Lydia…” he growled out,
uncertainty still marring his tone.

God, it was
indescribable, the way he filled her; completed both her and the
animal within.

Her
family.

They were her
family.

And she had
the power to make it grow.

She ran her
fingers through his hair, and then grasped it when she began to
rock, back and forth.

He
groaned.

She rocked
harder; whispered into his ear, “Every king needs an heir.”

Inhibition
left him. He took her arms, pinned them right behind her back and
pulled her so she arched backwards. And the dancer in her smiled.
She went all the way down until her back hit the ledge, her face
just above the water. She couldn't move her hips much like this,
but Lawrence took over.

Gripping her
arms for purchase, he thrust into her, every grunt that left him
taking him deeper into her, and she bit her lip at the delicious
pain that pinched her insides – too slight to matter; enough to
rush her to the brink of her rapture.

His tongue
swept over her stomach, dipped into her belly button, flicked
across her breasts … he pulled her up slightly and found the side
of her neck.

He now brought
her arms out to the front again and placed them over his shoulders.
She clutched him as he held her fast around her hips, driving into
her ferociously now, with the force of his desire.

“Oh! God!”

I know what to
do.

She brought
down the storm.

Both angry and
passionate, destructive and protective, the maelstrom settled
around them, creating a whirlwind that cocooned them as they
reached for the sky.

Desperate
sighs and groans, and laments of want, added wind to the gale…

“
Lydia…
”

A plea like no
other; a plea for release, for escape, for freedom … and yet, for
the surety of home.

She screamed
his name.

Lightning
surged through her.

Lawrence
surged through her.

And on a cry
of surrender, she opened herself up to the storm.

Epilogue

“
I could not see, but now I do,” she
replied with her dying breath, “to have all of you, I must yield
all of me. Take my life, Himet. I trust you with it. I give it
freely.”

“Aunt
Gladys?”

Gladys gave
her head a shake, breaking out of her thoughts and put down her
book. “James. You off?” She turned her tired body around to face
him. Oh, to feel young again…

“Yes,” he
smiled. The daft fool was practically beaming, as if his betrayed
daughter would just forgive and forget; as if her three mates would
allow him any respite from the hurt he had caused her.

She glanced over at the answering machine, making sure the
green message light was definitely off. She had erased
that
little
inconvenience – no sense in making things easy for the bitch. The
farther away James stayed from her, the better, and Gladys had
encouraged their estrangement over the last ten years; had steered
it and added wind to the sails. She took pride in that
fact.

“Are you sure
you don't want to come?”

“Oh, no no no.
You and Lydia have much to discuss without me there. What are you
hoping will happen, James?”

“I just want
to get us back on the right foot with each other again. It's been
so long, in some ways I barely know her. I suppose I'd just like to
get to know her again, and take it from there. I've – uh … I've
already set some things in motion on that front.”

“Oh?”
And
what the bloody hell would that be?
He hadn't said anything
about that to her, and he usually told her everything … or she
snooped. Either way, she always knew what he was up to. The last
few days, however, she had had her work cut out for her keeping up
with the Tridents and with the pack in Surrey. She hadn't been
around as much, and clearly, this was the price.

He smiled,
giving nothing away, but looked too damn proud of himself for her
liking. A tall man, or wolf, he shared Lydia's red hair and her
smile. As a child, the trollop had been a right little Daddy's
girl. They had understood each other's humour and laughed at the
same jokes.

A rare, yet
familiar jealousy coursed through her, lasting only a second, but
still taking her somewhat by surprise. She'd thought herself too
old for that emotion – thought she'd conquered it with age and an
infinite about of bitterness.

As a boy, it
had been
her
who James had looked at adoringly; had come to
for guidance; had shared his day with. Then along came Christine
Herne with her blonde hair, perky breasts and violet eyes. And when
Gladys had discovered she was a storm-wielder… Good god. That was a
past she had never wanted to go down again, but Lydia had to ruin
all that, didn't she. She had to go and mate Lawrence Gunvald and
bring history alive.

“Don't forget
your tea.”

“Oh … right.”
He looked at the mug she had brewed for him, sitting on the dining
table, and then looked at his watch.

“It's still
steaming hot and I made it just the way you like it.”

Peeling his
eyes from the time, he picked up the mug and downed it in two
gulps, wincing slightly at the scolding heat. “What would I do
without you?” He strode to her side and gave her a peck on the
cheek. “I'll see you later. I'll let you know how it goes. Wish me
luck,” he grinned.

“Good luck,”
she called out after him.

He closed the
front door behind him.

After thirty
seconds, she heard the engine of his car start. She looked at her
own watch: two o'clock. It would take him two hours to get there,
give or take. The three drops of colloidal silver – or poison if
you were a werewolf – she'd put into his tea would work within half
an hour.

Somewhere
beneath the layers of hate she had cultured for decades, a glimmer
of sadness stirred. She did love her boy. Of course she did. But
everything was different now.

She went back
to her book, and opened the back cover from which she pulled out a
folded piece of paper that had belonged to the book that Erika
Gunvald – or Erika Bauer as she has known her – had cherished.
Yet, Erika had still torn the page out for
her.

“
This is
for you, Gladys. Take it.” Erika thrust the sheet of paper into her
palm. “Something for you to remember us by.”

More disturbed
by the memory than she'd care to admit, she put the folded paper
back, without opening it, and shut the book.

She frowned as
her thoughts moved on to Selena. Idiot child. What had happened?
Her task had not been difficult. No doubt she had let her emotions
get the better of her; had allowed them to engulf her mind so she
lost focus. And now she was stuck in second hell.

Never
mind.

Maybe it would
be good for her. The girl had a lot of hate brewing, but not
enough. Not enough to survive. Well, she would learn to hate now –
hate was the only hope she had of surviving Gabriel. Too bad her
clumsiness had cost Gladys her goal. Lydia was still mated and
Gunvald still breathed, and unless she was mistaken – unless the
leaves in her own tea cup were misleading her – there would soon be
a child on the way.

Her frown
deepened into a scowl. She had pulled out all the stops to thwart
the mating that she'd predicted last month – she had failed and had
been duped: she had not foreseen three mates.

Last night's
full moon had ended up a catastrophe, and Lydia had survived her
first change.

Three strikes
and you're out.

She had one
strike left: Gunvald's heir could not be born.

~*~

He'd been
walking – or staggering – for an age, for a year, for a decade, or
perhaps only for a day; he wasn't sure. The moon had risen and set,
at least twice; had left him weakened, for he had spurned his need
to release the beast within.

He had shifted
and run. Run from Emily, who he suspected might have been a trick;
a hallucination … although everything was starting to seem like a
hallucination now.

He had run and
only stopped when he had lost his breath, sweat seeping from every
pore, and now he wished he had taken it slower and retained that
water and salt – he could do with both. Urgently.

He had shed
the beast that first night and resolved to get the fuck out of
here, 'cause he clearly wasn't going to get what he came for.

But getting
out of here had proven to be way more tricky than he'd imagined.
He'd covered a lot of ground, but he was going around in circles.
There was nothing here but desert and it looked like the same
fucking desert, over and over again.

And his mouth
was as dry as the sand; his tongue had grown twice as big, his spit
had turned white and…

His legs gave
way and he fell. His face hit the sand and grains flew into his
mouth, not that he could really feel them because his mouth was as
dry as bone anyway.

This was
it.

His legs
wouldn't move to get him up again.