Heart Of The Wolf (7 page)

Sarah sighed
and placed down the wedding dress she was in the middle of making.
Holly was due in an hour. She had initially said she'd be down
yesterday, but then had had to make a stop at her mum's first. She
had ended up spending the night in her old family home in Norfolk
and was making her way down today instead. “Look, maybe you
shouldn't be here when she turns up.”

“Like hell am
I leaving you alone with her – you might catch whatever she's
got.”

Despite
herself, she smiled. “You think it's a virus?”

“That affects
the brain.”

“The
Taylor-Virus?”

“Undoubtedly.
Taylor this, Taylor that, Taylor your husband, Taylor the cheater,
Taylor the new strain of mad cow disease.”

“You think she
ate bad beef?”

They both
stared at each other in silence, then burst into fits of
giggles.

“Oh, shit,
Sarah…” Beth wiped at her eyes. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry… God, she
just gets me so furious.” And then Sarah was swept up into Beth's
arms. “You
do
know, right? I would never in a million years
have an affair with anyone you're with.
Ever.
”

Sarah squeezed
her in return, and then they parted. “Of course I do. Whatever trip
Holly's on, please try to remember she's 'Holly'. She's always been
a little bit kooky.”

“If this is a
little bit kooky, I'd hate to see her if she was ever
certified.”

“Ugh.” Sarah
shivered. “Don't say stuff like that. Wouldn't that be the most
horrendous thing? To have dementia, or amnesia, or some kind of
illness that affects your mind like that? I can't imagine anything
worse.”

“It's okay –
I'm sure Holly's just normal-crazy.”

Sarah shot her
a look.

Beth smiled
widely, then said in all seriousness, “Please let me stay. I'll be
good, I promise.”

“You and her
have always bickered.”

“I'll keep my
big trap shut.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I will! I
really,
really
will. Come on, she's got stuff to say about
me and I want her to say it to my face.”

She stared at
Beth.

Beth put on
her best 'good girl' look, and Sarah tried not to smile. That look
had fooled her parents on many an occasion when they were around
five. She could see right through it having known it all her life,
but that made it no less endearing. “Fine,” she conceded. “I can
tell I'm going to regret this.”

“Thank you!”
sang out Beth in triumph, clearly knowing she'd get her way, and
then she plonked herself down on Sarah's sofa.

Sarah didn't
mind. Truth was, she was glad to have Beth here, because the whole
Taylor issue kind of freaked her out. It wasn't that Holly was
convinced that she'd been married to a man called Taylor and that
Beth had had an affair with him. It wasn't that neither of them had
ever even known a 'Taylor', let alone married one. It was that she
had phoned the number for Taylor that Holly had given her, and the
man at the other end had known her name was Sarah. Since then, the
number had been disconnected.

If Holly was
playing some kind of weird joke on them, it would be the first, and
way out of character for her. She had no time for practical jokes;
she was more likely to be swanning off to some luxurious fashion
event on the arm of some gay friend or her very rich fiancé.

The whole
thing was very mysterious and a little bit creepy, and had her
feeling like she was in an episode of Colombo. Bring on the dead
bodies.

She shivered
again.
Or not.

“So … how are
you holding up?”

“What do you
mean?”

“Don't play
dumb with me. I'm talking about Adonis.”

Ahhh. Her
heart tightened in her chest, more painfully than she'd like. What
a reaction to a man she hadn't even known for a month. “Amil texted
a couple of days ago to say he got there safely – he promised he
would.”

Pause.

“And?”

“And?” Did
they have to talk about this?
Right. Does Beth ever stop
talking?
She sighed again. “And I haven't heard from him since.
He said I wouldn't.”

“That's
it?”

“What else is
there?”

“The fact that
he's an arsehole?”

“Beth,” she
warned with a frown. Yes, Beth was blunt. Yes, she always forgave
her. But when her personal territory got trampled on, Sarah got as
annoyed as the next person.

“He got into
your kickers and then he left. Can you say, douche bag?”

“It wasn't
like that.”

“That's what
men like him want you to think.”

“Beth, I'm
telling you it wasn't like that.”

“Then what was
it like, because you haven't mentioned a word about it since he
left, but you've been mooching for him ever since.”

“I have not
been mooching!”

She nodded.
“Like an unwanted vagabond that's been tossed aside and doesn't
know where to go next. Did he take your sense of direction when he
left?”

“Beth!” Her
eyes prickled.
Shit! Do. Not. Cry.

Beth suddenly
saw her face, oblivious to her own callousness as fucking always,
and all at once looked crestfallen. “Fuck, I'm sorry. I
do
have a big mouth. You really did have a thing for him, didn't
you?”

Sarah shook
her head, not wanting to speak.

“Do you still
think you loved him – I mean, love him – even though you only knew
him three weeks?”

She shook her
head again, and made her way back to her dress. “I
don't
want to talk about it.” She picked up the needle and thread, but
her hands were shaking.
Concentrate, Sarah…

Nope. The
needle went straight into flesh. “Ouch! Damn it!”

The drop of
blood fell on the wedding dress and her tears fell down her cheeks.
“It's ruined!”

“No, it's
not.” Beth jumped to her feet looking really optimistic in a
slightly manic way. She hated it when Sarah got upset, and Sarah
knew this – she'd always been the calm one, despite her tendency
towards timidity. When chaos ensued, Beth lost her head while Sarah
kept hers.

Except where
broken down cars, wild dogs and Amil are involved.

Ugh. Her head
did actually feel like a jumbled mess right now.

Beth continued
to flap around her. “I'm going to make us tea and you're going to
fix it because you're the best … clothes-making-person in the
world.”

“Seamstress.”

“That too, and
you designed it in the first place, so you can…” she gestured with
her hands, “you know.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

Sarah blinked
back more tears. Of course she could fix it. This was just a
prototype she was hoping to pitch to the industry, not a
commissioned piece for someone.

She'd
completely overreacted.

What a ditz.
And there I go reprimanding Beth for not keeping her cool.

Nevertheless,
that red stain winked at her like a bleeding star in some ghostly
sky.

Blood on a
wedding dress.

She couldn't
shake the feeling it was a really bad omen.

~*~

“Gone?”
repeated Gabriel, his tone deathly quiet as it almost always
was.

He was
speaking to one of his Tridents on the phone – Chris, or Carl, or
Carlos or whatever the fuck his name was. He never remembered most
of their names, but he knew every single one of their personal
scents. He'd ordered this guy on an errand to trace Amil – a
Trident whose name he unfortunately
did
remember because the
deserter had just caused him a shitload of grief, and he was
certain Amil
had
deserted. When he'd last spoken to him,
he'd been acting shifty, and far too aware of things that Tridents
had no business being aware of. Tridents were for following
instructions and being useful. You collared them and you commanded
them, and when they were good, you rewarded them with treats, such
as sex and killing, to temper their base desires and keep them
under control. The most intelligent ones, like himself, and Loretta
before him, made it past the drones to the top of the pack. But
Amil … he'd had a way about him, as if he'd thought himself above
them all.

“Yes, his
hotel says he checked out four days ago, and his own apartment was
mostly untouched, but the essentials were gone.”

“Essentials?”

“Er …
toothbrush, toothpaste, razor…”

Gabriel
grunted. Yeah, he was right about him. Tridents had no essentials –
certainly personal hygiene was not on their list of priorities.
Whereas most humans lost their individuality, right along with
their humanity, when they became Tridents, Amil had clearly
retained a sense of his. He wondered why the fuck that was – what
made him so special that he could bypass the laws of genetics … Dr
Trident's laws anyway…

“Fine.
Chris
—
”

“Carlos.”

“I don't care
what your name is. I want you back here straight away with whatever
other information you've managed to find. I'm in a meeting right
now, but after that I'll be putting my efforts into tracking that
son-of-a-bitch down.”

“Yes,
sir.”

He hung up and
turned his attention back to the old woman who occupied the chair
opposite him.

“Trouble in
the ranks?” she asked, not looking in the least bit like she cared
about the answer.

“Not for
long.”

“Good, because
your efforts need to be on the pack in Surrey and Lawrence Gunvald.
Once he is gone, all the werewolf packs across Europe will be
deflated and easier to attack if you time it right.”

Gabriel sat
back in his chair and steepled his fingers. This woman intrigued
him. Old people were frail, yet he had the feeling that if he
suddenly lunged at her with teeth bared, she'd find a way to knock
them out of him. Part of him itched to try it, but he hadn't made
it to the top of the heap by being a slave to his every impulse. “I
don't understand how one individual can have such an impact upon an
entire species.”

“It's not the
individual, it's what the individual represents. Do not
underestimate the power of hierarchy among werewolves – it's even
more cherished than among Tridents. The Gunvald family name gives
werewolves meaning and purpose by its reputation alone – it makes
them feel … worthy – closer to humanity and farther from the beasts
they really are. Lawrence Gunvald is the very last of the royal
line. Destroy the name, and you destroy hope.”

The faint tang
of obsession crept up Gabriel's nose. Oh, this woman – Gladys?
Gloria? – she was most definitely obsessed. She had never divulged
exactly what her gripe was with the werewolves, but he scented
revenge, hatred and the obsessiveness to see both those urges
through. She had been the one to approach The Trident – brave, if
not stupid, and she most definitely was not stupid – with the offer
of insider information in exchange for the thorough extermination
of this Lawrence Gunvald.

He had been in
the room when Loretta had turned down her offer; had been on the
verge of ripping her throat out and she had not even flinched, but
had proceeded, in a startlingly ruthless manner, to tell them all
about the storm-wielder that would take Gunvald as her mate. How
the
hell
she'd known that, had been the second thing that
had halted their killing of her – not even werewolves could predict
who their own mates would be. The
first
thing to stop them
in their tracks had been the mention of the storm-wielder.

Well …
storm-wielders were priceless: guaranteed breeding for a pack. The
Trident could do with one of those, and Loretta could go to hell,
because if
he
was the one to provide the storm-wielder, all
Tridents across the country would follow
his
rule – he'd be
pack master of them all. Better still, he had the formula needed to
alter her DNA and enforce a mating with her, ensuring everyone
feared him as much as they would fear her. The only problem?
Loretta had fucked up, letting her own need for mating get in the
way of the crucial goal: never send a bitch off to do a dog's work.
She had let Ryan, the Alpha of the pack they were trying to
infiltrate to get to the royal line, slip right through her
fingers. The only good thing to have come out of the whole mess was
Loretta's untimely death – good for him, anyway. But it was too
late to catch the storm-wielder for himself because she had mated –
not just to Lawrence, but to
three
wolves.

That
,
the old woman had not foreseen, but she shrugged it off as a mild
irritation any time he mentioned it … like now.

“Even if I
kill the wolf-king for you, his storm-wielder has two other mates
to protect her. You get your way and I get nothing.”

“I have an
insider taking care of that small inconvenience. The storm-wielder
will not be mated for long.”

He looked at
her, incredulously. “You can't 'unmate' someone. It's not
possible.”

Her lips
twisted, cruelly, which he was sure would have gotten him hard had
she been sixty years or so younger. “The problem with the path of
science, which both Tridents and werewolves hold in such high
regard, is that it is restrictive; so rigid. You refuse to think
anything could be possible if you don't understand how it works.
You have your ways, Gabriel, and I have mine.”

Some
mysterious and sinister power flashed in the very depth of her
eyes. It prickled his skin with unfamiliar fear, and … fuck, he did
get a little hard.

She stood,
abruptly, but confidently, and leaning heavily on her cane.
“Tonight, the moon will be full and your beasts will be thirsting
for flesh. Lydia will be unmated before the moon reaches its peak,
you have my word. And then, she's all yours as long as you keep
your end of the bargain and destroy Lawrence Gunvald.”