Cry of the Wolf (7 page)

Ryan laughed as they both made their way to the house.

“What about Lawrence?”

“Jesus,” Ryan muttered. “We both know that man’s got issues up to his eyeballs. He’ll either deal with them or go insane.”

Lawrence gone insane. It was rare, but he wouldn’t be the first wolf to go that way because of a refusal to accept his path, whatever that path was. And Lawrence had needed to accept his ‘situation’ for going on twenty years, not control it as he so desperately tried to do.

Taylor shivered. That was the funny thing about needing control, wasn’t it? Control was a dam to often stormy waters. Once that dam broke, banks burst, villages flooded and people died.

No, they didn’t want an insane Lawrence on their hands.

~*~

He was going fucking insane, and not least because he was sitting in the office of his theatre with cotton wool plugging his nose. He looked like a moron.

He could fucking smell her everywhere.

His home had been his sanctuary up until three weeks ago, and now it was like he was a sex addict, trying to go cold turkey as he lived in some aphrodisiac drug den … whilst wearing a chastity belt around his crotch.

And there was no escape, because she worked
here
too. He really didn’t like being at his work all that much – he avoided the theatre and co-joining restaurant as often as he could, not having set foot in it for months until three weeks ago – but it had been impossible to remain at home with Lydia around, so here he was and it was no use. He could even smell her all the way up in his office, four floors up from the restaurant where she worked; only a hint of her aroma but enough to get him hard, and honestly, his pants were starting to chafe his dick, he was hard all the fucking time.

Excessive swearing was the only thing that made him feel marginally better.

Fuck-dee-doo.

And let’s
not
think about the way she looked, head tipped back, hair flowing, mouth open, as she came under Ryan’s touch.

Fuck, cock, shit, wank, mother-fuc—

There was a knock on the door.

He whipped the cotton wool out of his nose, steeling himself against the way ‘Eau de Lydia’ twined around him, under him, into him…

Sodding werewolf senses.
“Come in!”

The door cranked open, and Lisa, his head waitress, stuck her head around the door.

This woman was a gem. She was the best waitress he had, and in all honesty, she should have gotten the maître d’ role, not Lydia, but Lydia was the
worst
god-damn waitress he’d ever seen and was much better suited to anything that didn’t involve carrying plates and trying to remember orders at the same time. So he’d put her in a position where all she had to do was organise staff, smile at guests, and give off the illusion of doing anything remotely waitressy, while Lisa managed that part of it behind the scenes. Not to mention, with her being a storm-wielder he wanted her exactly where he knew she was safe: under his supervision at least five days a week, ideally seven.

Even if he got trouser burn on his cock because of it.

Lisa could have thrown a hissy fit at her colleague’s promotion, but she hadn’t. She’d hidden her disappointment and carried on with her work like the pro she was.

“Lisa! Just who I wanted to see.”

“Er .. really?”

“Yes. Shut the door.”

She did as he instructed. “Mr Gunvald, the reason I’m here—”

He waved her words away with his hand. “First, I wanted to let you know how much I value your hard work. Nothing downstairs would function without you, and I’m quite aware of that.”

She looked positively shocked. Then a blush started to creep up her neck. “Erm … thank you.”

Lawrence smiled. This was nice. He didn’t get to make people happy that often. Usually he was labelled as the cold, unfeeling git. Okay, so it wasn’t completely without reason, but still… “I’m giving you a raise.”

Her eyes widened. “You are?”

“Yes. I’m doubling your salary.”

She stood there, aghast. “But … but … that would put me on £36,000,” she said, her words dropping to a whisper, as if even saying that sum aloud would tarnish it somehow. “You must be mistaken—”

“Nope. Congratulations.”

Her look of shock turned to one of jubilation, and she let out a squeal. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Yeah, this was nice. What had he gotten from Lydia for promoting her? Grief and obstinacy. Really, of all the females fate saw fit to—

“Mr Gunvald?”

“Hmm?” Oh, right. He was scowling again.

He relaxed his features and nodded for her to continue.

She gestured with her head towards the closed office door and dropped her voice once more. “Russell Maddox is just outside. He’s asking to see you.”

He grunted. “Again?” That man had been trying to pin him down ever since he started performing here three weeks ago – the night Lydia had catapulted into all their lives. He’d never figured out why an actor of such a stature would want to perform here of all places when he had his pick of any high profile theatre all over the world, not to mention London’s West End and New York’s Broadway.

“He’s being very persistent. I don’t think I can get rid of him this time.” She looked at him apologetically.

“Fine,” he sighed. What was he going to do anyway? Sit in his office all day with a turgid cock and cotton wool rammed up his nose? It was Saturday for fuck’s sake. Didn’t Saturdays used to be fun? “Send him in.”

“Yes, sir.” Lisa turned towards the door, then turned back to him before she opened it. “And thank you, again.”

He nodded, glad to see someone other than Ryan so gleeful.

She left, and he rearranged himself on his seat, doing his darnedest to ignore the smell of Lydia that occasionally wafted past him from god knows where.

The window was open. He frowned. Was she nearby?

The door bursting open pulled him out of his train of thoughts, and in walked Russell Maddox, Hollywood nice guy, as if he owned the place.

Lawrence took an instant dislike to the man. His wolf threatened to rise territorially.
Down, boy.
He stood and offered his hand in greeting. “Mr Maddox.”

“Mr Gunvald,” he drawled, his Californian accent booming around the room.

Lawrence tried not to wince. It wasn’t the guy’s fault that his hearing was more sensitive than most. Still, did he have to shout when he talked?

“And please,” he continued, “call me Russell.”

“Very well, Russell, what can I do for you?”

“I have to say, Mr Gunvald, your reputation precedes you.”

Lawrence tensed internally, but remained unperturbed on the outside. “And what reputation is that exactly?”

“Why, the Gunvald family name, of course. Your grandparents and
their
parents before that … they are well known throughout Europe for their theatrical excellence. It’s a great shame European theatre history isn’t studied in the States to the same degree as it is here – they’re relatively unknown over there.”

Lawrence relaxed a little. He was referring to his
human
family reputation, not his wolf one. Yes, the Gunvalds were and had been greatly talked about, as unrivalled theatrical performers among humans, and as royalty among the werewolf clans. For his own part, he made sure he talked about it as little as possible.

“Tell me, do you act?” asked Russell, excitement audible in his voice.

He smiled stiffly. “No, I don’t.”

The Hollywood star’s face fell a little. “Oh, I wondered … I mean, you clearly have a flair for dramatics,” he chuckled.

Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

Russell’s chuckle turned into a nervy cough. “I mean the air about you, and your attire, and … er… ” he faltered, probably because he got the sense he should shut up.

Lawrence looked down at his ‘attire’ – black, leather motorcycle pants and a dark purple silk shirt. Dramatic? What the fuck was wrong with what he was wearing?

“Anyhoo,” said Russell, steering the course of the conversation elsewhere, “I’m gonna cut straight to the chase. I want to buy this theatre off you.”

What?
He had
not
seen that coming. “Uh … the theatre’s not for sale.”

“I’m willing to offer you—”

“Mr Maddox, since you know my family history so well, you’ll know that the
Erika Gunvald Theatre
flourished in the early seventies under my parents’ care, and that on this very site before that, stood a playhouse –
Den Svanen Dansare
– built by my grandparents’ own hands in the memory of my great grandmother. That playhouse
became
this theatre because it, too, flourished and expanded. To hand all that over to someone outside of my bloodline would be against the wishes of my family, both dead and alive.”

This time, Russell’s smile was a forced one and the man’s warm, sunny visage, became a cloak that fell away. “Then let me enlighten you, Mr Gunvald, to parts of your family history that you may not be aware of.”

A shiver snaked up his spine and he had to temper the animal inside him, as always, but it had been ten times harder to do so since he’d mated. His control was too often balancing on the edge of some precipice nowadays. Even riding Violet – and even Ryan had known better than to tease him about the name he’d christened his bike – couldn’t calm his wolf.

“In 1949, after a domestic feud, Erika Bauer and her two sisters, Astrid and Laura, were disgraced from their family and disowned. I believe the particulars of the argument have never been known.

“The three women, alone – very brave for that time – journeyed all the way from Vienna to Stockholm, arriving in the bleak December of that year with only clothes on their backs and bread in their pockets. Bread which they had earned from performing at various bars and clubs as they traveled, so skilled were they as dancers. Without a doubt other types of ‘performances’ were also offered.” Russell looked at him meaningfully, and he almost hit the man in the face.

“This is family history that I already know.”

Russell ignored him. “Stockholm is eventually where the lovely Erika would capture the attention, and eventually the heart, of Amadeus Gunvald, your grandfather, soon after she began working for him in his theatre.”

Lawrence glanced at the cotton wool he’d thrown on his desk. Maybe he should ram them in his ears instead. “Yes, I’m aware of—”

“Despite the fact that she was four months pregnant at the time.”

His objection died on his lips.

“Yes, Mr Gunvald, your grandmother was with child before she even met your grandfather – a consequence of one of her little ‘performances’, I’m led to believe.”

Lawrence rocketed from his chair and onto his feet in a matter of seconds, not bothering to worry about lack of finesse. “My family tree shows me something entirely different, and since I don’t know you from Adam, I’ll have to assume you’re lying. And I do believe you’ve outstayed your welcome.”

“Of course the child’s name was never in the family tree – he was illegitimate! He was adopted soon after birth, by a family who moved to the States to start a new life, and let me tell you, that baby – my
father
– was a nightmare to track down. But once I had,” he let out a staggered laugh, “oh, boy, oh,
boy!
Imagine my surprise when I realised my grandmother, Erika Bauer, was in fact the very same woman as Erika Gunvald, infamous ballerina and stage performer of their playhouse in Sweden, then later, all of Europe.”

He was pretty sure Russell Maddox had used up all the oxygen in the room, because he was damned if he could breathe. This just couldn’t be – it wasn’t
possible
. He racked his brains for the family history he knew – the one he had locked away in his subconscious twenty years ago because he refused to bring up memories too painful to bear.

His grandmother and her sisters had been werewolves, and not just any werewolves – storm-wielders. That had been the reason for their banishment from their pack in 1949 – not that Russell seemed to know that. As far as Lawrence could tell, Russell was recounting this entire story as if all the people involved were human. The truth was that everyone in it was a werewolf … except for the man who had fathered Erika’s first child. He had to have been human, because Russell clearly was, although it was so very rare that a wolf and a human would or even could procreate. But, no – it wasn’t impossible. In fact, it was one of the things Tridents counted on for their survival, not that they found it easy: breeding with humans.

Until they’d decided to up their game by coming after werewolves, that is.

Pregnancy wouldn’t have tempered Erika’s natural need to find her mate though, although she wouldn’t have been able to bond with her mate until after the child had been born. So her werewolf gene wouldn’t have been activated yet.