Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines) (7 page)

She couldn’t believe she’d had that thought. But she’d rather be daydreaming about sex than focusing on… a whole lot of other things. Starting with why a werewolf had tried to kidnap her, who or what he actually wanted, and whether he’d try again.

Laura edged to the nearest window. It was dark as midnight. All she could see was a ferocious whirl of snow. Wind howled faintly outside, and there was a brief rattle of hail. The storm had gotten significantly worse since they’d come inside. She hoped that would keep kidnappers away.

A loud thump made the walls rattle. Laura spun around, her mouth opening to scream.

Her teeth clicked shut when she saw Roy standing in the bathroom doorway, in the pajamas, with one hand braced against the wall and the other dangling at his side, holding the gun. He looked like the only thing keeping him on his feet was sheer willpower.

Laura darted up to his non-gun side. “Right arm around your waist, right?”

“Yeah.”

He put his arm over her shoulders. She put her right arm around his waist and grabbed his left wrist, pulling him close against her. Laura had warmed up once she’d put on dry clothes, but Roy was still cold and shivering.

The bathroom was only about five steps from the bed, but he felt heavier than he had before, as if he was resting more of his weight on her. They stumbled to the bed, where Laura barely managed to lower him down rather than dropping him on it.

“Thanks.” Roy examined the gun as he lay in bed. He kept it aimed at the wall and away from her, but it still unnerved her. “Cheap gangster gun. Wish I had my Beretta. You don’t have a gun, do you?”

“No.”

“Oh, well. Better than nothing.” Roy shoved the gun under the pillow.

“The safety’s on, right?” Laura asked nervously, pulling the covers over him. “You’re not going to shoot yourself in the head?”

“No.” He dragged the blankets closer around him. “Are you cold? Or just me?”

“It’s you. The cabin’s warm.”

“That’s shock. And…” He was shaking so hard that he was having trouble getting the words out. “…hypo… hypothermia.”

Laura wished she’d gotten him into the cabin immediately, instead of leaving him lying in the snow while she went for her car. Too late now. “I could make you some hot tea. Would that help?”

“Yeah.” He put his hand under the pillow and kept it there. “Get a knife.”

“What for?”

Roy’s eyebrows rose. “Protection.”

“The door’s locked,” Laura protested.

“There’s windows.”

A chill crept down her spine. There was a window across from the bed, with the curtains drawn. “I’ll be right back.”

Before she left, she rummaged in the closet for more blankets. She found an electric blanket, which would have been perfect if the electricity had been on, and a down comforter. Laura piled the comforter on top of Roy, then headed for the kitchen.

Her eyes widened as she passed the bathroom. It looked like a serial killer had hacked up a body. Roy’s pants and shoes lay in a wet heap on the floor atop the bloody scraps of his T-shirt. Blood had soaked into the white rug, pooled on the floor, and smeared over the sink and counter. There were bloody fingerprints on the walls and door. How much blood could a man lose and live?

Laura jerked the door shut and headed for the kitchen. The blizzard was still going strong. She couldn’t see anything but snow outside the windows, which made her imagine that evil werewolves were probably lurking right outside.

She took a carving knife from the wood block and kept it within hand’s reach, but it didn’t make her feel safer. Her belly knotted at the thought of trying to fight a wolf with a carving knife.

As she set a pan of water on the wood stove, she wondered what was up with the werewolves. What had the werewolf minion and his boss wanted with her, anyway? Or had they actually been after Roy, and were just grabbing her to get rid of the witnesses?

The fact that Roy had risked his life for her was almost as hard for her to take in as him being a werewolf – as the whole idea that werewolves existed.

She stared at the water, willing it to heat up faster. Roy had said he’d be all right, but he looked terrible. He probably needed surgery, antibiotics, and the sort of painkillers you could get addicted to, not hot tea and a patchwork quilt.

She stirred honey into a mug of mint tea, then returned to the bedroom with the tea, a bottle of ibuprofen from her purse, and the carving knife.

“I hope you like honey and mint,” she said.

“If it’s hot, it’s good.” Roy tried to sit up, but didn’t get very far.

She put the things she carried down on the bedside table and helped him lean back against the headboard. He immediately put his right hand back under the pillow, where he’d stashed the gun. Unnerved, Laura tried not to stare at the curtained window across from them.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked.

“It’s not that bad.” He was a rotten liar. Not enough practice, she supposed.

“Let me re-phrase that, tough guy. I have a bottle of extra-strength ibuprofen. Want some?”

He managed to crack a smile. “Yes.”

Roy put the pills in his mouth, then picked up the mug. His hands were shaking; tea slopped over the rim. Laura caught his hand, steadying it in hers, and helped him hold it to his lips.

When he’d finished it, she put the mug down on the bedside table. Despite the tea, he was still shivering. Laura touched his cheek. It was icy as the rock she’d hit her knee on.

“Let me get in bed with you. I’m hot. I mean
warm
,” she corrected herself, flustered. “You said you might have hypothermia.”

The skin around Roy’s gray eyes crinkled with amusement. “I promise to be a gentleman.”

“As if you have a choice.” Laura climbed in under the covers, and helped him lie down again. She was right: he was freezing.

“Let go of the gun.” She was beginning to shiver herself. “Put your arms around me.”

His hand stayed where it was, and she felt him tense beside her.

“It’s literally within hand’s reach,” she pointed out. “And honestly, it scares me to be inches away from a man with his finger on the trigger of a loaded gun.”

“My finger’s not on the trigger. You don’t do that until you’re ready to fire.”

But he slid his hand out from under the pillow, rolled on to his side, and put his arms around her. She held him close, willing the heat in her to soak into him.

At first all she was conscious of was the cold and the effort it took to not pull away from it. But as Roy’s body slowly warmed against hers, she relaxed into his embrace. She’d never before been held by a man big enough to make her feel small. It gave her a sense of being safe and protected.

Laura’s breasts were pressed up against Roy’s chest. She had her head nestled into his muscular shoulder, inhaling his clean scent, her forehead tickled by strands of his silky hair. How long did it take for a military haircut to grow out that much? Had he not had a chance to cut his hair since he’d been wounded in Afghanistan?

She wondered if that had even happened, then decided that it probably had. She doubted that he’d lied to her. Omitted some things, obviously. But he struck her as an honest man. An honest werewolf.

It was odd that it didn’t scare her to curl up in bed with a man who could turn into a wolf. But like his size, it made her feel more safe, not less. Now that she had a chance to think about it, it made her happy to know that amazing, magical, impossible things like werewolves really existed. And Roy had been a magnificent wolf.

“You
are
hot,” muttered Roy, pulling her even closer. He’d stopped shivering. “I mean warm.”

Laura laughed. “Told you.”

She couldn’t help enjoying lying there with him, his strong body pressed so intimately against hers. If she turned her head to the side, her lips would touch his throat.

Kiss him and make it better
, she thought. An impulse came over her to do just that, so fierce and demanding that it was all she could do to resist.

She forced herself to hold still. Roy was holding her because he was chilled, not because he wanted to hold
her
. He’d barely had the strength to lift a cup of tea. The last thing he needed right now was to have to gather his energy to give her a “I’m just not into you” speech.

His breathing had evened out, his chest rhythmically rising and falling against hers. She lifted her head to see his face. He seemed to have fallen asleep. He was still pale, but not the deathly white he’d been before.

She gave a last glance at the curtained window before she let exhaustion pull her down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

The cold woke her. Laura fumbled for the blankets, still half-asleep. Her hands found nothing but chilly, rumpled sheets. Then memory rushed back, telling her that Roy ought to be beside her.

Her eyes flew open.

The candles had burned low, and the blankets had been shoved aside. Roy was sprawled at the edge of the bed, in danger of falling off, with one hand under the pillow and one dangling down to the floor. His face was turned away from her, and every breath he took ended in a low moan of pain.

Laura sat up, alarmed. “Roy?”

He didn’t stir or answer.

She chewed on her lip, wondering if she should touch him. The last thing she wanted was to startle him when he was half-asleep and had his hand on a gun, even if he didn’t literally have his finger on the trigger.

“Roy?” Laura called again, louder.

He rolled over. Roy looked dazed, his eyes glassy and unfocused. His hair was wet and clinging to his flushed face.

He put his hand to his chest, then pulled it away, wincing. “It hurts. Was I hit?”

“You were shot. Don’t you remember?”

“It hurts,” he repeated, but Laura didn’t think it was in answer to her question. “I need… I need…”

She touched his forehead. It was as hot as if he’d been lying in front of the fireplace.

“You’re burning up,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’m freezing.”

She pulled the blankets back up, then reached over him for the bottle of ibuprofen. Laura went to the bathroom and filled the mug with water, then came back and sat on the edge of the bed.

Roy’s eyes followed her, but he didn’t try to sit up. Nor did he try to help her when she lifted his head, put the pills in his mouth, and held the mug to his lips. He just obediently swallowed. She remembered him the night before, determinedly standing in the doorway. It frightened her to imagine how weak he must feel to not even try to hold the cup.

“I need…” he said again.

Laura waited for him to finish, but his voice trailed off.

“What, Roy? What do you need?”

He didn’t reply.

“More water?”

He shook his head.

“The bathroom?”

He shook his head again, looking frustrated. His jaw was clenched, and every ragged breath told her how much pain he was in.

Laura sat there, feeling completely helpless. What Roy needed was a hospital, and instead he had a first aid kit from a supermarket, a bottle of painkillers for cramps, and an ex-con artist with no medical training. She couldn’t even figure out what he was trying to ask her for.

When he spoke again, Laura almost jumped out of her skin.

“I need my pack,” he said.

“Your pack?” she echoed blankly. “Your backpack? Is it in the barn?”

“My wolf pack.” His gray gaze fixed on her, full of desperate longing. “I need my wolves.”

“Where are they?” Laura asked.

He gave a deep, despairing sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Are they—”

He spoke over her, his words slurring together as if he was drunk or half-asleep. “I don’t know where they are. I don’t know
who
they are. It’s killing me. If I can’t have my pack, I want my buddies. I want DJ and Marco and Alec, but they’re half a world away. I don’t want to be alone!”

The anguish in his voice wrenched at Laura’s heart. She put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”

He turned his head away. “You’re not a wolf. You’re not pack.”

“Are your buddies all werewolves?”

“Only DJ.” After a moment, he added, “That I know of.”

Laura wondered about that, but filed it away for later reference. “Then I can be your buddy, right?”

She expected him to argue that she wasn’t a Marine, but he seemed to consider it. “You’ll guard my back?”

“I will. I didn’t leave you behind, remember?”

That apparently cinched the deal. “Okay. We’re buddies. Your watch.”

With what looked like a huge effort, he lifted his hand and laid it over hers. Then his eyes fluttered shut, and he relaxed into sleep.

Laura got back in bed with him. He obviously didn’t need her body warmth any more, but his fever might turn to chills at any moment. And there was no way she’d leave him to wake up alone.

Chapter Five: Roy

Cold Beer and Remote Control

Roy shaded his eyes against the pale dawn light. Every muscle in his body ached. He felt like he’d been run over by a tank. But that was a major improvement over what he remembered of the night before.

His right hand was still clutching the pistol under the pillow, so tightly that his fingers were cramped. Roy pried his fingers off the grip of the Raven .25 and rolled over, cautious of re-opening his wound. When there was no sharp pain, only a dull burn, he sat up. The room lurched around him, then steadied itself.

When his vision cleared, he was looking down at Laura. She was fast asleep in a nest of blankets, her brown-sugar curls spread out over the pillow and her soft lips slightly parted. If she’d been his girlfriend, he wouldn’t have been able to resist leaning down and kissing her.

She wasn’t, unfortunately, so he’d just have to resist. But though he didn’t touch her, he couldn’t stop looking and longing.

Last night she’d been so warm and soft beside him, with her generous curves and pillowy breasts. He’d been so cold and sick and hurting that it had been hard to think of anything else, but he’d wished he’d been in better shape, so he could appreciate it. More, he’d wished she was lying there because they were about to make love, not because she was trying to stop him from dying of shock and hypothermia.