Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines)

by Lia Silver

  “One month of peace, and you’re bored already?” Laura teased.

  “A little. Don’t tell me you’re longing to get back behind bullet-proof glass.”

  “No.” Then Laura admitted, “I guess I’m wondering how I’ll do. If there’s something that reminds me. If I end up in a situation where the only way to defend you or me or Francesca is to kill someone.”

  “This isn’t war. We’re not going there to kill anyone. We’ve got cop tools: persuasion…” Roy touched Laura’s lips. “…And intimidation.” He indicated himself. “My mom went up against gangsters and murderers and drug dealers, but she never fired her gun except on the range.”

  “I know. But we can’t know what’ll happen. You didn’t want me to kill anyone, but Gregor took that decision out of your hands.”

  Roy studied Laura’s face. “Do you still want to do this? Seriously. Think about it.”

  Laura thought about it. For all the risks, to her and to him, she did want to help Francesca. And she wanted to match her wits against those of the blackmailing rogue werewolf. She might not be as restless as Roy probably was, but she had the itch to get out and do things, to live on the edge again. And to do it with him, instead of alone.

  “I want to,” she said.

  Roy took her hands. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there for you. Everything you’ve done for me, I can do for you. If you have nightmares… If you need me to stay by your side, if you don’t even want to be alone in a room…”

  His hands were still shaking. He’d pushed himself enough; she didn’t need to make him ask her for what she already knew he wanted.

  “I’ll stay with you too, Roy. I know you don’t want to be alone today.”

  “Thanks.” He sounded a little choked up.

  “I don’t either. I got my solitude in the other day, when I drove down to Fresno.” Laura patted her lap. “Want to lie down?”

  “Do I dare?” Roy asked lightly, his voice back under control. “My mother warned me about creepy hair-petting women.”

  “My father warned me about men who pretend to be asleep so they can creepily lure innocent women into petting their hair. Lie down if you want to lure me.”

  Roy promptly lay down with his head in her lap, on his side with his back pressed into the couch. If she hadn’t already known, she could have measured how edgy he was feeling by how much it bothered him to have his back exposed.

  She stroked his hair, letting the fine strands slip between her fingers. Laura had felt so furtive the first time she’d done that, so convinced that no man like him would ever want to have anything to do with her. When she’d finally made herself walk away, she’d felt as lonely as she had every day in high school, or when she’d looked down at the endless, empty cloudscape as she’d flown away from New York. But here he was, committed to her, trusting her with his body and his vulnerability.

  Laura remembered her first sight of Roy, framed in the barn door, wary and lost and startlingly tall. Flushed and sweating with fever, asking her to watch over him. Naked in bed, showing her his scars. Stealthily pressing a spatula down on an omelet. Shouting at her to live with tears running down his face. Kneeling at her feet in the hallway. Lying on his back on the living room floor, shaking with the effort of not touching her. Pulling himself up into a tree, muscles bulging. Firing his pistol from the floor of Gregor’s lair. Ashen and gasping in Miguel’s arms. Leaping over DJ’s Harley as a huge white wolf. Reading on the couch beside her. Watching intently as Jim Sullivan adjusted his form with the compound bow. Sprawled on the porch with the pack, lazing in the sun. Slow-dancing with his cheekbones streaked with black.

  She knew Roy wouldn’t let himself sleep, but he relaxed under her touch. After a while, he rolled on to his belly, face turned to the side, and secured an arm around her waist. She rubbed his back and shoulders, gazing out the picture window at the hills. Snow began to fall, silent and peaceful, like curls of white smoke.

  Laura wondered what Roy was thinking about. The ambush where DJ had been burned, probably.

  “You should bake a blueberry pie,” Roy said unexpectedly. “For old times’ sake.”

  ***

  Roy seemed in a better frame of mind by dinner, at least enough to have a piece of her blueberry pie. But by the time he got in bed, he was so tense that he flinched when she lay down beside him.

  “Sorry,” he said, and pulled her closer. “I’ve been trying my best to take it down.”

  “I know you have.” Laura touched their bond, letting him feel her presence.

  “I asked DJ to show me his scar.” Roy’s voice was low, but it sounded loud with the snow muffling all other noises.

  “What, you mean when he was here?” Laura asked.

  She felt him nod.

  “Hadn’t you seen it before?”

  “Yeah, but in Afghanistan, I’d been trying not to. So I’d never gotten a good look at it.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Shiny. Lumpy. Like melted wax.” Roy swallowed. “And a red welt over his ribs. He said it didn’t hurt, but there were certain movements he didn’t like to do because they made him feel like it might tear open. I didn’t get up the nerve to ask until right before he left. It’s what set me off the last time.”

  It was strange how she could know Roy so well and even glimpse his emotions through the pack sense, and still have no idea, at times, why he did what he did.

  “Then why did you ask to see it?”

  “To put another picture in my head,” Roy replied, as if he was surprised that she didn’t already know. “Something other than charring and blood and that crack down to bone. To see that he had healed.”

  “Oh. Are you picturing it now?”

  “I’m trying. I keep getting stuck on, ‘But he never should have been hurt in the first place.’ You know how you keep thinking, ‘If I’d done this or if I’d done that, then everything would have been different and I wouldn’t be so fucked up now’?”

  “Absolutely,” Laura said. “‘If I’d noticed the shapes of guns under the coats.’ ‘If I hadn’t tried to con Gregor.’ ‘If I’d commanded Gregor a second before he grabbed you instead of a second after.’”

  “Yeah. And, of course, a lot of them might not have made any difference even if you had done them. But I was going down my list of ifs, and eventually I hit the only one that really would have made me not be so fucked up now. ‘If I hadn’t ever enlisted.’”

  “What if you hadn’t?” Laura asked. “Yeah, you wouldn’t be dreaming of combat now. But what else would have happened?”

  “DJ wouldn’t have been hurt,” Roy replied. Laura was opening her mouth to contradict him when he went on, “He’d have been killed. No one else was close enough to get to him in time. Not to mention that I never would have even met him or any of the guys in my unit. If I’d never enlisted, I don’t know if I’d even recognize myself.”

  Laura tried to envision civilian Roy, extrapolating from the teenager he’d told her about: that angry, painfully self-conscious boy, so desperate to prove himself. “I can’t imagine it. I knew you were a veteran before I even met you.”

  “I loved it, you know,” Roy said softly. “In a way, I loved it right up to the end. That probably sounds strange.”

  “No.” Laura nearly stopped there, then made herself admit, “I loved being a con artist. The price just got to be too high.”

  Roy’s hair brushed against her cheek as he nodded. “Can you imagine if you’d done something completely different with your life? Like, if your father had been a traveling salesman?”

  “I wouldn’t have conned my own family, that’s for sure,” Laura said bitterly. “Forget conned them—more like I conned myself, right out of their lives.”

  Roy laid gentle fingers on her cheek. “You could still call them, you know. It’s not too late.”

  “You just want a sweet, white-haired, Jewish grandmother-in-law to fuss over you and feed you home-made chicken soup,” Laura sai
d, hoping to distract him with teasing.

  “That does sound good, right about now,” Roy replied. But to Laura’s dismay, he returned to the Kaplans. “If they were my family, I’d call them.”

  “It’s not that easy. If I tell them I’m a con artist, it’s a fifty-fifty shot whether they forgive me or tell me to get lost. If they do, then that’s it: we’re done forever, no third chances. And if I don’t tell them, then I have to make up some other story for what I was doing with my life before I decided to check them out, and then I’m back to conning them again.”

  “Even if you did lie about some of your past, is that really worse than not having a relationship at all?” Roy suggested. “People lie to their families all the time. Miguel’s family has no idea he’s gay.”

  “Yeah, and look how great that makes him feel,” Laura muttered.

  She felt Roy bend his head in agreement. “Or you could tell them everything, and let the chips fall where they may.”

  The thought of setting herself up for that harsh judgment, at the hands of people whose opinion she couldn’t help caring about, made Laura feel physically sick. “Stop pushing me, Roy. I can’t do it. I know you think that makes me even more of a liar—”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Roy levered himself up on one elbow. “I do not think that, Laura. I’m not judging you. I’m disagreeing with you. There’s a difference. I think you’re making a decision you’ll regret eventually, that’s all.”

  He touched their bond, showing her his frustration, but also his unshaken, unshakable loyalty and love.

  All the same, Laura couldn’t resist testing him. “If I asked you to stop telling me to call them, would you stop?”

  “Are you asking me?”

  “Maybe some day I’ll get up the nerve. But for now, I have a family that already knows everything about me and doesn’t judge me for it. So yes. Stop asking.”

  “All right.” Roy lay back down. “The topic is closed.”

  “As easy as that?” Laura asked suspiciously.

  “Laura, it’s your family.”

  She felt his sincerity in the pack sense. And she felt exhaustion and fear once again seeping into him, like cold and muddy water soaking through his clothes and chilling him to the bone.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Um… I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, but you haven’t let go of the pack sense.”

  “It’s intentional. I figured you’d want to know. It’s the thought of going back there, again…”

  “Maybe you won’t.”

  “I’m halfway there already. I’ve got one foot inside the plane.”

  “Hold tight.” Laura kissed his cheek, and came away with the salt of sweat on her lips. “I’ll meet you at the gate.”

  She heard his huff of breath, almost a chuckle. Then he rolled over so she could guard his back. Laura pressed herself into it, holding him close, giving him whatever comfort and safety she could.

  Laura was unsurprised to wake up later that night to find Roy once again revisiting his own private hell. He lay beside her and ten thousand miles away, eyes squeezed shut, sweat standing out on his face, breathing in rapid, desperate gasps.

  “Wake up,” she whispered, laying her hand on his shoulder.

  Roy woke instantly, his breath catching. His wide-eyed gaze was confused, but at least he seemed to see her.

  “He was so quiet.” Roy’s voice was raw and anguished. “A plastic clip had melted into his skin.”

  “DJ’s all right,” Laura reassured him. “His burns healed, remember? You saw them. They’re only scars now.”

  “Only scars.” Roy gave a great sigh. “Yeah. I remember.”

  He was still trembling, caught in the residue of panic.

  She looked for something to put into his hands, then had a better idea. “Who’s in your pack? Tell me their names as you find them in the pack sense.”

  “Russell Kenworthy,” he began. “Gunsmoke. Miguel Herrera. Caramel. Keisha Smith. Obsession. Nicolette Cantrell. Summer Rain. Laura Kaplan. Lemon Meringue.”

  By the time he finished, his breathing had fallen into a normal rhythm and his voice was calm. With no more ado than a mumbled “Thanks,” he put his head down on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

  Laura lay awake longer, holding him and wishing she could do more. The nightmare itself was bad enough, but the aftereffects would leave him sick and shaken all day. And the pack was coming over for breakfast. She supposed she should call to warn them.

  But in the morning, Roy woke her with a kiss, looking surprisingly cheerful and rested, and hauled her out of bed to shower with him.

  As she leaned back against his chest, letting the water wash over them both, she asked, “Do you remember last night?”

  “Oh… Now I do.” Roy bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks. Again. I’m sorry I put you through that.”

  “You put yourself through it too.”

  “I know. But I can’t live my life wrapped up in tissue paper. I’d rather get hurt sometimes than not play sports, you know?”

  “I wish you could play and not get hurt,” Laura said.

  “So do I.” He rubbed her shoulders, which had tensed into rocks at the memory of his pain. “I don’t mind if you warn me, if you think there’s something I haven’t noticed. But I have to make my own decisions about what chances I’m willing to take. And what prices I’m willing to pay.”

  Laura wished she could wrap Roy in tissue paper, if it would ensure that he’d never hurt like that again. But she also loved him for his stubbornness and his reckless, selfless courage. She loved him for acknowledging that their partnership meant that his pain hurt her too and letting her see it anyway, rather than pushing her away so he could suffer in lonely silence.

  Though Roy hadn’t wanted Laura to kill anyone, he’d never tried to talk her out of rescuing Gregor’s pack. When she’d asked him to stop pushing her to call the Kaplans, he’d stopped. She loved him for respecting her right to make her own choices, even if he disagreed with them. Even if they meant she got hurt. She couldn’t try to take that away from him.

  “How do you feel?” Laura asked. “Will you be able to have breakfast with the pack?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Really?”

  “Now that I remember what I dreamed about, I…” He sighed. “I wish I didn’t. But physically, I’m fine. And that’s the truth. Breakfast is a go. Just so long as you don’t serve me any Pop-Tarts.”

  “No Pop-Tart will ever darken the doors of any kitchen we share,” Laura said, smiling. “But I’m glad it didn’t hit you that hard. All else aside, one day you’ll listen to some show like that, and nothing will happen. And if you don’t ever listen, you’ll never know you could.”

  “That’s true,” Roy said. “Honestly—even after last night—I feel about a hundred percent better than I did when we met.”

  “I can tell.”

  She hadn’t realized how exhausted and raw-edged Roy had been back then, how close he’d been pushed to the breaking point, until she’d seen what he was like when he wasn’t physically and emotionally worn out, a lone wolf lost without his buddies and his pack. He still had his scars, but now he was relaxed enough to enjoy his own life and steady enough to be a shoulder for others to lean on. Like a traveler returned from a long and difficult journey, he seemed at peace in his hard-won home.

  “You’re better, too,” Roy said. “You seemed so sad when I first met you. Sad and lonely.”

  “And guilty. And—not so much when we met, but the whole year before that—bored. But I haven’t had a single dull moment since I met you.”

  “That can’t be true,” Roy protested. “I feel like you’ve spent hours and hours watching me sleep.”

  “Does it bore you to watch me sleep?” Laura asked.

  “No, but that’s because I never get tired of looking at your face.”

  “I’m not sick of yours either,” Laura smiled. “You’re incredibly handsom
e, you know. Did they tease you about in the Marines?”

  Roy shrugged, which Laura took to mean, “Yes, and I will never tell you what they said because I might actually die of embarrassment,” then distracted her by shampooing her hair. She leaned back against his chest as he massaged her scalp, using his other hand to hold back any stray trickles of soap from her eyes, then rinsed out her hair.

  “I was wondering…” Roy said. “You haven’t had any nightmares recently, have you? I’d assumed you hadn’t because you haven’t woken me up.”

  “No, I haven’t. I still think about Andrew, though. And about how I killed Gregor.”

  “If you hadn’t, there would have been more Andrews.”

  “I know, but…” Despite the hot water pouring over her, she shivered at the memory of blood dripping from the wall.

  Roy put his arms around her. “Can you feel the pack?”

  Laura reached out for the pack sense. She sensed Russell’s wry humor, Miguel’s quicksilver intelligence, Keisha’s cool logic, Nicolette’s blazing determination, and Roy’s courage, endurance, and love. Her pack, her friends, her family, bright and warm and sustaining, convincing her bone-deep that she would never be lonely again.

  “Better?” Roy asked.

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  Laura tugged him down by the shoulders and kissed him. First lightly, in gratitude. Then possessively, feeling the bond of mate and pack. Finally, her breath catching, in passion.

  Roy pulled back and tipped her chin upward with his finger, exposing her throat. “Can I kiss you here? You have to brace yourself, but it feels good once you do.”

  Half nervous, half excited, she said, “Go ahead.”

  He lowered his head, letting her feel his warm breath on her throat before he made any contact. Her lupine instincts surged up, baying a warning, and she barely stopped herself from flinching back.