Cry of the Wolf by Dianna Hardy

Author:Dianna Hardy
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: animal urges, control, Romantic, Science Fiction & Fantasy, paranormal romance, full moon, paranormal fantasy, Paranormal, lust, Fantasy, Werewolves & Shifters, werewolves, Romance, shifter romance, dark romance, werewolf, Paranormal & Urban, urban fantasy
Publisher: Satin Smoke Press
Published: 2013-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

Horns blared and he swerved to the right to avoid the blue Ford Fiesta he was about to kiss the back of.

Sarah yelped in the seat beside him.

“I’m sorry.” Fuck. What was that?

It had been as real as the episode he’d had in the hotel room, only this one he knew wasn’t imagined – it had happened.

He gritted his teeth to stop from growling, and to exert whatever little control he might have left over his mind and body.

Was this what it was like near the end? He’d heard that some Tridents went mad as their brain cells deteriorated.

Five years.

Werewolves thought they had it bad? Oh no, no, no – they had no idea. Tridents had a five-year turnaround. After that, the genetics that had put them in this world – that had created them into the beasts of the wolf world – went all askew. Their cells short-circuited. They died a messy death, and it was nice and painful to boot.

And what about his soul? Would he get to keep that?

The Trident scoffed at the idea of a soul. Even devout Catholics that had been turned from human to Trident had renounced their souls, but not Amil. He had always believed in his. Maybe it came from having a mother who was the High Priestess of a Sekhmet cult, the greatest irony of all, he often mused, being that the goddess, Sekhmet, was depicted as a lioness. A cat.

Eat that, wolfy, he told his inner-beast. No puppy dogs ruling over this gene pool.

As a human he’d never doubted the existence of his soul; as a Trident his soul was blacker, but still there inside him, he was sure. He didn’t know if that made him a better being or a worse one. At least the other Tridents didn’t suffer from bouts of consciousness – they did what they did like machines following instructions, never knowing any different, but he supposed that also meant they weren’t entirely responsible for the acts of horror they committed.

Amil had always struggled, had always known it was wrong, but committed them anyway. And that made him a sinner.

“Amil…”

He turned to find Sarah, pale as a sheet, staring at him with concern and … fear. The ever-perplexing, meshed feelings of sorrow and pride washed over him at that.

He deliberately relaxed his hands on the wheel. “Sarah, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened – I drifted off. A strong coffee will fix that. I must be more tired than I realised.”

Her voice came out strained and small. “Me and cars don’t … I have a fear of car accidents.”

“Please forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

She attempted a laugh, but it sounded more like she was choking. “I know you said you were a demon behind the wheel, but…” She trailed off and blinked rapidly.

He cursed himself over his slip-up and reached out for her with his left hand. He let it rest gently on her thigh, ignoring the way it stirred him right in his loins.

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