Heart Of The Wolf (5 page)

She ran.

Maybe she
should stay, but she knew her dad wouldn't harm his only son. Teach
him a lesson, yes, but actually harm him? No.

So she
ran.

The wind dried
her tears from her cheeks as the wood sped past her on both sides,
a blurry mass of greens and brown.

She ran and
wondered how she was going to look Stephen in the eye again, or if
she was going to feel safe sleeping in her own bed.

She ran, and
suddenly realised she was heading towards the small clearing in
which she'd dumped Lydia's truck with Brendan's body in the
back.

No – don't go
back there.

She ran,
veering to the right and hurtled straight into Ryan.

“Hey!
Selena…”

She tried to
scramble past him, still fuelled by panic, but trying to get past
Ryan was kinda like trying to climb over the Great Wall of
China.

“Stop. What
happened?”

Yet another
growl erupted from her, this one triggered by her earlier fear,
humiliation rising at the thought of having to explain.

Stupid girl!
You don't growl at your Alpha.

Ryan literally
barked her down, one loud and clear warning, despite the fact that
he was in human form.

She jumped out
of her skin at the impact of it, and then her knees started to
shake.

“It's okay.
Ryan…” That was Taylor.

She turned in
the direction of his voice.

He came
towards them quickly, his eyes shooting back and forth between
herself and Ryan; caring eyes, reading between the lines – so
unlike the other wolves. Maybe that's why she'd fallen for him.

He placed a
hand on Ryan's shoulder for the briefest of seconds in an attempt
to relax him, and for that brief second, Selena asked herself, once
more, how he got away with the things that he did. Any other male
approaching –
touching
– an Alpha in attack mode would have
had that hand ripped off.

“She's
scared,” he said, softly. “She's scared.”

And then his
scent crashed down on her like an avalanche.

He's
bonded.

Oh, fuck.

He'd bonded
with the bitch, not just mated with her. The 'mating' was the
crucial bit that ensured you were physically linked with your mate
and shared longevity – it saved your life, and it could only take
place during a full moon thunderstorm. But the
bonding
…
that could happen at any time and it was the only choice a werewolf
was given. It took place between mates – no thunderstorm necessary
– the minute they accepted each other into the joined lives that
destiny (or genetics) had chosen for them; the minute they opened
their souls to it … their hearts.

Most wolves
never bonded.

The bitch had
bonded with all three of them.

Selena reeled
back from him.

Knowing it was
her –
Lydia
– that she could smell on him, turned their
united scent into a stench. She felt sick. And she could still
smell Stephen on herself.

Taylor looked
at her in question.

Her eyes
welled up again, but she couldn't tell if it was owing to her
embarrassment, her hurt, her anger or the destructive jealousy that
rampaged through her.

“Selena,” said
Ryan, his words still holding an element of danger. Her name was an
unequivocal demand for her full attention.

She forced the
pieces of herself back together and, with difficulty, met Ryan's
gaze. She could do this – she could say the words. Especially if it
took her mind off Taylor and Lydia's consummation.

Her stomach
churned.

“It's because
of the full moon,” she stammered out. “And everyone's afraid and
desperate for…”
Sod it.
“Stephen forced himself on me. My
father stopped him. I ran out while they were brawling.” Heat
flamed her face, and she looked down.

She was
surprised at Ryan's softened tone when he next spoke. “Taylor, take
Selena to the mansion. Keep her there for now, away from the other
males. Selena…”

She glanced up
at him once more, although his form was blurry behind her hot
tears.

“Leave Stephen
to me.”

She opened her
mouth to protest, knowing she shouldn't, but damn it, he was still
her brother.

Ryan cut her
short. “I'll confer with Richard on how to proceed with him.”

She nodded in
relief. That would have to do. Her father's input would mean
Stephen wouldn't be banished from the pack. “It's the full moon,”
she repeated. “There are so few unmated wolves now and—”

Ryan growled,
all rock hard again. “He shouldn't have done what he did. He
compares himself to Alphas, yet he has no control. An Alpha needs
to own his impulses. Taylor…”

“Come on,”
said Taylor, gently, and held out his hand to her with a smile.

She returned
his smile, but didn't take the hand he offered – couldn't with
Lydia's aroma all over him.

He dropped his
arm, confusion lighting his eyes, and then gestured for her to
follow him as he led them to Lawrence's house.

She did follow
him, turning back once to find Ryan already fifty feet away and
heading straight to her home.

It dawned on
her like the rays of the sun: she'd just found the perfect reason
to skip the meeting tonight … if she could just appeal to Ryan's
more humane side.

She swivelled
back to Taylor, taking in the beauty of his physique through those
goddamn ugly overalls, and then ran the few steps it took to catch
up with him.

Chapter Two

The shower
should have helped, and it had for all of two minutes, but the heat
taking over her system – which she was now sure must be more to do
with her emerging wolf than the full moon on its own – was
crippling.

This is
beyond ridiculous
, thought Lydia as she made her way to
Lawrence's study.
It's getting to be worse then last month.
Although this time, thank god, there was no wrenching pain in her
chest – that had been unbearable. This was unbearable in a
completely different way. In the
I-need-to-hump-everything-in-sight-ten-times-over-
right-now
-or-I'm-going-to-burn-alive
kind of way. There'd been lots of that feeling last month too, but
this month, it seemed to be magnified by not having the mating
pains tearing her heart apart.

And again, one
step forward, two steps back.

She gritted
her teeth as she passed the stairs. There were four floors in this
place: the ground floor was comprised of two receptions rooms, a
kitchen with a breakfast area and adjoining stone pantry down
another few steps, a living room (somehow different to reception
rooms, but she was damned if she could figure out how) a garden
room, a utility room and a WC.

The first
floor had Lawrence's study, Taylor's bedroom and a billiard room.
She'd only ever heard of a billiard room in that game, Cluedo, and
she wasn't a hundred percent sure what billiards was (some sort of
game, like snooker?) but Professor Plum was always killed in there
with a knife, so it couldn't be good.

She was
currently standing at the top of the stairs on the second floor.
This is where her own room was, and also Ryan's bedroom as well as
a guest bathroom that Taylor used.

Lastly, the
third floor is where Lawrence's bedroom was, and it took up the
entire third floor as far as she knew.

Where she
stood now, she could smell everything that made up Lawrence wafting
down towards her from his floor. It almost undid her on the spot.
She knew he was in his study, but the urge to run up to his room
and … and … she didn't know exactly what, was virtually painful to
ignore. But ignore it she did.

She muffled a
growl as she tore herself away from his scent and … well, headed
down the stairs towards … his scent. But they were two different
scents: his bedroom one and his office one. His office one was all
'work aroma', and she knew it well. The bedroom one was… She
groaned as her underwear grew warm – thank heavens for the airiness
of dresses. That bedroom scent was
real
Lawrence. She'd only
caught a glimpse of who real Lawrence was, and she was craving more
– no,
desperate
for more. If what she could smell was
anything to go by – a deep, woody, musky spice, with a hint of
'lake', or stream or something…

She was
panting by the time she reached his study.

Not good,
Lydia. For fuck's sake, control yourself! He's. Just. A male.

Yeah, right.
Her inner-wolf was already on her back, exposing her belly and
writhing around on that musk of his the way cats roll all over
catnip.
Fuck it.
She knocked on the door.

“Come.”

Yeah, she was
close.

Arrgh!
She shook her heard and called upon 'human Lydia', trying to
picture herself the right side of sane, and then opened the door
with the biggest 'I'm fine' smile she could manage plastered on her
face.

Lawrence
looked up and stilled. “Er … are you all right?”

So maybe the
smile was on the manic side of sane.

I am not
all right – I'm a walking orgasm!
“I'm great.”

He put down
whatever pile of papers he was sifting through, assessing her, and
then nodded for her to close the door behind her, which she
did.

She kept her
eyes on the floor, taking in the great big dents in it from where
Ryan had pulverised the lower half of Lawrence's body just four
days ago to prove a point.

“I wanted to
go through things with you, about the meetings today with both the
police and the pack.”

Okay, formal
stuff. Awesome. I can handle that. Formal stuff is boring. It does
not lead to thinking about sex. Absolutely not.

“Erm … so … I
made some notes that I thought … er … do you want to come
closer?”

She was still
standing glued against the back of the door, eyes on the ground.
“Oh, right. Okay.”

She didn't
move, but she did manage to lift her gaze.

Lawrence
raised his beautifully arched white-blond eyebrows, waiting, and
the wolf inside her did the same in what could only be a dare. Why
did her she-wolf like to torture her?

Fuck his
scent. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. And fuck the way he looks – so
fucking cool and perfect and in control and … god damn it, all
white-gold masculinity
. Slowly, she put one foot in front of
the other, feeling like some kind of borderline crazy nymphomaniac,
and approached the desk that Lawrence was perched at the edge of,
his torso looking defined through his plain white shirt, his grey
trousers hugging his arse where he sat, and his legs, which weren't
really legs, dangling over the edge and looking just as good as the
rest of him. And it was his legs she concentrated on, because the
many questions they brought up for her, coupled with visions of his
memories that flashed through her mind, dulled the agonising,
sexual ache in her enough for her to be able to focus. Thank
god.

It was funny
how she'd never noticed the ever so slight
precision
to the
way he walked before. It almost
was
unnoticeable. It's only
now that she knew the truth about him that she could see his stride
was not one hundred percent fluid. She knew his artificial limbs,
of which he had many pairs that all functioned differently, were
made from state of the art prosthetics – he paid for his own team
of scientists and designers for Pete's sake – but god … he must
have practised relentlessly to hide his disability from everyone.
That, and the fact that he simply didn't mingle with the other
wolves – not enough for them to take note of anything unusual about
his gait.

When she
finally hit the edge of the desk, a few inches to his side, she
looked up at him again, dragging her eyes away from his limbs.

His returning
gaze had altered from slightly bemused to hard as ice.

Shit! No,
it's not what you think – that's not why I'm staring at them!
She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but he cut her short.

“I've hired a
lawyer to be with us when the police are here. You'll never be
questioned on your own. Ideally, I'd like all of us in the room –
Ryan, Taylor and myself – but if they ask us to leave, Mr Garrison
will stay with you. If there's anything you shouldn't answer, he'll
let you know right away. The rest of us have already spoken to the
police separately.” His tone softened a shade, although his gaze
remained just as cold. “They wanted to take you down the station –
we put out all the stops to make sure they questioned you here.
We've done our best to buy you the time you needed before you saw
them.”

“Thank you,”
she squeaked, and wondered why the hell her voice had all but
disappeared. But it wouldn't be the first time she found herself
speechless around Lawrence. It seemed all she ever managed when
with him were angry words or no words at all. She'd like to find
some kind of middle ground. The only two tender, warm moments they
had shared had both been initiated by him, one of those tender
moments only presenting itself after a maelstrom of rage from them
both. And she had caved. Of course she had caved, and it wasn't
just owing to the fact that she was his mate – it was because she
wanted
to be his mate. She was starting to realise that.
Yeah, they had all found themselves thrown into a foursome – a fact
which they had no control over and couldn't undo – but hey-ho,
she'd never been one to wallow in things she couldn't change. It
was better to focus on making the best out of shitty situations,
and most of the time that wasn't too much of a problem. She just
shut away any feelings of anger and hurt and got on with it –
humour helped too. There was simply no benefit for
anyone
in
her exposing all her frayed feelings in a vulnerable mess.