by Lia Silver
But it would be a good start. Better than letting them all sit around like zombies, anyway.
“They need to get out of here. Mind if I invite them over to the cabin?” Roy asked.
“Please!” Laura replied.
Roy hauled himself into a sitting position, with some belated assistance from Laura. If he had to address them all lying down, he’d be embarrassed and feel like he was on his deathbed.
“Come over here,” Laura called, to Roy’s gratitude. He wasn’t sure how loudly he could speak.
The pack obediently crowded round the bed, Miguel supporting Nicolette with an arm under her elbow.
“How do you all feel about coming over to Laura’s cabin?” Roy asked.
“Great,” said Miguel, for the first time showing a spark of interest. “Anything to get the hell out of here.”
“Fuck this place,” spat out Nicolette. “I want to get out and never come back.”
Russell and Keisha nodded.
“You’ll have to drive ahead of us,” Roy said. If he got in a car now, it would probably kill him no matter what Laura did. “Laura and I will walk. So go pack whatever you need in the cars, and come back here when you’re done.”
Laura took out her keys and handed them to Keisha. “Car keys, cabin keys.”
“I’ll pack my medical supplies,” Keisha said. “But whatever I can’t fit can stay. I never want to set foot here again.”
“I don’t need anything,” Russell said. “Let’s just go.”
“I don’t need anything either,” said Miguel.
“Nicolette, are you up for some walking?” Roy asked.
She immediately straightened her back and raised her chin. “Yes.”
“I’m putting you in charge,” Roy said. “Take the others to their rooms and make sure they pack some clothes, their toothbrushes, that sort of thing. Yours too. Take everything you want, since you’re not coming back. All four of you, stick together. Pack one person’s room at a time. And get some clothes from Donnie’s room for me to wear.”
Roy was bare-chested, and his jeans had been partially cut off and sheared straight through the waist. Keisha had left enough so it wasn’t all hanging out, but that was just for modesty; everything would fall off as soon as he stood up.
“When you’re done, come back here. Keisha, you’re in charge of getting the medical equipment loaded.” Roy looked straight at Nicolette, and put some force into his voice. “Nicolette! Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” Nicolette replied. As Roy had intended, putting her in charge had made her fall back on her military training.
The pack trooped out, leaving Roy alone with Laura.
“Think they’ll all show up with three left shoes and a curtain rod?” she asked lightly.
“Not with Nicolette overseeing them. I hope.” Roy abruptly ran out of energy, his head swimming. “I’m sorry. I have to lie down.”
Laura helped him back down. He reached out blindly, and felt her catch his hand.
“I’m here, Roy,” she said.
When he closed his eyes, exhausted, the bed seemed to melt away beneath him, as if he was falling through. His heart jolted, skidding into irrational terror. Roy’s eyes flew open. He clutched at Laura’s hand and did his best to keep her lovely, worried face in focus.
“Talk to me,” he said, hoping she could understand. “Keep me awake.”
Roy had no idea what Laura said to him, but he followed the rhythm of his voice, following its rises and falls. Her sharp scent, lemon with just a sprinkle of sugar, surrounded him. She squeezed his hand tight and stroked his hair, his cheek, his shoulders, giving him something solid to hold on to.
Gradually, the world steadied around him, until he felt as if he was part of it again, and his strength and alertness returned.
“Laura?” To his relief, he finally sounded like himself again. He sat up, and it didn’t even make him dizzy.
She put her arms around him, holding him close. He turned his face into the delicate skin of her throat, the tickling curls of her hair. Her scent grew sweeter and sweeter till it was more meringue than lemon, and the bond hummed between them with her happiness and relief that he was better, that he was alive and breathing in her arms.
When he looked up, he saw that the room had been partially stripped, with all the easily portable items taken except the ones still attached to Roy. No one was present but him and Laura.
“Did the pack leave already?” he asked.
“No, they’re still loading medical equipment,” Laura said. “But you might want to get your pants on before they come back.”
Roy looked down. Sure enough, what remained of his jeans had fallen off when he’d sat up. He grabbed the folded clothes from the foot of the bed and scrambled into them in record time. He was buttoning the shirt when the pack came in.
Keisha went straight to Roy and had him follow her finger with his eyes, then checked to see if he could feel her scratch the bottom of his foot. While she tested his reflexes, Nicolette and Russell and Miguel stood still, neither speaking to nor looking at each other. Their job complete, they seemed lost.
Roy hadn’t said a single word to Russell, and he’d spoken to Keisha and Nicolette only briefly. Even Miguel, whom he’d interacted with the most, he barely knew. But he inexplicably felt as if he’d known all four of them as long as he’d known the men in his platoon. He was even aware of the pain each of them had carried before they’d ever joined the pack: Keisha’s perfectionism, Miguel’s self-doubt, Nicolette’s rage, Russell’s loneliness.
Roy frowned at them, puzzled. There was no way he could know any of that. But he was certain of it all.
They were strangers, but they didn’t feel like strangers. They felt like his brother and sister Marines. It didn’t matter if they wouldn’t ordinarily have been friends, or even whether they liked each other. He would do anything for them. He would die for them, and be glad to have had the chance.
It was his responsibility to take care of them, his responsibility to protect them, his responsibility to put them back together.
“Keisha, did you give me morphine?” Roy asked.
“No,” Keisha replied, startled. “I didn’t give you anything for pain. Do you need something?”
He shook his head. “I feel strange. I thought maybe that was why.”
“You’re sensing the pack, aren’t you?” Laura said. “I am too. I think they’re trying to bond with us.”
Roy looked back at the pack members. They weren’t staring blankly any more; they were staring at him and Laura.
“Do you want to?” Roy asked Laura, but he already knew she did. She’d bonded with Keisha in the purely human sense before she’d ever become a werewolf.
“Of course I do. I always have.”
Even as Laura spoke, the entire pack had crowded around the bed, without so much as a gesture of invitation from anyone.
“You could be our alphas,” Russell said abruptly. “I can feel it.”
The others nodded.
“We won’t force anything on you,” Roy said. “You’ve had enough of that. If you want us to be in your pack, we won’t control you or tell you how to live your lives. I don’t know how you’d do on your own, but if you want, you’re free to go.”
“Maybe Nicolette could be your alpha,” Laura suggested.
Nicolette shook her head. “It’s not about who’s toughest. I can’t control the pack sense. Believe me, I’ve tried. I was trying now, and I still can’t do it. It’s you two or no one.”
Keisha nodded. “Once Gregor died, I couldn’t even feel the others until now.”
“I couldn’t either,” said Miguel. Russell nodded his agreement.
“I was focused on you before, Roy,” Laura explained. “Once I was less worried about you, I let myself open to them. I think Nicolette’s right. They need us. At least, they need one of us. It could just be me.”
Roy laid his hand over Laura’s. “If you’re in, I’m in.�
�
“Do you all want this?” Laura asked.
“I do.” Nicolette indicated Laura. “You killed that motherfucker. I’m good with you.” Indicating Roy, she said, “It’s too bad you’re a jarhead, but on the other hand, you did almost die for us. That’s good enough for me.”
“What’s ARMY stand for?” Roy retorted. “Oh, that’s right, Ain’t a Real Marine Yet.”
“As if I’d want to be one.” Nicolette wrinkled her nose. “You don’t let women do anything.”
“We let them fly helicopters. One of the bravest people I ever met in my life was a female Marine helicopter pilot.”
“But you notice you have to say, ‘we let them fly,’” said Nicolette. “Like it’s a favor.”
“You’re the one who said ‘let,’” Roy protested. “That’s your word.”
“Get a room, you two,” said Laura, smiling. Then she turned to the others in the pack. “What do the rest of you think?”
“I’m in,” said Keisha. “Laura kept her word to me. And Roy came to help us, when he didn’t have to. I trust them.”
“I’m in,” said Miguel. “Roy respected me. He treated me like one of his own Marines when he didn’t even know me. He nearly killed himself just coming here, let alone what Gregor did to him. And Laura took out Gregor. I trust them.”
Russell looked at the other three members of the pack. “I trust you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come for you sooner,” Roy said to them all. “I wanted to bring a friend of mine, as an ally. But I’ll never leave you behind again.”
Roy felt Laura grasp their bond, then extend it outward, touching each of them. He joined with her, weaving his strength into hers, linking each member of the pack to each other and to him and Laura.
You’re my brothers and sisters, Roy thought, hoping they’d understand his meaning even though the pack sense didn’t transmit words. I’ll protect you with my life.
He’d only thought in terms of being the alpha, the leader: of him defending them, of giving with no expectation of getting. But each of them responded, offering him something in return.
Nicolette stood at his side and a little behind, guarding his back. Russell conveyed the image of the two of them kicking back with a beer, and the implication that Roy was in dire need of someone to relax with. Miguel sent him warmth and loyalty and brotherhood. Keisha offered Roy her brilliance and skills, and the friendship she had already extended to Laura.
Click.
“I have a pack,” Roy said, stunned. “I’ll never be alone again.”
Laura’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. She touched his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Hold on,” Roy said.
He knew the importance of ritual and tradition in binding people together and raising morale. If there was one thing the Marines were good at, other than warfare, it was that. Semper fi. From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli. The Rifleman’s Creed.
This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life…
“Do you all have scent names?” Roy asked.
The pack looked baffled, and Keisha said, “What are they?”
“They’re an important cultural tradition.” Roy mentally crossed his fingers that no one would inquire further, since that was the sum of his knowledge on the subject. “They’re exactly what they sound like: names based on your scents.”
“You’re not changing your names,” Laura added hastily, no doubt imagining a lifetime of being addressed as Lemon Meringue. “And you don’t have to use them in conversation. It’s just important to have them.”
“If you’ll become wolves for a moment, and remember all of our scents…” Roy transformed, though he could smell them as a man; Laura took on her lithe gray form.
Roy had only seen Miguel’s wolf before, and he examined the others curiously. Nicolette’s wolf was only a little bigger than Laura’s, rangy, her sleek golden fur stained with blood at the shoulder. Russell was a black wolf, powerfully built and the largest of the pack. Keisha’s fur was pale, almost silvery, and her eyes were a startling, brilliant green.
Roy became a man again, followed by the others. “You all caught our scents?”
Everyone nodded.
“I was named by the Marine who made me a wolf,” Roy said solemnly. He hoped that by starting there, he’d prevent everyone, including Laura, from cracking up when he got to her scent name, or possibly his. “I was bleeding to death in Afghanistan, and he bit me to save my life. And he gave me my scent name: Guinness.”
To his relief, no one laughed.
“Of course,” Russell said. “It’s a lot of the same notes, minus the alcohol.”
“And Roy named me,” Laura said. “Er… Lemon Meringue.”
Keisha, Nicolette, and Laura looked at each other and snickered.
Resignedly, Roy thought, They say laughter is the best medicine.
Roy went on, “As your alphas, Laura and I will name you.”
“Miguel, you’re Caramel,” Laura said.
Miguel seemed pleased with that, which Roy figured either meant the whole thing was working or that he liked caramel.
“Russell,” Roy began, inhaling his scent of bitter chemicals and smoke.
“Gunsmoke,” Nicolette said, simultaneously with Roy. “And why Russell gets Gunsmoke when I’m going to get… I don’t know what, but it won’t be that.”
“I might trade you,” Russell offered. “Depending on what yours is.”
“No trading. The names are what they are. Nicolette…” Roy breathed in Nicolette’s clean scent of rain and earth and green. “Summer Rain.”
Nicolette gave Roy a menacing look, but Miguel smiled at her. “That’s exactly right.”
Keisha’s scent was a dizzyingly complex blend of what seemed like hundreds of different elements, spicy and warm and elegant.
Roy nudged Laura. “I need help with Keisha. I don’t know how to describe hers. I’m not even sure what all the parts of it are.”
“Vanilla,” said Russell. “Oranges. Peaches. Coriander. Bergamot. Jasmine tea.”
“Cedar,” offered Miguel. “Roses. And something green. Grass? Herbs?”
“Incense… Sandalwood… Amber.” Laura laughed. “It’s a perfume! And I know which one. It’s Obsession, by Calvin Klein. I mean, not exactly. But Roy doesn’t exactly smell like Guinness either. Keisha, your scent name is Obsession.”
“Mine’s the coolest,” Keisha said.
The mood in the room had changed. No longer shell-shocked, the pack seemed brighter, if not exactly cheerful, and ready to get on with things. Roy figured that would last for about another hour, but that would be enough to get them safely home.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Roy tried not to look too obviously cautious when he stood, but he saw the twitch of Laura’s hand toward his elbow and he wouldn’t have been shocked if he’d fallen over. But to his relief, though he was light-headed from exhaustion, the effects of Gregor’s power had faded away.
The moon and stars were bright overhead, the air cold enough to make everyone’s breath condense in white mist. It was good to be outside, and better to be about to leave the house and its cracked wall forever, though Roy was sure he wasn’t half as glad to see the last of it as Gregor’s former hostages were. Sooner or later, the discovery would be made of an abandoned building and something inexplicable and disgusting inside. Roy wondered if someone was in charge of hushing up such things or if he’d eventually read about it in a newspaper.
Russell stopped outside, laid his palm on the front door, and waved everyone forward. “Go to the cars. I’ll be with you in a second.”
The pack seemed to find more meaning in that than Roy did, because that put a new spring in their steps. He followed them to the cars, where they all turned, eagerly watching Russell.
“What’s going on?” Laura asked.
�
�You’ll see,” said Nicolette. “Just watch.”
For several minutes, nothing happened. Roy was beginning to wonder if it was some inexplicable prank on him when the entire mansion went up in a gigantic fireball. Heat struck him like a blow to the face. Russell was still standing at the door, engulfed in flames.
“Russell!” Laura shouted, lunging forward.
Roy grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. It was already too late. She’d only get herself killed.
“He’s all right!” Miguel called, shouting over the roar of the flames. “It’s his power—he won’t burn.”
Roy turned angrily on them all. “Not funny, guys. You should have warned us.”
The other pack members were shaking their heads.
“I knew he was going to burn the place down,” Nicolette said. “But not like that! I thought just the door would catch fire.”
Russell stepped away from the blazing mansion, covered in soot, his clothes charred and smoking. As he walked toward them, he left a trail of bits of blackened cloth and ash.
Five steps away from the blaze, he collapsed.
Roy’s heart nearly stopped. He bolted forward, running low, grabbed Russell, hefted him over his shoulder, and tore back to cover.
He was about to dive behind a car when he saw everyone staring at him.
Right.
No gunfire. No enemies. No IEDs. There was a man down, but not because he’d been shot or caught in a blast.
Roy skidded to a stop. He laid Russell on the ground in front of Keisha, then surreptitiously pressed the heel of his hand into the driveway.
Hard, Roy told himself. Cold. Sandpapery. There’s a smooth pebble embedded in the concrete.
“Is Russell all right?” Laura asked.
Keisha had her fingers on his throat, and her head turned over his face to listen for his breathing. She straightened up, looking relieved. “Yes. He’s exhausted, I think. I had no idea he could do that. I’ve never seen him light anything bigger than a log in the fireplace.”
