Releasing the Wolf (9 page)

Lawrence stared at him briefly, questions clearly in his eyes, then he nodded and stood. Whatever those questions, he wasn’t going to ask them now.

Taylor shifted into human form, and Lawrence began.

“I’ve found Ryan.”

A couple of gasps sounded and everyone held their breath, waiting for him to continue.

“At least, the vicinity that he’s in. There are a number of warehouses behind Walnut Tree Road, along the railway line, before you hit the university campus. That’s where I found this just an hour ago.” He held up a small piece of cloth, and Taylor’s stomach lurched because he could smell the blood on it – Ryan’s blood.

The fabric had clearly been ripped, but on purpose or by accident? The Trident’s sense of smell was almost as good as theirs. He doubted they would have missed it in error. “Lawrence, are you sure—”

“Yes. I ran it under a stereomicroscope – the way the threads bend on the tear suggests this was done over a week ago, not recently. The blood’s over a week old too. I don’t think they planted this for us to find … unless it’s something that’s been planned all along,” he sighed, “which is a possibility, I admit. I realise this isn’t foolproof – there’s a chance it’s a trap – but it’s the best thing we’ve got. It’s the
only
thing we’ve got.”

Taylor lowered his eyes in acquiescence. He was willing to take Lawrence’s word – he would have weighed his options with complete thoroughness. Almost nothing passed him by. All wolves, including their own pack, knew Ryan as the Alpha. They liked him, they missed him, and they only ever crossed him at the risk of broken bones – Ryan was virtually impossible to bring down; both in physical strength and in his mental outlook on life. Nevertheless, no one challenged Lawrence – ever – even if they didn’t fully understand why.

He passed the fabric around and everyone took in the scent.

“Marco. Bill.”

The two males that had remained in animal form now shifted and waited for their orders.

“Our females need looking after tonight. I need you both to stay here.” They nodded. “The rest of you … we’re going hunting. Be back here at ten to one. The pubs will have closed, but the nightclubs will still be going – the streets will be at their quietest. And prepare yourselves for battle. We’re not coming back without Ryan.”

~*~

Lydia felt much better on stepping out of the shower … except that the pain in her chest had come back – not as badly as before, but bad enough so she didn’t feel comfortable. But then she’d been mostly ill all week. Stupid for her to think that sex with some hot bloke, no matter how orgasmic, could get rid of her flu symptoms.

And even more stupid for her inner-voice to go suggesting it was because she’d washed Taylor’s scent off her. Or because she was a werewolf.

Ha. Yeah, let’s just forget
that
conversation ever happened, shall we?

Her intercom buzzed and she frowned. A quick glance at her bedside clock told her it was quarter to midnight. Holy hell, had she been in the shower for a whole hour?

Usually she wouldn’t be leaving the restaurant until about quarter to one, but Lisa had ordered her to go home, and to be honest, she hadn’t felt like sticking around with everyone staring at her in sympathy after her fiasco with Simon.

She picked up the handset of the intercom. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Let me up.”

Brendan.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“When someone calls me a dickhead for no apparent reason and without any given explanation, I like to know why.”

“It’s late.”

“And I’ll be gone in two minutes, but I think I deserve to know why you’re pissed at me.”

She huffed in exasperation. “Did you plan to have Taylor seduce me?”

“
What?
Who … you mean,
Taylor?
The Taylor we talked about this morning? What the fuck’s happened? Did he do something to you?”

She pinched her forehead in exhaustion. This was all starting to get confusing. “No … I mean … look, just come up, but you only get two minutes.”

She buzzed him in and hung up the receiver.

He must have taken the stairs three at a time, because he seemed to be at her front door before she could gather a thought. She waved him in and closed it.

He took in her washed hair and bathrobe, eyes lingering on the silver burns, now faded but still visible on areas of her skin. His jaw tightened. He plonked his motorcycle helmet down on her dresser. “You’re home early.”

Her tears sprang up out of nowhere, and her face crumpled.

Congratulations, Lydia, you are finally having a normal reaction.

“Hey,” said Brendan, gently pulling her into his arms, and she cried into his T-shirt as she battled the memory of Simon latched onto her neck; between her legs…
Oh, god
… how had it even happened? Oh, yeah … she had been undressing for that blond guy – Lawrence.

“I think, maybe, it was my fault…” she heaved out between her sobs.

“Jesus Christ, Lydia, tell me what happened.”

She huddled further into his chest, refusing to look up at him. “Simon attacked me. He tried to … you know.”

“The waiter?”

“The maître d’.”

“The wanker, you mean,” he belted out, his voice low with anger. “Did he…”

“No. Lawrence and Taylor were there. They stopped him. Turns out Lawrence owns the theatre.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, honey. And there’s no way it’s your fault – don’t even think it.”

“Oh, really? You know what I’m like. How much I like sex. Maybe I exuded some kind of—”

“Bullshit. You’re not responsible for what any idiot decides to do with his penis. You’re sexy, babe, but you ain’t all that.” He said it teasingly, but she didn’t miss the seriousness behind his light tone.

A smile broke through her tears, and she finally met his gaze.

“Really,” he repeated. “
Not
your fault. And you damn well know it – you’re smart like that.”

He looked like he really meant it. She felt a little better. “Thank you, Brendan. You’re a good friend.”

“Oh, yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “Not a dickhead, then?”

Oh, crap – she had called him that. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight after what Simon did, and…” And was she really going to tell him about how just a few moments later she had practically begged Taylor to fuck her? About the crazy werewolf conversation and how he’d changed into a dog?

Wolf
, corrected her mind.

Whatever. And no – she didn’t fancy going into all that right now. She was feeling so off her game she was starting to wonder whether she’d hallucinated the whole thing – it’s not like her dreams weren’t real to her – maybe she’d imagined it…

Tomorrow. It might all make more sense tomorrow, then she could bring it up with a clearer head.

“You asked me if I’d planned to have Taylor seduce you.”

Shit.

“I did? I meant Simon. Sorry. Taylor was there – I got my words mixed up. You were acting all jealous this morning, and what Simon did was so out of character, and then I just felt confused and made stupid assumptions…”

Lame, Lydia.

Still, Brendan seemed to accept it and sighed with relief. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do. I’m really sorry.”

He smiled. “Don’t be. You were just acting out after what happened.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, then settled into his arms once more. “This is nice, just being held.”

“Any time, honey.”

She nestled under his chin, and he tightened his hold of her. A couple of minutes passed before he broke the silence. “It’s getting late – you should try to get a good night’s rest. Do you…” He hesitated. “Do you want me to stay?”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but you’re right. I do need some good sleep, and I have tomorrow morning off so I’m going to try and have a lie in. You’d be great company,” she smiled, “but I think I just need to be on my own for a bit.”

Returning her smile, he grabbed his helmet. “Of course.” He leaned in and pecked her on the forehead. “Call if you need anything, all right?”

“I will, and thank you, Brendan,” she added softly.

“No worries.”

He stepped out of her flat and she shut the door behind him, locked it, and leaned heavily against it with another sigh. This one escalated into a yawn.

Her bed beckoned her.

She yawned again.

The clock on her bedside table now read 23:59

She smiled, dryly, turned out the light, and made her way to her bed by the moonlight that shone through the window. When she hit it, she crawled under her covers with gratitude, barely able to keep her eyes open.

Goodbye, stinking, horrible day. Hello, tomorrow.

Chapter Seven

“You didn’t tell her?” asked Lawrence, incredulously, as he polished the barrel of his dart-gun. “You shifted in front of her, but you didn’t explain how it all works or why she’s in danger?”

They were in Lawrence’s study, gathering their things for tonight’s mission. The rain had begun to fall about half an hour ago, gently at first, but now it pounded against the window pane.

“It’s not like I didn’t try. We were on limited time – and she was being difficult.”

He made some kind of ‘harrumph’ noise. “That’s not a bad thing if she’s Ryan’s mate.”

“I was going to go back tonight to watch over her; make sure she’s okay, but it can wait until tomorrow. Her mating pains disappeared after…” His heart squeezed in his chest as he thought about her body under his, his own pains banging against his rib cage. It was this way with all unmated wolves. The mating pains increased until you either bonded with your mate or died. The male wolves died at forty, and the age was exact, as if some timed pacemaker kept their hearts beating until then. It was tougher for the females: they died between the ages of twenty-five and twenty-seven. Their pacemaker was a little less picky about the timing, but they had less years to live. The males were born werewolves and could shift from the moment of birth. The females couldn’t. Their werewolf gene could only be activated by bonding with their mate – up until that time, they grew up within their packs virtually as humans.

What made things worse was that since the separation of the wolf clans and their near annihilation in the late 18
^th
century, finding your mate was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and once you
did
, the bonding could only occur under a full moon …
during a thunderstorm
. It came down to a crazy combination of biology, genetics and physics, which Taylor still hadn’t entirely gotten his head around. None of them had. The Trident were the only ones with answers, and they weren’t sharing.

Add all the above together, and you had yourself a dying species.

Lawrence spent most of his waking hours researching, studying, reading, flushing out information from their underground network – anything from relevant scientific experiments currently being conducted, to occult information coming to light, to hidden symbolism in modern pop literature and the media. He knew a lot, but not the key to their salvation – they were all heading towards extinction, sooner rather than later.

To Taylor it was a fact he could bear. He had already accepted his own death in seven years time anyway, because he didn’t want a mate.

“Did it occur to you that showering is the first thing a human woman might do on arriving home after sex with a stranger?”

Damn it!
Taylor exhaled in frustration. It hadn’t even entered his mind.
Maybe you’re more wolf than you think.

“Don’t worry about it now. Unless her change is due imminently, your ejaculant will be enough to ease her. Let’s focus on Ryan.”

He tried not to cringe. The way Lawrence talked about sex was so …
biological
. But then he’d been brought up a werewolf – he’d been
born
a werewolf. Werewolves weren’t human; not completely, anyway. Unless you were like Taylor: turned. He was the only member of the pack that had had a previous life. He had been human … he had had a wife…

He forced himself away from those thoughts and watched Lawrence insert six darts into his bespoke weapon – darts containing the only thing that could kill Tridents: nectar from the night-blooming
Datura
plant. Of course, the fuckers were immune to silver.

Taylor studied the man. “Are you sure you want to come with us?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Getting Ryan out of there is what matters. I won’t shift – I can control it. I’ve spent years controlling it.”