Cry of the Wolf (5 page)

Oh, good lord!
“Amil, I know, but … people can see us through the window.” She tugged at his sleeve, although there wasn’t much sleeve to tug – just shapely biceps that filled it.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, but his eyes were heated and she suddenly knew that tonight was going to be
the
night. She wouldn’t get away with any more excuses. She wondered if she looked like Sunday roast because, really, she’d only ever seen a man look that way at food.

Maybe my whole life I
have
only known dickheads…

On impulse she grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss that matched his hunger. She would be an idiot to let him get away. He was everything any woman wanted, and he wanted
her
.

The delight in his eyes when the kiss ended spoke volumes. “Thank you,” he said.

Her heart melted. Ever since she first met him, she’d blown hot and cold for him, and he’d been nothing but patient. It was time to leave the cold behind.

She stroked his chest through his shirt. “I’m looking forward to tonight,” she smiled.

“Me too,” he replied, before placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you later.” Then, he turned and left.

A sigh reached her from behind, to her right, and Sarah turned to find Beth staring at her and shaking her head from side to side.

“What? What is it?”

“You have no good underwear, do you?”

Her jaw dropped open at the gall of the woman.

“You need to go underwear shopping
now
.”

She closed her mouth.

Damn.

She was right.

Chapter Three

Ryan had dropped Lydia off near Guildford High Street, half an hour ago.

She’d already made her first important stop to the drugstore, and she didn’t want to think about
that
brewing conversation because she knew she had her work cut out for her trying to convince Ryan that what she wanted from him – protection during sex – was reasonable and logical. She frowned as she thought about the packs of condoms in her rucksack. She’d picked ‘Mates’ to try and instil some humour into her pending request, but she doubted he’d see the funny. Werewolves were groomed by their families and packs to breed and keep their species alive.

She worried her lips with her teeth.

Whatever.

She was only twenty-five. She didn’t even have a career for fuck’s sake. Her big love throughout her childhood, from the age of three, had been dancing – a love shared by her mother – but that had come to an abrupt end after she’d died. Why, exactly, she wasn’t sure. It was as if she had taken the spirit of dance to the grave with her. Her father had become increasingly distant and her passion for the art had become drowned out by the loss of both her parents.

Waiting on tables sucked, but she didn’t know how to gain that passion back, or even if she was that good a dancer any more … it had been ten years…

Anyway, she hadn’t finished living her youth. She didn’t want a baby, or a puppy, or, god forbid, a
litter
of puppies.

Or babies.

Oh, god! A litter of BABIES!

Hmmm … is that physically possible?

Er, yes. Triplets? Quadruplets?

She grimaced.

Taylor had assured her that pregnancy was impossible during this transitional stage before her first full moon as a wolf. Something do with not ovulating and having out-of-whack hormones as the blueprint of her DNA remoulded itself. Still … she’d had a lot of sex with Ryan. A
lot
of sex. She felt uneasy about taking the risk, hence the condoms.

I really should try to read those biology text books Lawrence gave me…

Right now, however, she had another important task ahead of her. Scanning the cars in the lot of the used-cars dealership, she prayed they had something decent for the little money she had, and even more so, that her new werewolf abilities wouldn’t let her down. She knew next to nothing about cars, but she
did
know when someone was lying – she could literally
smell
it. No matter how white the lie, their adrenaline shot up a fraction when they told it, and it was enough for her sensitive nose to pick up on the change of body odour, the dilation of their pupils, the almost imperceptible shift in their stance… Yeah, all she needed was a moustache and a Belgian accent.

“Can I help you?”

She turned to face the salesman. “I need a car for £600.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The guy looked in his early fifties and wore a suit that seemed a size too small for him. “Well, I’m not sure we have anything for as little as that.”

Lie.

“Yes, you do.”

Again, his eyebrows went up. “Er—”

“Look, just show me what you have for up to £600 so I can pick. I’m in a hurry, and there are other dealerships I can go to.”

He coughed to clear his throat, but thankfully didn’t argue. Instead, he led her down the aisle towards the far end of the lot, but stopped before they got there. He absent-mindedly stroked his tie. “Nice to meet a lady who doesn’t beat around the bush,” he said, smiling at her again.

Lie.

She smiled sweetly back at him. “Something tells me you prefer us ladies more pliable.”

His neck went red at that.

There was a momentary pause as he struggled with how to reply, then he turned to his left. “Here we have a Ford Mondeo, 1998 reg, two previous owners with full service history.”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, looking at him rather than the car.

“Er … nothing. It’s in great condition.”

Lie.

She sighed. “Okay, next one?”

He frowned at her, clearly unable to figure her out. “We only have one more in your price range—”

Truth.

“Where is it?”

He led her a few yards further down the aisle, then gestured to her right. “Vauxhall Corsa. But it’s older, with more mileage than the Mondeo.”

Truth.

Fuck. She had no idea what to do… And that’s when it caught her eye.

“That one!” she exclaimed, and bounded towards the faded red Toyota pick-up truck.

The salesman looked bewildered. “It only just came in an hour ago. We haven’t had a chance to check it through yet, and if I’m going to be honest, it looks very worn out, even for a pick-up.”

Go figure – he’s being honest.

“I know, but … does it start? Has it got up-to-date papers and a valid MOT?”

“One month left on the MOT I think, but the guy who dropped it off said the road tax is up in two weeks, and that it hasn’t been serviced in years. He wanted rid of it. I can’t guarantee it’s in any kind of good condition.” He pulled out his key chain from his pocket and rummaged around the cluttered ring for the right key. “Why this car, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The real answer was that she could see herself holding her own behind the wheel. The truck was rough and ready, sturdy-looking and bolshy. If she
had
to stand up to any of her mates, she could do it behind the wheel of this truck without feeling under-confident.

“It seems like it’ll outlast anything,” she said.

He nodded. “Toyota pick-ups certainly are tenacious. They go for at
least
£1000 though, even twenty-five year old ones like this.” He handed her the key.

Awesome! It was as old as
her.

She took the key, but trained her eyes on him, giving him what she hoped was her best puppy dog look and hoping her inner-wolf was cute and cuddly, rather than a shabby mongrel. “But you haven’t checked it out yet, and as long as it starts and moves, I’m prepared to take it off your hands so you don’t have to go through the hassle.”

“Yes, but I’m losing £400. That kind of amount is—”

“The labour saved from having to get it cleaned, serviced, catalogued onto your books and then trying to sell the heap of junk all over again, when you could have just sold it to me in the first place. Did I mention I have cash?” She didn’t wait for his reply, but opened the driver door and stuck the key in the ignition.

It was slightly clunky to turn, but when the engine rumbled to life she nearly had a mini-orgasm. “Shit, she sounds good.”

“You think?” asked the salesman, doubtfully.

“Oh, yes…” Her nether regions thought so, anyway. Christ, how on earth was she going to survive the full moon? This sounded almost as good as Lawrence’s bike, plus, she could
feel
the car purring under her palm. Okay, it was thundering rather than purring, but that was fine too. “I’ll take it.”

“Well, wait … I haven’t exactly agreed to—”

Lydia pulled a wad of notes out of her rucksack’s side pocket and determinedly shoved it at him. “Do I fill out the papers here, or is there an office?”

He regarded her in total silence for a few seconds, then finally exhaled in defeat and shook his head. He opened the passenger door on the car and reached into the drawer in the dashboard, coming back out with the service book and ownership papers. “Do you want a job here?” he mumbled as he pulled out a pen.

Ha! She’d like to see the look on Lawrence’s face if she went back home telling him she’d found a job as a second-hand car dealer. She hated the maître d’ job he’d thrust upon her, but found herself tied, because she wanted the money and the independence of earning it, and hadn’t been able to discreetly get away to go job-hunting for other employment.

She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about cars.”

He shot her an amused look. “You’ve just proven you don’t have to, to make a sale.”

That was a genuine compliment, and she beamed him her thanks, then froze as a familiar, unwelcome scent caught her attention.

Aunt Gladys!

She spun around towards it, scanning the area, but saw no Aunt Gladys.

Could it have been someone wearing her brand of perfume?

No one wears her brand of perfume – she must have concocted it herself, it’s always smelled so god-damn awful…

“Are you going to fill these out?”

She turned her attention back to the salesman and her new best friend, the Toyota pick-up. Lydia grabbed the pen from him. “You betcha.”

~*~

He had a few hours before his meeting with The Trident. He hadn’t spent too much time in the presence of the new leader, but from what he’d seen, the man wasn’t to be trifled with. Why Amil had been called in though, was a mystery. And it almost always meant bad news.

Pushing the looming appointment out of his head, he dropped his coat onto the arm of the sofa that sat under the window of the B&B. The Holiday Inn suited him just fine. Admittedly, he’d rather have stayed in a more friendly, personable guest house, but he needed the anonymity and no curious glances or questions asked about his comings and goings … and right now, he needed to come bad.

Sarah’s scent haunted his mind.

Kicking off his shoes, he fell onto the bed, undid his trousers and made quick work of shedding them, along with his briefs and socks. With a groan, he gripped his heavy cock in his right hand, half of him unwilling to play this game of resistance and surrender; the other half simply craving the relief.

Fuck the waxing moon.

And fuck his dick.

Amil pumped himself hard.

She’d crept under his skin in a way no one ever had, so much so, that he felt bad for lying to her. She was a sweet woman.

“So god-damn sweet,” he growled under his breath, as the memory of her aroma created all-too-real visions of her in his mind, hardening his shaft even more against the palm of his hand.

Hell, it was as if she lived in him somehow; she was always so near the surface…

“
Sarah,”
he whispered, and he hazily wondered if her name was some kind of magical key, because suddenly, she was there as if one hundred percent solid.

A portion of him knew it was nothing more than a figment of his highly creative imagination. The rest of him couldn’t give a flying fuck as she slid her curvy, naked body up his, her lips – which always tasted a little floral – leaving wet traces along his navel … abdomen … chest…

She tongued his left nipple and pre-cum coated his fingers.

With a moan, he grabbed her hair and flipped her over so she lay under him, the mattress bouncing under them both.

Her giggle of delight was music to his ears; her voluptuous breasts, mounds of beauty to his eyes … god, they
were
beautiful. Full and creamy; so, so smooth, her areolae only a shade darker than her skin, and turning a tantalising dusky rose at his touch.