Heart Of The Wolf (12 page)

“
Oh,
there'll be a storm this full moon – mark my words: there'll be a
storm.”

Selena
hesitated, the wolf inside her going frantic, pulling at her to get
up and leave and forget the whole thing.

But she needed
to save the pack. Lydia couldn't have three mates – it wasn't
natural and it meant two other females would die because of it.

Still, her
wolf fretted. 'You've already been party to murder,' it whined.

God, she
didn't want more blood on her hands, even if it belonged to those
she hated the most. “Will Lydia die? If she finds herself without a
needed mate?”

“
Of course
not. Did your father, after your mother died? Life becomes lonely
and longevity becomes a curse when you're alone with no hope of
ever finding another. But Lydia's got two others.”

Yes, she did,
didn't she. Bully for her!

“
And what
will happen to Ryan and Lawrence?”

“
All those
mated feel the pain when one is gone, that can't be helped – it
happened to your father. He survived, and so will they, and you…”
she leaned in closer, “will have the one you want, without the fear
of death hanging over your head any longer.”

“
I'll have
to leave the pack. If they find out what I did…”

Gladys
practically snarled. “Follow the instructions and no one will ever
be any the wiser. They'll conclude that his straying is an anomaly
of the four-way mating, after all, wolves aren't supposed to have
three mates. The Trident are the only ones with access to this
formula – it's a secret. Tell no one. Make sure Taylor is
unconscious when you inject him. When he wakes up it will be done –
he'll only have eyes for you.”

She shook
herself out of that past conversation, her heart thumping
erratically.

Don't do
this,
whimpered her wolf, and really, she was getting fed up of
the animal's righteous attitude. She shut the wolf out and picked
up the single strand of hair that she had pulled from Taylor's head
earlier when he had hugged her – he hadn't even noticed.

She tied it
around the neck of the potion bottle, just about managing to put a
knot in it, for safe keeping.

The full moon
would rise at 8:03 p.m. She had about seven hours left to change
her mind, otherwise she'd be performing the 'spell' just before the
meeting – the meeting where everyone would be whispering about her;
the meeting she couldn't get out of.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Her chest took
the brunt of the weight as she remembered Stephen's departure and
his final words to her; tears threatened once more…

She'd have to
go in fearful and grieving to mask any scent of a lie – it's not
like she had no reason to be afraid or sad with everything that had
happened this morning. And Taylor would understand her emotions –
he would stick up for her.

Her gaze
landed on his strand of hair and she smiled. He calmed her in so
many ways. Forget the meeting – what she needed to focus on was the
end goal.

That's all you
have to do, and your wolf will be yours – forever.

~*~

So maybe he'd
exaggerated. Two minutes felt like forever underwater and he'd only
counted fifty seconds.

Amil pushed
away from the wall of the well and shot upwards to the surface,
gasping for breath as he broke through it. “Fuck!” he yelled out,
raggedly, pissed off at his pathetic lungs, then cringed as his
voice reverberated all around him.

Great idea,
idiot – let everyone know you're down here.

Maybe he had
counted the number of stones wrong.

No.
Seventy-five stones down, facing directly east, and then three to
the right. He'd taken great care with his numbers.

Again.

He breathed in
and plunged down once more, letting his fingers trace the
brick-shaped stones and going as fast as he dared.
One minute to
reach the right stone, then one minute left to unlock the door…
That is, if his lungs didn't collapse on him first.

He'd packed
lightly, but his rucksack really needed to weigh less right this
second.

There.

And this time,
he'd gotten it right. The tips of his fingers probed the small
rectangular hole in the stone that wasn't a stone, as his chest
began to burn with the need for air.

As quickly as
he could, which was never quick enough when submerged in water, he
pulled the ankh off from around his neck.

Panic grabbed
him when he thought he'd lost the hole, but then his fingers were
running over it again, and he lined up the end of the ankh with it,
gave it a push and a wiggle, push and wiggle …
shit, I need to
fucking breathe!
… and the key slammed home. Holding the loop
of the ancient symbol, he twisted it to the right, put his whole
body against the wall and pushed forward with everything he
had.

He'd expected
this to be the hardest part, with the weight of the water against
him, but the wall shifted with ease and the next thing he knew,
both the water and him were surging out the other side – downwards
– like he was at the bloody water park, careening down a slide.

He greedily
took in oxygen as soon as the water left his face, and he was still
speeding downwards on a torrent, not even able to feel the rock of
the tunnel beneath him.

Everything
ended abruptly and at once.

His feet found
the ground before any other part of him, way too fast for any kind
of safe landing, and he bounced, catapulted through the air,
somersaulting into … he had no idea what, but he hoped it wasn't
concussion.

Amil landed
heavily on his chest, the wind knocked out of him; wheezing and
face down in lush, green grass.

Fuzzy, bright
dots swam in front of his eyes, and for a moment, he thought he was
going to pass out. Christ, he couldn't feel his body.

But he didn't
pass out. His vision cleared, giving way to a pair of sandaled feet
just a yard in front of him. He tried to look up; tried to move his
head, but all he accomplished was a groan of defeat as his body
pin-pricked back into sensation.

Oh,
now
I'm going to pass out.

Dear god, he
felt bruised all over. Had he broken bones?

That was his
last thought before blackness engulfed him.

Chapter Seven

This isn't
real. It isn't real…

But that was
definitely her in a wedding gown, glowing like all brides do, and
smiling adoringly at a man with gorgeous green eyes and a smile
that lit up his entire face. A kind face. A handsome face.

Beth was
steaming to her left as she also took in the wedding photos before
her from Holly's album. “What do you take us for?” Her voice shook
with anger. “What the fuck is your problem? What are you trying to
prove? That you're a Photoshop whiz?”

“These aren't
Photoshopped,” Holly snapped back. “
Look
at them – they're
my
photos, taken the way I always take photos, with my Canon
SLR and then developed the old-fashioned way onto chloride-free,
resin-coated photographic paper. Get some expert to hold them under
a microscope if you like – no one's
this
good at Photoshop!
For god's sake, Sarah,” she said, turning back to her, “this was
your
wedding
. My 'fucking problem' is you two going around
pretending like it never happened.”

This is what
Holly had gone to her mum's for: to pick up the album.

Sarah turned
another page, and Beth and herself stared out of it; Beth, her
Matron of Honour. The light from what looked like a pale morning
sun, emphasised the blue of her eye shadow in the very corner of
her left eye, the tips of her eyelashes also catching the rays and
sparkling with the … silver mascara? … that she wore. But Holly had
always been good at capturing the light with the camera for as long
as she'd known her. And she'd never altered a single one of her
photographs to her knowledge – took pride in the fact that she
hadn't and wouldn't – she just discarded the ones that weren't any
good. In fact, Sarah had often said she should have been a
photographer, not a fashion designer, but Holly was Holly, and
photography, although it always calmed her from her usual, high
maintenance self, had never caught her passion the way that fashion
did.

“No, these
aren't Photoshopped,” whispered Sarah, her voice sounding like it
came from a million miles away.

Holly threw up
her hands in relief, or despair – or both. “Finally!”

Sarah's legs
gave way and she fell heavily onto her sofa, her mind unable to let
go of the image of those happy, green eyes.

Holly promptly
moved the album onto the floor and shuffled up to give her room,
and then she took Sarah's hand. “I get that whatever happened
between you and Taylor caused you a whole load of pain and hurt and
agony – I mean, you two did
everything
together; you were
best friends – but it's time to face up to it and let it go.”

Beth snorted
from the middle of the room and glared at Holly. “You're not buying
this shit, are you?”

Holly glared
back. “
You
can shut the fuck right up. You've always been
callous, Bethany Michaels, but I never took you for an underhanded
bitch.”

And Sarah's
living room turned into a wrestling ring.

Beth came at
Holly.

Holly stood to
face her, not backing down for an instant; neither of them showing
any signs of maturity or sense.

“Guys!” Sarah
yelled, to no avail.

Beth shrieked
as Holly yanked her hair, and Holly yelped when Beth pinched her
hard on the … oh, for fuck's sake – her boob. She'd actually gone
for the boob!

“Enough!”
Sarah threw herself at them, somehow managing to get between them
both, and forced them apart, to either side of her, with one arm
each. “I'll disown you both if you don't
quit it
!”

Amid frenzied
huffing and puffing, her two best friends showed some form of
restraint, Beth clutching her head and Holly clutching her chest.
But the glaring didn't let up.

“Right,” she
grabbed Beth's arm and steered her to the single sofa chair on the
far side of the room. “Sit!” She tugged her downwards and Beth
complied. “Stay. And you…” She gestured for Holly to sit in the
middle of the main sofa where Sarah had been just a minute ago.

She took her
seat.

“Good.” Sarah
stood in the centre of the room, fidgeting with both nerves and
anger and, deep down, just a little bit of fear – that familiar,
irrational fear that crept up when she thought about broken down
cars. “Holly, I accept that those photos are real. What I don't get
is
how
they're real.”

Holly went to
speak, but Sarah held her palm up sharply and she stopped
short.

“You have to
understand something, and this is something I need
you
to
accept: Beth and I have
no
recollection of those photos, of
my wedding, or of Taylor.
That's
the part I don't get.
That's the part that makes everything seem like you're making the
whole thing up
which
,” she added quickly, “I know you're
not.”

“You do?”
retorted Beth.

“I said
enough
!”

And Beth paled
slightly and shrank back in her chair, because Sarah almost never
got angry, and right at this moment it wasn't just palpable, it was
an emotion she was willing to indulge until her living room was
once more the sanctuary it had always been to her. She didn't have
many possessions in life, but she had her home, it was her safe
haven, and it was going to stay that way, thank you very much. If
anyone wanted to piss all over it with their childish tantrums,
they would have to deal with exactly what that brought out in
her.

In the silence
that ensued, Beth picked at her fingernails, refusing to look at
anyone, and Holly frowned, deep in thought. She was the first to
speak. “So … you really don't remember anything? Neither of you?
Really, truly?”

“Really,
truly.”

“You don't
remember Taylor at all? Nothing about him? Not one, little
bit?”

“No. Nothing,
although … I phoned the number that you had for him, and a Taylor
answered and,” she had to repress a shiver, “he knew my name.”

“Well, yeah,”
said Holly, “because he's real and he remembers you. Both of you.
He told me when I called him that he had an affair with Beth and
that was why you two go around pretending he doesn't exist, and
pretending it never happened – so you can still be friends with
each other or something. I didn't really get it.”

“I would
never
do that to Sarah,” said Beth, hurt riding on her
anger.

“I didn't
think so either, which is why I'm so furious with you … was… I
tried to call Taylor again when I arrived in the UK to get the
story straight, because the more I thought about it, the more what
he said made no sense, but his number's been disconnected or
something.”

This time,
Sarah couldn't stop the shiver. “It was dead when I phoned back the
second time, too. So, what's going on?”

Blank stares
passed between them all.

“Sarah,”
pressed Holly, “I swear this all happened. You met him in our last
year of uni, you got married after just a year 'cause you knew you
were it for each other; you were happy, Taylor was a honey and you
were both together for … it will be six years in September since
your first date.”

Inexplicably,
tears gathered in her eyes. She glanced down at the wedding photos
and tried to blink them away, unsuccessfully. “Then why can't I
remember him?”

“That's the
million dollar question. Maybe you hit your head. It's like he's
been knocked straight out of your mind, or something. Haven't you
found any evidence of his existence in this place? You shared this
house together, you know.”