Cry Of The Wolf (Eye Of The Storm) Read online

  Cry Of The Wolf

  (Eye Of The Storm)

  by Dianna Hardy

  A dark, adult paranormal fantasy

  for the call of the wild in us all.

  Set in the Surrey Hills, England.

  Cry Of The Wolf (Eye Of The Storm)

  copyright © 2013, Dianna Hardy

  Published by Satin Smoke Press, April, 2013

  Satin Smoke Press is an imprint of Bitten Fruit Books

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  In this work of fiction, the characters, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination, or they are used entirely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced by any means or in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles or reviews.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover photo © krivenko / Shutterstock.com

  Cover design by Dianna Hardy

  Satin Smoke Press

  Surrey, UK

  http://www.satinsmoke.com

  Blurb

  (Book Two of the Eye Of The Storm series.)

  The full moon is a week away, and although Lydia is as excited as it gets to run as a wolf for the first time, she is also fighting to keep her independence while trying to understand her role in the lives of the three males that have come to rule hers: compassionate, tender Taylor; impetuous, fun-loving Ryan and distant, cold Lawrence.

  There's also a fourth man in Lydia's life. Brendan, her previous "friend with benefits", is tirelessly searching for her. He's about to uncover things that should be kept hidden.

  However, the testosterone surrounding her is the last thing she should be worrying about. Her family bear truths about her heritage she's not ready to face … she may not have a choice, because the greatest danger to them all comes from within. The past never stays buried for long, and among the shadows of their species it is rising with a vengeance, threatening to tear their pack apart for good.

  NOTES: This is an adult paranormal fantasy short novel (over 55,000 words) containing scenes of explicit sexual content and some violence, entwined with romantic elements. Written in British English.

  Dedication

  Mum, this book is for you … because you shocked me by wanting to read the first one! Thank you for looking past the raciness, and seeing the story underneath.

  I love you.

  xxx

  “...Everything can be taken from a man but one thing; the last of the human freedoms – to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.”

  Viktor Frankl

  Cry Of The Wolf

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  How did anyone even begin to make sense of these diagrams?

  Lydia stared at the text book in front of her, her brain already faltering from the little she’d read over the past twenty minutes. There’s a reason why I chose not to take Biology at school.

  But this? This was just bizarre, seriously … stuff about werewolf sperm and fertilisation, and something about acidity and alkaline levels needing to be balanced – some tie-in as to why their sperm was cool instead of warm – to placate the female when she’s on heat…

  Placate. As if we’re wild and unruly just because we’re lusty females, pur-lease!

  She shut the heavy book with a slam. This was the most patriarchal bullshit she’d ever heard. Okay, so maybe they were ‘werewolf facts’, but the way these books were written… She looked at the author’s name on the front: Dr T. J. Huntley. Gotta be a man.

  Rummaging through the other books Lawrence had left for her to study—and how many books does he think I’m going to get through?—she finally landed on one that looked different to the rest.

  She pulled the small, hardcover edition from the pile, barely able to make out the title because it had faded so much: Werewolf Myths & Legends.

  “If there are no molecule diagrams in here, I’m game.”

  She opened the book and it landed smack in the middle, the binding barely holding the pages together. An ink drawing stared back at her, of some animal that she assumed was a werewolf lying upon a human-looking woman, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her breasts splayed and a full moon in the background. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they were doing.

  Great. Studies in bestiality. She quickly flicked through more pages, uncomfortably aware that the drawing had left her slightly aroused. My life is so fucked.

  She stopped at a chapter titled, The Wolf and the Lightning-Bearer.

  Once upon a time, before even the dawn of time, Himet, the Great God and Yemet, the Great Goddess, had a fight. In growing knowledge of their status and abilities, one was no longer willing to yield to the other, nor to share the space of the universe they had created together.

  One day, their fight was so great, their anger so palpable across the cosmos, that their consumed rage tore them apart forever.

  Thrown from each other, Himet soared up and became the sky, the stars, the sun and the moon; Yemet soared down and became the earth, the trees, the plants and the animals that walked upon it. But they were lost without the other, and there was no way to mend the great divide they had brought upon themsel—

  An unwelcome scent that she recognised straight away, wafted towards her through her open bedroom door from the downstairs kitchen.

  Damn it … Selena. What’s she doing here?

  Reluctantly, Lydia closed the book, her wolf rising territorially, and made her way downstairs trying to look unperturbed. That female would just love to know she could rile her up.

  She arrived in the kitchen to find her with her strawberry-blonde head in the fridge.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed as if she hadn’t been expecting anyone. Then she threw Lydia a grin that anyone else would interpret as friendly – Lydia interpreted it as motive-laden. “I baked you some cookies; I was wondering where to keep them.” She shut the fridge door and pointed to a sealed container on the table. “We got off on the wrong foot. I wanted to apologise.”

  “Well … thanks. I’ll find a home for the cookies.”

  “Great.”

  They stood there in silence, unmoving.

  “How are you settling in?” asked Selena, finally.

  “Very well, actually, thanks.”

  “Oh, good. Can’t be easy keeping three males in check.”

  And there it was – the bitterness in her tone. Now we were getting down to it.

  “Of course, I grew up in the pack. I can give you some pointers.”

&
nbsp; Please don’t.

  “We’ve all had our turns with all the males before they mated…”

  Oh, god…

  “Ryan likes it rough, and – wow – he knows how to make you forget you might die every full moon, you know?”

  Bitch.

  Jealousy reared its head.

  Ignore her.

  “Lawrence … well, he’s a bit more detached, but ain’t nothin’ wrong with his equipment – I mean, the guy’s tall and so’s his…” Selena stopped mid-sentence and smirked, and that’s when Lydia realised she was growling. Fuck. So much for remaining unperturbed. She was close to clawing the stupid woman’s face off.

  “He always keeps his trousers on though – it’s a little quirk of his. And he never shifts, not even in moments of wild passion – no one’s ever seen his wolf. He never runs with the pack. Ask me anything personal about them; I know all their quirks,” she added, silkily.

  Lydia forced back her ire and battled the green-eyed monster as best as she could. “Really?” she forced out through gritted teeth. “So tell me about Taylor’s quirks?”

  Selena’s smile fell and Lydia’s inner-wolf thumped her tail in triumph.

  “Oh, that’s right – you’ve never been with Taylor, have you? In fact, I think I’m the only wolf to have ever been with Taylor.”

  “Which means nothing,” she retorted. “He was servicing you, nothing more.”

  More moronic terminology she couldn’t stand: servicing. What was she – a car? “And what do you think Ryan, Lawrence and any other male you’ve been with have been doing with you every full moon? You’re right – it means nothing. Unless, of course, you’re mated to them.”

  Touché.

  Selena’s brown eyes darkened, her cheeks growing pinched, “You’re a greedy hussy, you know that? Every wolf in history has been perfectly happy with one mate, but you – no – you’ve got to have three.” Anger shook her voice. “What about the rest of us? We’re going to die.”

  “It wasn’t planned. And they weren’t your mates anyway; you can’t pick and choose—”

  “Maybe they could have been … with more time, I don’t know…”

  God, do all the females in the pack feel this way? Do they all hate me?

  Selena’s eyes shimmered with contempt. “It doesn’t matter now because you’ve ruined everything. And don’t get me started on the rumours flying about from what the pack saw at the warehouse.”

  Her blood turned cold. “What do you mean?”

  “How you were struck by lightning. How it should have killed you.”

  She couldn’t say anything to defend herself against that one. They hadn’t officially told any of the pack members about her being a storm-wielder yet, and she knew there was a chance it would split the group in half. Storm-wielders were feared. No wonder everyone hated her; she’d waltzed right in, taken three of their eligible males – one of them the Alpha – and she posed a threat to all of their safety.

  “Selena.”

  Both women jumped at the sound of Lawrence’s voice from the open kitchen door.

  He leaned against the door frame, assessing the situation, arms crossed, flaxen hair falling to his shoulders… He looked like some kind of Scandinavian god.

  Selena immediately shrank back and bowed her head.

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Selena brought me cookies,” she explained, her tone clipped and flat.

  “I see,” said Lawrence. “Lydia, it’s half past nine. I need you outside.”

  Ah, yes – for training. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Was there anything else, Selena?” asked Lawrence.

  “No, sir.”

  “Right you are then.” He turned and left them to it.

  Selena didn’t bother to say anything else, but scurried out after him.

  Lydia sighed. She hoped this wasn’t going to be the start of a really long day.

  “You’ve got to feel it in your core,” he stated, impatiently.

  “As if I’m not trying…”

  “Well, do you feel anything?”

  You, being a pain in my arse, thought Lydia, but she kept her mouth shut. Lawrence was trying to awaken her to her storm-wielding abilities, but either he was a crap teacher, or the one single time she’d commanded a storm had been a fluke. And the whole storm-wielder thing sort of freaked her out anyway. She was one of very few female wolves to have the ability. Apparently, only females could wield storms; the males can carry the gene, but it isn’t active in them. But the bit that freaked her out was the role of a storm-wielder: by harnessing a storm, they could secure successful mating and breeding for their pack, because werewolves can only claim their mates on the night of a full moon, during a thunderstorm, the storm itself providing some kind of electrical charge needed for their DNA to mesh, or whatever. Apparently, the textbooks explained it. Apparently, she didn’t have advanced intelligence Lawrence-brain.

  To have a storm-wielder present, meant no more praying for or chasing storms for werewolves. No more uncertainty, or fifty-fifty chances of bonding … as long as no one ever found out she was a storm-wielder, because if they did, The Trident might get whiff of it and annihilate them all, just to get to her, which is what they’d been doing to packs that housed storm-wielders since the wolf clans were flushed out and thinned in the 18th Century.

  No pressure.

  “Look,” she sighed, pacing the grounds outside his home – their home, since Lawrence dictated she live here and she had next to no say in the matter – “maybe the last time it happened was because it wasn’t just me doing it. There were four of us there all connecting with each other. Maybe—”

  “Do you really want to go there again?”

  He said that as if the very idea disgusted him. It cut her, and she really wished it didn’t because Lawrence, of all people – or werewolves – was the one she liked the least. She didn’t dislike him, she just liked him the least, although she couldn’t say that her wolf shared her feelings.

  Bad enough she had to be mated to three males, but that one of them had to be him … god!

  The weight of the morning and Selena’s earlier words finally got to her. “Sorry to have tainted your perfect little pack,” she bit back, her voice barely a whisper that she couldn’t keep the tremble of hurt from, and by god it pissed her off big time that he affected her this way. She shouldn’t care.

  The air around them seemed to still and she glanced up to find him staring at her angrily with those ice-blue eyes.

  Yeah. She got it. He hated her – he didn’t have to drive the fucking point home with his sabre-like glaring.

  She refused to look away and scowled right back at him.

  “Isn’t this lovely!” came Ryan’s cheery voice from her left.

  They both turned and saw him practically bouncing towards them – what must be two hundred pounds of muscle, grinning from ear to ear – seemingly oblivious to the tension that crackled between her and Mr Uptight. But then, nothing really broke Ryan’s spirit anyway … and his happiness was positively contagious. Lydia found herself smiling back.

  “Is it?”

  “Is it?” asked Lawrence in unison with her, her voice light and buoyant; his, about as flat as you can get. She scowled at him again for killing the mood, not that Ryan noticed – or maybe he was just used to it…

  “Yeah, it is,” he beamed, as he came up to her from behind and slid his arms around her waist. “It’s Saturday morning, it’s sunny and all my dreams have come true. It’s one of those things that never gets old.”

  Her anger melted to nothing but comforting warmth. Ryan had the power to do that – always had, even as some intangible figment that had ruled her dreams for a decade. Yeah – both their dreams had come true, although her half of their shared dreams had held more romance and love than Ryan’s obviously had, given he showed no indication that the ‘L’ word was even part of his vocabulary. Still … she’d found him. Their dreams had led her to him, so she wasn’
t about to give up on the romantic side of them just yet.

  She grinned up at him, and he nuzzled her hair.

  Mr Uptight seemed to have turned to statue, and she knew he was fighting his nature to claim her now that Ryan was here. She wasn’t an idiot. Besides, her instincts were primed now – to all three of her mates and their moods and sensitivities, ever since their heated, thunderstorm ménage that shouldn’t have been able to occur in the first place, because wolves didn’t share their mates.

  And now the three males found themselves mated to her, and her to them, and they were all struggling to figure out how to deal with it. Well, all except Ryan. He seemed to have no struggle with the need to be completely hands-on with her, initiating copious amounts of sex, several times a week. She never thought she’d say this having had a high libido all her life – before she even knew she was a werewolf and ‘on heat’ once a month – but there had been a couple of times she’d actually backed away for needing some space. At least, she’d tried to. Ryan always won.

  Lawrence was the exact opposite of Ryan in every possible way. Closed off, aloof, cold and distant, he hadn’t touched her once since that day she’d woken here after her transformative sleep – since that day she’d denied him. Her inner-wolf still scolded her for that, and often too. She had tried to reason with it, but for reasons she simply couldn’t fathom, her wolf seemed to want to lay at Lawrence’s feet and do his every bidding. It riled her up no end.

  Taylor, the most ‘human’ out of the three males – probably owing to the fact that he had been human – had remained the perfect gentlemen with a remarkable amount of self-restraint, knowing what he must be feeling when around her. She wondered where he was this morning – he seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. He was truly a friend in every way. Having said that, they did share cuddles and kisses; most of them comforting, some heated. But they’d gone no further, although she readily burned up at the thought of being with him that way again – the one time they’d had sex at the theatre had been super-hot. It would be nice to repeat it whilst in a more conscious state.