Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines) (10 page)

DJ didn’t cry, ever. Not when someone died, not when a bomb went off next to him and gave him third degree burns. He wasn’t crying now, but his face was caked with dust and blood, so I could see that it was all washed away around his eyes.

He said, “You scared me, Roy. I didn’t think you’d make it. But I’m glad as hell you did. You are one tough son of a bitch.”

“One tough wolf,” I said. My voice echoed in my ears. I felt spacy, like I was drunk.

“One tough wolf,” he agreed. “But listen, there’s things you need to know. They’ll take you to a hospital stateside, and I won’t be able to go with you. So I have to tell you now. I know you’re exhausted, but you have to stay with me.”

I tried, but I kept drifting out of consciousness. Even when I was awake, I was so out of it that I couldn’t follow much of what he was saying. I only remember a couple things he said, and the part I recall best was completely trivial.

He said, “There’s born wolves and made wolves. I’m born, and you’re made.” I remember him saying that was important, but I don’t remember why.

Then later on, I tuned in when I think he was just chatting, trying to keep me awake. He was saying that wolves depend more on smell than on any other sense. He said that born wolves are given scent names, which are based on their natural scents. DJ’s scent was rich and kind of salty, not exactly like roast pork, but close enough that I could see why his parents thought of that.

“Do I get a scent name?” I asked.

He laughed. “I could give you one, I guess. Let me try to remember what you smelled like when I was a wolf.”

“Can’t you smell me now?”

“No, that’s a wolf thing.”

I was about to tell him that I could still smell him, but he was already muttering to himself. “A little bit charcoal… A little bit chocolate… A little bit earthy…” He snapped his fingers. “Guinness.”

“You mean the beer?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t like Guinness. It’s bitter.”

“Too bad. Chanel Number 5 hates perfume. Anyway, scent names aren’t important.” He caught himself. “Man, would my folks hate to hear me say that. They’re an important cultural tradition. I meant that they’re not something you need to survive. Roy, were you following the rest of what I told you? About born wolves—”

“And made wolves,” I said.

Now I wish I hadn’t said that. I realized later that I’d given DJ the impression that I’d heard the whole thing, when all I actually remembered was the phrase.

He nodded like he was satisfied. “Good. But except for my family, don’t tell anyone you’re a werewolf. Got that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I wouldn’t anyway. It’d be a one-way ticket to the psych ward.”

“And don’t change where anyone can see you,” he said. “That’s a one-way ticket to somewhere a lot worse than the psych ward.”

He was right about that, too.

Chapter Seven: Laura

Sleeping Arrangements

Roy fell silent and leaned his head back against the sofa, as if telling his story had worn him out.

He’d recounted it calmly, without much visible emotion—
just the facts, ma’am
—except when he’d told her how he’d realized that DJ had been crying. Then his velvety voice had roughened, and he’d turned away from her, hiding his face.

“I don’t know what to say,” Laura said. “You’ve been through hell, and I’m honored that you told me about it.”

Roy shrugged. “I wanted you to know. But DJ’s the one who went through hell, not me. If it had been him dying in front of me, I would have lost it.”

“You two sound so close.” Laura wished she had a friend like that.

“He’s my best friend.” Roy cleared his throat, but Laura had heard him beginning to choke up. “But all the guys in my platoon are close. We train together, we fight together, we live together, we rely on each other for our lives. We’re like brothers. We’d die for each other.” He added softly, “Some of us have.”

Laura wanted to put her arms around him and hold him close, like she had the night before. Words seemed inadequate. But it felt wrong. Intrusive. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. But Roy looked so lost and lonely, she had the sense that he’d welcome some kind of touch.

She reached out and laid her hand over his. As if she’d given him permission, he grabbed it and squeezed hard. His grip was strong and warm, and his touch went through her whole body like an electric shock.

As she had the night before, she longed to kiss him. But though he clutched her hand like a lifeline, he made no move to come any closer or do anything else.

Laura might not know about guns or medicine, but she knew how to read people. You couldn’t con them if you didn’t understand them. And everything about Roy right now—the tension around his jaw, the stiffness in his back, the too-tight grip of his hand—screamed,
this much, but no more.

She sat quietly, holding his hand, until he began to speak again.

“I don’t remember getting picked up,” he said. “But I remember coming to. I was strapped down in a helicopter, and these men I didn’t recognize were bending over me. I couldn’t breathe. One of them took this huge needle and jammed it into my chest.”

Remembering the scene in
Pulp Fiction,
Laura asked, “A shot of adrenaline to the heart?”

Roy laughed, and his grip on her hand loosened. “If it was that, my heart would have been stopped and I wouldn’t have been awake to notice. No, I think there was so much blood or trapped air in my chest that it was collapsing my lungs, and he was trying to release the pressure before I suffocated. I’ve seen hospital corpsmen do that. But I was so out of it, I thought he was trying to kill me. I started struggling, and when I couldn’t break the straps, I tried to change.”

Laura blinked. “So the medics saw you turn into a wolf?”

“I don’t know. I heard DJ yelling at me to stop, and I stopped. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I’d actually done anything. DJ could have meant, ‘Stop fighting.’ But I’m guessing that’s how they found out about me. Anyway, I passed out again, and I didn’t wake up until I back in America.”

“You were probably sedated,” Laura suggested.

“Probably.” Roy took a deep breath, then another. “The next part isn’t going to sound as bad to you. But for me, it was worse. Even when I was dying in Afghanistan, at least DJ was with me. When I woke up in the hospital, I was alone, my nervous system was wrecked, and my career was over.”

He went on to tell her about the underground hospital. Laura hadn’t realized before how seriously Roy had been affected by his transformation; he’d only told her that electric lights hurt his eyes. But he gripped her hand tighter and tighter as he listed off everything he had to avoid. Electric lights. Loud noises. Chemical smells. Strong magnetic fields.

“How did you figure that one out?” she asked.

“They tried to give me an MRI to see if I had a brain injury. Or, I guess, to see what a werewolf brain looks like. They turned it on, and my blood pressure dropped through the floor. I passed out and started going into shock. They said I could have died.”

He finished the bottle of beer, then tilted it back and forth as if he hoped more would materialize. “For a while I thought it was a kind of injury, and it just needed time to heal. I was laid up for weeks with the shrapnel wounds, but they got better and better, and they don’t bother me at all now. But this other stuff…”

“Not yet, huh?”

“It was exactly as bad when I left as it was on day one. I don’t think it’s going to get better.” Roy let out a long, controlled breath. “I keep thinking… A couple hundred years ago, this wouldn’t be a problem. I could be a knight in armor, ride a horse, fight with a sword. But modern warfare is full of every single thing I can’t handle any more.”

Roy spoke evenly, but he was still hanging on to her hand for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “That must be so hard for you.”

As soon as she said it, she wished she’d said something else. As if ‘sorry’ was even remotely an adequate response to him losing his career and being unable to have any sort of normal life!

“Thanks,” he said. To her surprise, he sounded sincere. “I’ve been thinking about what I can do now. And I don’t know what that would be. Even park rangers have to use computers. It’s not just that they give me headaches. I can’t read words on a screen. Computers and TV sets look like squares of blinding light.”

“You could use voice software,” Laura suggested.

“It’s possible.” The tension in his body didn’t lessen one bit. “But I haven’t done too well with electronic noises, even soft ones.”

“Or be a handyman. You fixed the roof here.”

Roy seemed more interested in that. “Freelance, maybe. I couldn’t work on a crew; they’d use power tools. Thanks, Laura. That’s not a bad idea.”

Laura was glad to have given him at least one option, though she couldn’t help wondering how happy he’d really be spending his life fixing other people’s roofs and sinks.

He went on, “Anyway, the place I woke up in turned out to not actually be a hospital. Or not only a hospital…”

She listened, fascinated, as he recounted his escape from the hospital-laboratory.

“You know the rest,” he concluded. “I didn’t want to tell you too much, in case that put you at risk. But you already knew the most dangerous parts. I’m sorry I brought trouble down on you.”

“What, you mean that guy—that werewolf—who tried to kidnap me? Do you think he was from the lab? And was really after you?”

“Unless you know any werewolves other than me…”

“I might.” She told him about the wolf that had menaced her on the way here. “But it wasn’t the same wolf. And it didn’t transform. It was just, you know, a creepy attack wolf. So you tell me what’s going on.”

The grim cast to Roy’s face lightened a little. “Got me. You now know everything I know about werewolves.”

“You need to talk to DJ,” Laura suggested. “Or his family. They might know what’s wrong with you. They might even know how to fix it.”

Roy rubbed his forehead, looking frustrated. “I know. But it’s complicated. I’m worried that if I call or email them, the lab people might be listening in. If they don’t already know about DJ, I don’t want to tip them off. I especially don’t want to tip them off that DJ’s whole family are werewolves. And if those lab people are after me, they’re definitely watching the guys on my fire team, and probably their families, too.”

“It’s a lot more labor-intensive to monitor people in person than it is to tap their phones,” Laura pointed out. “I bet you’d be safe if you drove to wherever they are and caught them away from their home.”

She immediately worried that she’d said too much. Would a normal, non-criminal person know about that sort of thing?

“That makes sense,” Roy said, to her relief. “Then all I need to do is get down to San Diego.”

“I’ll drive you,” Laura offered.

“Really?”

“I have to go back south anyway. I live in Los Angeles. It’s only two hours farther. If we leave in the morning, we’ll get there while it’s still day and there’s no street lights.”

For the first time since he’d begun telling Laura his story, Roy relaxed. His grip, which had been getting slippery with sweat, slid free. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You can make me a fancy omelet tomorrow,” she said lightly. “If you’re up to it.”

“I’ll make you anything you like,” he promised.

The conversation turned to easier topics: favorite breakfasts, favorite movies, favorite books. Laura fetched a stack of Dad’s books from the bedroom for Roy to look through. He started leafing through
Shadow Divers
, a nonfiction book about wreck divers exploring a sunken WWII submarine, then turned to the beginning, leaned back, and began reading. Laura watched him for a while, thinking he’d soon put it down and start talking again, but he didn’t. She didn’t feel like re-starting the minion book, so she picked up a private eye novel,
G is for Gumshoe
.

Laura had never sat side by side and read with someone before, though she’d watched TV and movies with friends and boyfriends. It felt cozy, especially with the snow swirling outside the windows and the fire burning in the hearth.

Her attention drifted from her book periodically, though Roy seemed absorbed in his. She was distractingly aware of his physical presence, so much so that she could sense every inch of the empty space between them. She could still feel an imagined pressure on her hand, as if his fingers had left imprints in her flesh. She kept tuning into his breathing. Every tiny shift of his body caught her attention.

She turned a page, in case he noticed she hadn’t done so in a while. He turned his regularly, reading faster than she did even when she wasn’t distracted.

Laura wondered if the electric current of attraction that she felt vibrating between them was only on her side or if he felt it too. He’d matched her joking flirtation, but she didn’t know if he’d meant it seriously. He’d held her hand, but had done nothing more.

Never get involved with a man with more problems than you
, Dad had advised her.

Roy did seem to have more problems than Laura, which was impressive in a way. He obviously had his hands full, with no time for romance. Though he seemed discouraged about his future, Laura was sure he’d find a way to get back on his feet again. He’d end up with some exciting job that required courage and strength and lots of time outdoors, with no computers necessary. Maybe he’d become a naturalist and study wolves… as a wolf!

She sobered at the thought that whatever his future held, it surely had no room for a semi-reformed con artist with blood on her hands.

Maybe he
was
attracted to her. Weirder things had happened. But a man whose first thought for a second career was being a knight in shining armor had to want a real relationship, not a one-night stand. He was obviously Mr. Truth, Justice, and the American Way—the last man in the world who’d get involved with a criminal. She could never be honest with him, and she wouldn’t sucker him into a relationship based on lies.

Roy glanced up at her. Laura immediately flipped a page in her book. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him rest the book in his lap and lean his head back against the sofa. His eyes fell shut, and his breathing slowed. After a few minutes, his head began to tip to the side until it was resting against Laura’s shoulder.