Releasing the Wolf (8 page)

Beeeeep.

He exhaled sharply through his teeth – he hadn’t fucking meant it literally.
Hard-headed female.

“You’re wasting time,” she taunted.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s do this the hard way.” He dropped the shirt and jacket he was holding, undid his belt, then let his trousers and underwear fall to ground. She took it all in with a forced nonchalant expression. She wasn’t fooling him – he could smell her pheromones multiplying at the rate of knots, that mating scent already encircling him, already making him hard all over again. Not that it mattered. His dick would be the last thing on her mind five seconds from now.

He took in a deep breath and straightened his back, preparing for the momentary, bone-crunching pain he knew was coming, and then he shifted.

As soon as his front paws hit the floor, he glanced up anxiously at Lydia, only slightly disorientated with his changed form. Eight months and he
still
hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it.

She stared at him with her jaw hanging loose.

Tentatively, he took one step forward, which was clearly the wrong thing to do.

She screamed bloody murder and flew at the door.

As fast as he could, he de-shifted, groaning as his bones crunched into place. “Wait,” he called out to her, his voice muted from the energy used for those two, quick, successive changes; not that she’d have heard him anyway – she was rattling the door so hard, shouting so bloody loudly trying to get it open, he was surprised the fire brigade hadn’t turned up yet.

“Lydia!” He grabbed her hands to still her, but with a strength he hadn’t predicted she spun around, shook him off, and whacked him in the face with her fist.

“
Christ!
Will you just … argh…” His cheekbone smarted.

Beeeeep.

Everything froze except their breathing. They stood there staring at each other.

Lydia’s eyes darkened a shade towards violet. “Your minute’s up, David Copperfield.”

“That wasn’t a trick,” he growled.

“The hell it wasn’t. You expect me to believe you just turned into a dog?”

“Wolf.”

“Whatever.” She banged the door with her fist. “Somebody open this damn door!”

“Lawrence locked it.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Lydia – you’re a wolf.”

She let out a strangled laugh. “Hmmm, let me see: two arms, two legs, no fur … nope, not a wolf.”

“You’re a werewolf.”

“No –
you’re
insane. You’re a crazy, out-of-your-mind, sex cult member who’s a damn good magician.”

Okay, she was trying his patience. “There’s no sex cult.”

“Then how do you explain – ooo, let’s see –
the sex
?” she yelled, pointing at the floor. “And the way you smell,
and
you’re naked!”

“The sex was necessary to keep you safe – the burn can kill on a full moon, especially with you so close to the change. The way I smell is
nothing
compared to the way you smell right now,
believe
me, but you’re on heat – that’s why you can smell every little thing. And I’m naked because funnily enough, when we shift, our clothes don’t shift with us and just as well because wolves look stupid in shirts and dinner jackets.”

She blinked once … twice … but just when he thought she might crack a smile, the curve of her lips halted. “‘The sex is necessary to keep you safe’ – every man’s erotic fantasy pick-up line.”

He exhaled in frustration. “Don’t you give me that feminist crap—”

“Lydia?” Some woman’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

Her eyes widened. “Lisa! The door’s locked. Have you got a key?”

“Oh, my god! Are you all right? That jerk’s not in there with you, is he? I saw Mr Gunvald throw him out – please tell me you’re okay.”

She raised her eyebrow at him. “Mr Gunvald?”

“Lawrence,” he mouthed.

“I’m okay. And no, Simon’s not in here.” She eyed him warily, refusing to let her eyes travel the length of his unclothed body, despite the fresh wave of pheromones coming off her. Their little impromptu tryst on the floor had given her a healthy dose of willpower back. “Can you please just go and get the keys?”

A pause. “Okay…” came the uncertain reply, before he heard her striding away.

He forced himself to calm down. There’s no way he could expect Lydia to come to terms with this in five minutes when it had taken him the best part of five months. “Look; I know you don’t believe me, but I also know there’s a part of you that wants to – that there’s a part of you that will.”

“And how is it you know me so well?” she snapped.

“Because I had to accept the fact that I was a werewolf eight months ago, and it almost killed me – in some ways it still does … every month.”

Maybe it was the total sincerity in his tone, but her angry expression faltered and her defensiveness slipped. Her eyes filled with tears she didn’t bother hiding, and he almost wished he could take his words back, but that would be pointless. There was no going back – for either of them.

His ears pricked at the sound of the other woman’s footsteps sounding down the hall – she wasn’t wasting any time.

He sighed.
This
was his minute up. “If you can’t trust me, then trust yourself. Your dreams are
real
, Lydia. Listen to them. Feel them. Find Ryan. All I’ve done is ease your pain, but
he’s
your mate; he’s the one who can make it all go away forever.” Fuck it, he almost choked on his words. His own eyes welled up…

“Why are you always so sad?”

He started at her question. Whether at the tenderness behind it or at the question itself, he couldn’t tell.

“Lydia, I’m back!” A key sounded in the door.

Taylor grabbed his clothes and swiftly entered one of the cubicles, swinging the door shut behind him.

He heard the other door open partway before Lydia’s voice bounced off the tiled walls. “Wait. I’ve got the door. Here…” some kind of noise – a soft scraping – Lydia picking up her shoes, he guessed… “Come with me, Lees. I just want to get out of here and forget this night ever happened.”

“I could have sworn I heard a man’s voice in here – are you in here alone? Why the hell are you locked in? I couldn’t believe it when I heard about Simon – oh, Lydia! I wanted to see you before now, but I had to take care of the restaurant, and…” their voices trailed off as they disappeared from his sensitive earshot, behind further doors and walls.

She hadn’t ratted him out. He could only assume that was a good thing. He’d already resolved to find where she lived and check in on her later tonight.

A howl sounded a few miles away to the north. His flesh goosebumped in response.
Lawrence.

The pitch of it was urgent – it was a home calling.

Checking in on Lydia would have to wait. At least he’d tamed her heat – she shouldn’t have any problems getting through the night now, and the pull of the moon tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as strong.

Adulterer…
whispered the scathing voice in his head. He shook it away, ignoring the pain that threatened to flare in his chest.

Bunching his clothes up, he stuck them behind one of the lavatories, then shifted once more into his wolf form. He padded out of the toilets, then out of the theatre, keeping to the shadows, and once sure he wouldn’t be spotted, sprinted towards Lawrence’s call.

~*~

She wasn’t sure how she’d made it home, despite only living a fifteen minute walk away. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this
furious
. But maybe what really heightened the fury, was the realisation that somewhere, deep down, she had taken in what he’d said – she’d
actually
taken it in. Which was ludicrous, and it made her ludicrous.

Her mind rang as she slammed her key into the lock of her front door and stormed her way into her flat, kicking the door shut behind her. She was pretty sure she could feel the beginnings of a headache.

Whipping her phone out of her bag, she pulled up Brendan’s number, hit the green phone symbol and waited for him to pick up.

It went straight to his mailbox.

The sound of his voice took her anger up a notch. She waited for the beep, which finally sounded while she was mentally running through all the insults she could think of.

“Dickhead!” she yelled, then hung up and tossed the phone across the room towards her bed. Luckily, that’s where it landed.

Okay, so that wasn’t very mature, but what the fuck did she care. After tonight, she was done caring – everyone was a nutter.

She stripped off her clothes for a shower and got even more annoyed when it hit her that she didn’t want to take them off because they smelled like Taylor.

“Christ, Lydia! No one’s more of a nutter that
you
,” she reprimanded as she kicked off her underwear, and then froze in her tracks when the green light on her landline’s answering machine blinked at her in greeting.

She had a message?

Wandering over to it she pressed the ‘Play’ button.

“Lydia, hi. It’s Dad … again.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Her dad never phoned her more than once a week –
never
.

“Listen, we should meet up. There are … things … we need to catch up on.”

There are? I don’t think so, Dad. Every time we’re in the same room together, we don’t even manage two words to each other.
But then, why else would he be phoning? Maybe it’s urgent.

A slight rustling sound. Was he leafing through papers or was it a bad connection?

“Call me. Even if it’s late. Or tomorrow – whenever … um … there’s a storm headed your way tonight.”

In the background she heard a strident voice sounding out clipped words that she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d know that tone anywhere – it had scared the life out of her since she was five years old.
Great Aunt Gladys!

What’s she doing at Dad’s?

“Okay, well, I’ll speak to you soon. ‘Bye.”

The machine clicked itself to a halt.

This mistake of a day had taken so much out her she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The ringing in her head turned to dizziness, and all of a sudden, she didn’t feel so good again. She considered calling her dad, but she was bone-tired and couldn’t be a hundred percent certain she wouldn’t puke with her stomach bunched up in knots the way it was – a coherent conversation with her father was not something she felt she could contribute to right this second.

Instead, she continued on towards the bathroom, stopping briefly in front of her wardrobe mirror to take in her nude form. She slowly turned around, craning her head to look at her reflection as far as she could manage it.

Nope. No fur anywhere.
Not
a werewolf.
Eat that, Taylor whatever-your-surname-is!

She strode into the bathroom without bothering to shut the door, stood outside of the bathtub, reached up to turn the showerhead on, then pulled the splash screen across the edge of the bath. Within ten seconds the water was wonderfully hot … and again she hesitated.

That smell of green was just to die for. She didn’t want to wash Taylor off her. But the guy was a lying, deceptive, insane bastard, so really, she should.

Clenching her jaw to strengthen her resolve against her ridiculous reaction, she stepped around the screen and into the tub, straight under the streaming hose, sighing as the wet heat hit her; only a little apprehensive of the way her chest tightened as she soaped herself down.

God, the shower felt good –
this
was what she needed: to wash this bizarre day away. Tomorrow she could start over … and see about getting that pill from the shrink. It must be almost 11 p.m. already.
See?
she thought, relaxing into the spray.
Everything’s cool – the new day starts in just over an hour.

~*~

Lawrence wasn’t alone. The entire pack was with him – three women and nine men, including himself and Lawrence – all but two of the other males in human form.

Still in his wolf guise, Taylor trotted up to Lawrence – now first in command by default – not flinching when the man bent down and lowered his mouth to his muzzle. They exchanged a lick in greeting, and it had taken Taylor a
hell
of a long time to get comfortable with this little welcome ritual. But most of what physically took place in the span of a day could be sought in the saliva glands of a person or animal, as if events and places are breathed in and stored. He’d never quite understood the biology of it, but he couldn’t deny the usefulness of such an ability.