Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines) (47 page)

“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 handsome, 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.

Then his soft lips touched her flesh, and she felt the heat of his mouth. Felt pleasure, not pain; life, not death. The adrenaline rush was clear and bright and perfect, nearly orgasmic. She found herself trembling in Roy’s strong arms, inhaling his clean scent, overcome not only with sensation but with love.

“Thank you,” Roy said.

Laura straightened up, blinking in the water spray. “For what? Thank
you
!”

“For trusting me.” He kissed the hollow place below her throat. “For putting up with me, which I know isn’t easy.” He kissed her over her heart. “For protecting me.” He kissed her right collarbone. “For not protecting me, which I know is harder.” He kissed her left collarbone.

“And for being so fucking hot.” Roy slid down until he was kneeling before her, and kissed the soft skin of her belly.

As he slowly worked his way downward, Laura’s entire body flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the shower. A single flick of his tongue made her so dizzy that she had to grab on to his shoulder for support.

Then she remembered the time.

“Hey,” Laura said reluctantly. “Don’t get too carried away. The pack is coming over for breakfast.”

“Right.” Roy stood up, pushed the curtain aside, and leaned out to check her watch. “We’ve got half an hour. If we allow ten to get dressed, we’ve got twenty. That’s plenty of time for eighteen mice on a golden throne. You said it was your favorite.”

Laura laughed and pulled him back to her. “A mouse per minute, huh? Bring it on.”

***

A note from Lia Silver

Thank you for buying my book! If you’d like to be alerted by email when I release my next book, please
click here
to be added to my mailing list. I plan to write DJ’s story next. You will only be emailed when I have a new book out.

Please consider reviewing
Laura’s Wolf
on Amazon or Goodreads or anywhere else, even if you only write a line or two. Reviews help others find my stories, and so allow me to keep writing.

The poem Roy recalls in chapter three is “Chance Encounter,” by Katsumi Tanaka. The song “Pretty Boy Floyd the Outlaw” is by folk singer Woody Guthrie. The concept of scent names originated in
A Companion to Wolves
, by Elizabeth Bear and Sarah Monette, but my specific use of them was inspired by the works of Dira Sudis. The Rifleman’s Creed was written by Major General William H. Rupertus.

Afterword: About PTSD

I work as a therapist, specializing in the treatment of PTSD. My work inspired me to write this book.

PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) is an anxiety disorder caused by trauma. Long after the trauma is over, the mind and body of a person with PTSD continue to react as if the trauma is happening now.

PTSD has become fairly well-known in America due to the veterans who acquired it in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. However, it can occur after any trauma, not just combat. Rape and sexual assault, child abuse and neglect, domestic violence, car accidents, natural disasters, being the victim of or a witness to violence, and other traumatic events can all cause PTSD.

If you have PTSD, it doesn’t mean that you’re weak, flawed, or “crazy.” It means that you’ve gone through a terrible experience and it affected you. PTSD can affect anyone, no matter how strong or brave they are, just like even the toughest person can break their leg if they fall off a balcony. Audie Murphy, one of the most decorated soldiers in American history, had PTSD. Roy’s symptoms are based on his.

PTSD is a condition with a wide range of possible effects. I tried to reflect that in writing this book; Roy, Laura, and the members of the pack all experienced trauma, but have very different reactions and symptoms.

Roy’s physical symptoms—trembling, sweating, headaches, nausea, exhaustion, difficulty swallowing, and so forth—are common in PTSD. They’re caused by the nervous system getting stuck in “fight for your life” mode. The fight/flight/freeze response is the body’s system for enabling you to make an extreme effort to save your life. It kicks in during trauma, even if it isn’t literally a life-or-death situation. If you spend enough time in that state or have one sufficiently severe experience of it, your nervous system may revert to it whenever something reminds you of the trauma.

People with PTSD may feel constantly nervous and edgy, be exhausted and have trouble concentrating, get extremely startled by noises or movements, have insomnia or nightmares, become very upset when they encounter something that reminds them of the trauma, try to avoid everything that reminds them of the trauma, or have disturbing images or memories of the trauma pop into their minds. They may feel disconnected from reality, as if they’re outside of their body or watching a movie.