Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines) (6 page)

Laura held up her hands, as if in horror at the suggestion. “You don’t have to drag me! I’m coming. Uh, which way are we going?”

He pointed, his gaze automatically following his finger. “That way.”

Laura lunged forward, darting under his snatching arm, and made a rush for the front door. Her hand closed on the doorknob. It was so cold that it burned.

Rough hands grabbed her shoulders, yanking her away.

“Roy!” Laura yelled at the top of her lungs. “Help!”

A hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her shout. She fought wildly, stomping at his feet and lashing out with her fists. One of her elbows connected with something solid, sending pain sizzling up her arm. He yelped, but managed to pin her arms to her sides.

Laura struggled, but he had her in an unbreakable grip. He began to drag her away.

“Get your hands off her!” It was a man’s voice, deep and commanding. Roy.

The minion twisted around, though he still held Laura tight. Roy stepped out of the woods, his face set and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Let go of her, or I’ll break your arms.” Roy strode forward, looking entirely capable of arm-breaking.

The minion released her. Laura stumbled backward, relief flooding through her.

She bolted for the cabin, then turned back in the doorway. The men were squared off, watching each other closely.

Laura waved frantically. “Roy! Get in here. That creep might have a gun!”

The minion gave a nasty snicker. “I’ve got something better than that.”

The air around the kidnapper shimmered. He dropped down on all fours, his clothes dissolving into fur. Before Laura could even process what was happening, the minion was gone. In his place was a gray wolf.

The wolf leaped at Roy, snarling, fangs bared.

“Look out!” Laura started to scream.

But Roy was already diving out of the way, faster than Laura would have believed possible. As he moved, the air shimmered around him as well. A huge white wolf hit the ground.

An instant later, the wolves were locked in combat, rolling over and over in the snow, snapping at each other.

Werewolves existed. And two of them were fighting in the front yard of her father’s cabin.

Laura’s disbelief hit maximum, then tipped over into acceptance. She’d had that feeling before, that calm sense of “This is really happening.” Her stomach lurched when she remembered the context: looking up to see that two men in line for the tellers were holding machine guns.

“Deal with it,” she muttered to herself.

She’d said that at the bank, too.

The white wolf—Roy—was much bigger than the gray one. He pinned the minion-wolf and closed his jaws over the other’s throat. There was no blood; it was a threat, not a death blow. The gray wolf went limp and whined pathetically.

The white wolf released him, then snarled. With a yelp of fear, the gray wolf fled, his tail between his legs, until he vanished into the woods.

The white wolf swung his head in Laura’s direction. His predator’s eyes were ice-blue, and his fur was thick and soft-looking. Roy had seemed out of place in the snowstorm, wearing nothing but jeans and a T-shirt. But the wolf belonged in this snowy landscape.

Laura realized that she was still stuck in the doorway. She cleared her throat. “Um… Roy?”

With a shimmer of air, the wolf was gone, and Roy stood ankle-deep in snow.

His gray eyes met hers, his expression guarded. “Get in the cabin, Laura. Lock yourself in.”

“You too. Come on,” she added, when he hesitated. “I trust you.”

He took a step forward. His feet made no sound in the deep snow.

A gunshot shattered the silence. Laura screamed, then pressed her fist to her mouth.

A bloodstain was rapidly spreading across Roy’s chest. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the snow.

The smart thing would be to get inside, slam the door, and barricade it. But Roy had saved her. She couldn’t abandon him.

Laura dashed out, grabbed him by the shoulders, and tried to drag him to his feet. “Get up!”

She’d never tried to lift a man before. He was far too heavy; she could barely even raise his shoulders.

His eyes were open but glassy, the color draining from his face. Laura pressed her hand over the wound in his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. He let out a grunt of pain. His shirt was soaked in blood, hot but cooling rapidly.

She’d felt that wet heat before. She’d smelled that coppery odor before, too. Red blood on white snow. Red blood spattered bright over the white carpet of the bank. Red on white…

Laura’s heart pounded so hard that she felt as if it would burst through her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. She was paralyzed, suffocating, helpless…

“Laura.” Roy’s voice was barely a whisper. “Run.”

Icy fear ran through her veins, jarring her back to reality. Slowly, she lifted her head.

The man who had shot Roy was striding calmly toward them, gun in hand.

Roy struggled to get up, his panting breaths clouding the air. He raised himself on one elbow, then collapsed back down, sending up a spray of bloody snow.

Laura didn’t move. She felt numb, frozen to the bone.

“Get away from him,” the kidnapper ordered.

His gun-hand shifted, as if he was trying to find a target, and she realized that she was blocking his line of fire to Roy. Laura’s paralysis broke, but she didn’t budge. She was all that shielded Roy. And the kidnapper obviously didn’t want
her
dead.

“If you want to kill him, you’ll have to kill me too!” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Impatiently, the man walked forward, bent over, and jerked at her arm.

Roy’s hand whipped up. He grabbed the kidnapper’s wrist and smashed the gun into the man’s face. The minion yelled in pain, and the gun went flying.

Laura scrambled for it, slipped on a patch of ice, and fell. One knee banged hard against a rock.

By the time she picked herself up, the other werewolf was gone. Roy had managed to retrieve the gun. He lay on his belly with his arms outstretched, aiming it into the woods. Laura was reminded of snipers she’d seen in movies, waiting patiently, barely breathing, becoming part of the landscape.

“Did that guy run away?” Laura asked, kneeling beside him.

Roy didn’t take his gaze off the forest. “Yeah, he’s gone. At least, I don’t smell him.”

Don’t
smell
him?
Laura thought. “I’ll drive you to a hospital.”

“No!” Then, more calmly, he repeated, “No. I don’t need a hospital.”

“You’ve been shot,” Laura pointed out.

He turned his chilly sniper stare on her. “I said no.”

“I’m not going to sit here and watch you bleed to death,” Laura retorted.
Not again.
“I’ll pull up my car.”

It wasn’t as if he was in any condition to stop her. If she had to, she’d shove him into the back seat.

She walked away as fast as she could, which wasn’t very. The ground was treacherous underfoot, icy and slick. She could only see a few feet ahead of her, so she didn’t even spot her car until she was almost on top of it.

Snow had blown high all around it. The driveway was buried under a thick white blanket, and beneath the snow was a layer of slippery ice. Even if she could dig out the car, she didn’t have snow tires or chains to prevent her car from skidding off the road.

Laura hurried back to Roy. He lay where she had left him, his black hair dusted with white. The snow around his chest was cherry-red. Laura looked away from that, forcing herself to focus on his face. The sweat on his forehead had hardened to beads of glittering crystal.

“You win,” Laura said. “No hospital. My car’s buried in a snow drift. Let’s just get into the cabin.”

“Thanks,” breathed Roy, the tension around his jaw relaxing. He fumbled with the gun, then managed to click something on it—the safety, she hoped—and stuff it into his belt.

She again caught him by the shoulders. Her hands were so numb that she could barely get a grip.

“Not like that.” His voice was frighteningly weak; she could barely hear him over the howling wind. “Help me sit up.”

He levered himself part way up, and Laura pulled him the rest of the way. Air hissed through his clenched teeth, and she knew that she’d hurt him. But he made no other sound.

“Put your right arm around my waist,” he said.

She slipped her arm down, holding him tight against her body.

With a visible effort, he lifted his left arm and dropped it over her shoulders. “Grab my left wrist with your left hand.”

His wrist was thick with muscle. She couldn’t get her fingers all the way around it.

“Now stand up,” he said.

Slowly, she stood. She could tell that he was helping her as much as he could, but she’d never lifted that much weight in her life. Her knees cracked audibly as she locked them.

Together, they staggered to the front door. Roy reached out and fumbled the door open. Once they were inside, Laura kicked the door shut and Roy slammed the deadbolt in place with the heel of his hand.

“Good teamwork,” he whispered.

The transition to warmth and silence was shocking. They leaned against the door, both of them panting. The breath burned in Laura’s lungs, and Roy’s arm was heavy over her shoulders.

“Is there a first aid kit?” Roy asked.

Laura’s mind went blank, then she recalled seeing one. “In the bathroom.”

They stumbled toward it. The entire cabin was barely larger than her apartment in LA, but it felt like a trek of miles.

Laura kicked the door open, then knelt down and helped Roy lie on his back on the furry white bathroom rug. He sprawled out, taking up most of the space on the floor, his legs mostly outside in the corridor. It drove home what a big guy he was, not only tall but large-boned and muscular. She couldn’t believe she’d carried any of his weight.

The first aid kit was under the sink. It was the size of a lunch box, the kind sold in supermarkets. Laura opened it and held it out for his inspection.

Roy eyed it with disappointment. “I was hoping for military surplus.”

“Are you a medic?” Laura asked hopefully.

He shook his head, wincing. “Marines don’t have medics. We have Navy corpsmen for that. I’m a SAW gunner.”

“A what?”

“A machine gunner.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be all right.” His storm-gray gaze was calm, and he put his hand lightly over hers. His fingers were cold as ice, and left smears of blood on her hand. “I—werewolves—are hard to kill.”

“You’re going to tell me about this
werewolf
thing, right?”

“Yeah. I’m just…” His voice trailed off, and his fingers slid from her hand. Even in the golden candle light, his skin looked ashen. “…tired.”

“Never mind. Later.”

She took a pair of scissors from the kit and began cutting through his T-shirt. The blood had started to freeze, turning into crimson slush. Laura resolutely tried not to be grossed out or scared to death, or at least not so much that she’d be unable to do anything useful.

She peeled off the pieces of his shirt. The wound was still bleeding, though slowly. His chest was as muscular as his arms, with a scattering of black hair. A number of jagged pink scars slashed across it, as if he’d been mauled by some huge beast.

Another werewolf?

Laura was dying to ask, but it was obviously hard for him to talk.

“Tell me if I’m doing anything wrong, okay?” Laura asked. “I thought I’d clean it with iodine and bandage it. Then I’ll get you into bed.”

Roy gave a little smile, almost teasing. “Sounds good.”

She replayed her words to herself, then she too smiled. “If you’re up for it.”

He kept the smile until she poured the iodine over the wound. Then his entire body stiffened, his fists clenching and his eyes squeezing shut. But he didn’t make a sound as she cleaned the wound, then dried the skin around it so she could tape on a bandage. His jaw was locked so tight that she could see all the muscles tensing around it.

“Hey,” she said. “You can yell and swear if it’ll make you feel better. You got shot protecting me. There’s absolutely nothing you can do that’ll convince me you’re not a world-class badass.”

He spoke so softly that she had to lean in to hear. That close, she could see the flickering candle flame reflected in his eyes. “Goes both ways. Never leave anyone behind. You went back for me.”

Laura turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears that stung her eyes. She could never take back everything wrong that she’d done, but she hadn’t abandoned Roy. Maybe that redeemed her. A little bit.

“Turn over,” she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her emotion.

She helped him roll over, and cleaned the smaller entry wound in his back. Despite what she’d said, he didn’t yell. Instead, he silently tensed again, then slowly relaxed as she wiped the blood from his back with a warm washcloth.

She helped him sit up, leaning back against the bathtub, and used the cloth to clean the blood from his chest. Once the blood was gone, more scars were visible, including a set of small white marks circling his left shoulder.

“Are those bites?” Laura asked.

Roy nodded.

“From a werewolf?”

He nodded again, and a violent shudder ran through his body.

“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“N-no.” The shuddering continued, and she realized that he was struggling to talk without letting his teeth chatter. “It’s not that. I’m c-cold.”

His jeans were soaked through with melted snow. Laura, too, was chilled and wet. She’d been so concerned for Roy that she hadn’t noticed before.

“I’ll get you some dry clothes,” she said.

She hurried into the bedroom, stripped off her wet clothes and pulled on some sweats, and found a pair of her father’s pajamas for Roy. She pulled the covers back from the bed, then returned to the bathroom.

Roy held out his hand for the pajamas. “I got this.”

Laura retreated, relieved that they were both spared from the embarrassment of her taking his pants off.

Though that could be fun under better circumstances
, she couldn’t help thinking.