Prisoner (Werewolf Marines) (22 page)

DJ laughed, but it had a bitter edge. “Great
minds think alike. I had exactly the same thought about Roy.”

“How’s he doing?” Echo asked.

“Not so good.” DJ let out a ragged breath.
“His wounds are healing. But he doesn’t sleep unless they sedate
him. I can see that he has to force himself to eat. There’s books
in the room but I’ve never seen him reading. Mostly he lies in bed
and stares at the ceiling. It’s like the life’s gone out of him. I
can’t stand seeing him like that. He’s my best friend— my brother.
I have to get him out of there.”

Echo remembered how Emmett had fallen apart
after Julia and Taylor died, even more than could be accounted for
by grief. And being without a pack was supposed to be much worse
for made wolves. “They haven’t let him bond?”

“No. They think he might not know that he’s a
werewolf, and they want to see if that makes a difference.”

“
Could
he not know?”

“Maybe. He was really out of it when I bit
him. More of his blood was on me than in him.” DJ reached out
across the gap between the beds and caught her wrist. His gaze was
pleading, his fingers warm and tight. “How do I find him, Echo?
I’ve been talking to everyone I meet here— discreetly, you
know—”

Her expression must have given her away,
because DJ said, “What?”

“You’re terrible at discreet. Everybody knows
what you want. But even if anyone was willing to put their own neck
on the line to help you, none of them know where the other bases
are, either.”

“Oh.” He looked even more discouraged. “Well,
obviously, I’ve gotten nowhere with that. And the video’s useless.
The encryption makes it flickery and dim, and even when it’s
clearest, there’s nothing in it I can identify. I don’t know how to
rescue Roy. But I have to.”

So much love and determination blazed within
him that Echo could almost see it as a light beneath his skin, like
she could see his body heat in the infrared. He’d save his friend
or burn himself out trying. His scent rose up rich and hot around
her. Ash and oil, charcoal and smoke. He was a fire that would burn
her
up if she let him. She needed to get his hand off her,
immediately, before she went up in flames.

Echo spoke slowly, distracted by his touch
and her losing battle to pull her hand away. “I think you’ll have a
better chance once they start sending you on missions. You’ll
report directly to Mr. Dowling, in his office, and if anyone knows
where Roy is, he does. And maybe you can do some research once
you’re outside the base.”

“Okay. That makes sense.” He squeezed her
wrist harder. “Thanks, Echo. You’ve done so much for me. I wish
you’d let me do something for you. Isn’t there anything you want
from me?”

What she wanted in that exact moment, so
intensely that it seemed incredible that he couldn’t see the image
in her mind, was to take him in her arms and hold him tight. She
wanted to feel his whole body against hers, not just the fingers of
one hand around her wrist. She wanted him to open his mouth to hers
and show her what it felt like to kiss a man she actually cared
about.

Equally, she wanted him safe and gone from
here. She wanted him to rescue Roy, mostly so DJ could stop
agonizing over him, but partly for Roy’s own sake, now that Echo
knew more about him. DJ had said he was done with watching people
die, so maybe he wouldn’t return to the war. But even if he did end
up back in Afghanistan, at least he’d be living the life he’d
chosen for himself. And he’d be out of Dr. Semple’s clutches. Echo
knew from personal experience that either DJ hadn’t told her
everything about that, or there was plenty coming up that he hadn’t
yet encountered.

She wanted to take away his pain. She’d keep
it as her own, if that was what it took. Echo didn’t have so much
happiness to begin with that it would matter if she lost some. But
even imprisoned and tortured and frantic with worry, DJ brimmed
with warmth and enthusiasm and caring and even joy. When he was
experimented on like a lab rat, he took it as an opportunity to
discover what made him tick. His ability to find happiness in the
absolute worst of circumstances was a gift too rare and precious to
be destroyed.

Clearly, Echo wanted a lot of things, not
only from DJ but for him. A lot of completely impossible things.
All else aside, he’d never shown the slightest bit of romantic
interest in her.

And that was just as well.

Fine,
she told herself.
Squashing
and denying and avoiding your feelings was a miserable failure. The
feelings exist. But that doesn’t mean you have to act on
them.

“I want you to never play Norwegian death
metal in my presence again,” she said.

“Done!” DJ released her wrist.

She immediately missed his touch. She missed
him
, which made no sense at all. He was right there with
her, very literally within arm’s reach, lying down and propping his
chin on his hands. If she stretched out her hand, she’d touch his
soft hair.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I wanted to tell you,
Echo— I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t done
anything but punch you in the mouth and help my fucking handlers
fuck up your life.”

“You’ve done a lot more than that.” DJ’s
smile was wry and sweet and absolutely, impossibly sincere. “You
saved my life in the desert. You took care of me when I was sick.
You pulled me out of the crazy pack’s crazy pack sense. Every time
I’ve asked you for the sort of favor that would make most people
tell me to fuck off, if it’s at all possible, you’ve said yes and
you’ve followed through. We ought to be enemies, but you’ve got my
back. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have lost my mind in here.”

Echo couldn’t say that any part of what he
said was untrue, but when he phrased it like that, it seemed hard
to believe. While she was still lying there with no idea of how to
respond, he reached across the space between them and laid his hand
on her shoulder.

“Good night, Echo,” he said. “I’ve got your
back, too.”

Chapter Eleven: DJ

Pack Sense

DJ awoke on his feet, grabbing for a weapon
that wasn’t there. The lights were on, and a siren blared. Echo
leaned against the wall with apparent casualness, which probably
meant she was poised to kill. She was still in her sleepwear of a
black tank top and black pajama pants, and looked like a rumpled
blonde ninja.

“You have reflexes after all,” Echo remarked.
“Good to know.”

“What’s going on?” DJ asked.

A voice boomed over an intercom that DJ
hadn’t known was there. “Do not leave your rooms. Do not leave the
base. We are on full lockdown. Shelter in place until further
notice.”

The siren stopped. DJ looked at Echo for an
explanation.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said.
“But I bet—”

The front door hissed open.

“—we’re about to find out,” she concluded as
Mr. Dowling barged into their bedroom, a duffel bag slung over his
shoulder.

“The pack’s gone berserk,” he said.

“What, again?” DJ asked. “Though I guess it’s
not surprising. Considering that the alpha is a kidnapped, grieving
civilian—”

Mr. Dowling interrupted him. “Quiet, Torres.
I’m sending you and Echo to deal with them, so pay attention.
Anderson is in the hospital with a concussion. Based on the scene
where we found him, he was struck by falling debris when Malakar
smashed a wall. He’s unconscious, so we can’t ask and he can’t end
this. Torres, you said you were able to tap into their pack sense.
Could
you
shut them down?”

DJ hadn’t expected that. “I’m not their
alpha.”

Mr. Dowling spoke with calculated
offhandedness. “Could you become their alpha? The alpha of a born
wolf pack is the senior wolf or the senior mated pair. That
suggests that all born wolves are capable of being an alpha.”

It didn’t surprise DJ that Mr. Dowling had
asked, it only surprised him that it had taken that long. But DJ
supposed Mr. Dowling didn’t want him leading the pack in an
uprising. The situation must be dire if offering DJ that level of
power seemed like a better alternative.

“Their own alpha would have to either die or
deliberately break the bond,” DJ began, wondering how much of this
Mr. Dowling already knew. “And even then, each pack member would
have to choose to bond with me and I’d have to choose to accept
them. If they’re completely off their heads, they’re probably not
capable of choosing or bonding.”

DJ forced himself to stop there, hoping that
was enough to discourage Mr. Dowling. If they were dead-set on
making him take over as alpha, they’d try their usual leverage. And
then DJ would find out exactly how much of a wolf he was. He’d been
brought up to believe that the pack bond was sacred and could only
be entered into by birth or free choice. Forcing or coercing a bond
was like committing rape. DJ didn’t know if he could bring himself
to take on a bond he didn’t want, with wolves who didn’t have a
free choice either, even to save Roy.

Mr. Dowling brushed at his pant legs, as if
he was washing his hands of the idea. “What about just getting into
their pack sense like you did before, and seeing if you can bring
them back to their senses?”

DJ did his best to hide his relief. “I don’t
even understand how I got in that one time. Anyway, it knocked me
off my feet. If I try, I’ll probably run amuck too.”

“Or sit on the floor and howl,” Echo put in.
“Where are they?”

“Ah.” Mr. Dowling frowned. “This is where it
gets tricky. The entire pack, minus Anderson, exited the base on
foot. We’re not sure of the others’ location, but Tyrone Roberts is
on top of a mesa with a sniper rifle, firing at anyone who attempts
to enter or leave the base via the main entrance.”

“Goodie,” DJ remarked. “What sort of sniper
rifle?”

Mr. Dowling gave him an approving glance. “We
think it’s an M-2010.”

“Twelve hundred meter range,” DJ said. “That
beats an M-16. I want a SAW.”

The approval vanished. “I’m not giving you a
machine gun. I want them alive and unharmed. You can have
tranquilizer rifles.”

“What’s their range?” DJ asked.

“One hundred thirty meters,” Echo replied.
“But they’re only accurate at about seventy.”

“Fuck that,” DJ said. “I’m not going up
against an M-2010 with a dart gun. I’m particularly not going up
against Guadalupe without a long-range weapon. She can rip my brain
out of my skull at ninety meters.”

“Only a piece of it,” Echo put in. “And it’s
not like you’re using it for anything.”

DJ started to elbow her in the ribs, then
recalled that they were supposed to hate each other. It was too
late to take back the gesture, so all he could do was change a
playful thump into a hard one. He figured Echo would rather take a
hit than risk rooming with him forever.

Echo slammed the heel of her hand into his
chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Hoping that she was
just an enthusiastic actor, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved.
She grabbed back, and they crashed into the wall together.

“Fuck you!” DJ shouted. “You don’t talk like
that to me!”

“You don’t lay hands on me!” Echo yelled
back.

Mr. Dowling yanked them apart. “Break it up!
What the hell is wrong with you two?”

DJ bit his tongue on the impulse to say, “She
started it.” Instead, he said, “I don’t like smart alecs.”

“And I don’t like roommates,” Echo said
sulkily. “But he can have his SAW. I don’t need one, though.”

“Get it together,” Mr. Dowling snapped,
standing over them like a pissed-off drill instructor. “You’re
partners. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like each other. Your
lives depend on each other. And neither of you gets a SAW. The
armory here doesn’t have any.” He looked at DJ. “They’re not
stealthy
.”

Touché
, DJ thought.

But no way was he going out with inadequate
weaponry. He had to protect himself, and he had to protect
Echo.

“Then I want my own sniper rifle as a
back-up,” DJ said. “I won’t shoot to kill unless I have to. But if
I do have to, who’s more valuable to you, a genetically engineered
assassin and a born wolf Marine, or the made wolves who go nuts
every other week and are currently trying to kill you all?”

“I don’t like him, but he has a point,” Echo
said to Mr. Dowling. “If you’re going to stick me with a partner,
the least you can do is try not to get him killed on his very first
mission.”

“Fine,” Mr. Dowling said. “But if you use
lethal force as anything but a last resort, you’re not the ones
who’ll suffer for it.”

Echo’s lips pressed together into a white
line.

DJ’s inner wolf leaped up, snarling. Fists
clenched, a heartbeat from shifting, he said, “If you hurt Roy,
I’ll fucking rip your throat out.”

Unperturbed, Mr. Dowling replied, “If I die,
he dies. Now get dressed. I’ll be waiting outside.”

He tossed the duffel bag on to DJ’s bed and
left the apartment.

DJ forced his fury aside as he turned to
Echo. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I was doing the ‘hate in public’
thing.”

Echo unzipped the duffel bag. “I know, and
you didn’t. We should spar some time, though.”

Brightening, DJ said, “Yeah, it was fun,
wasn’t it?”

She tossed an armful of desert camouflage and
body armor at DJ. “This looks like yours.”

DJ retreated to the bathroom, where he
stripped off his pajama pants and put on the camo and armor. He
wasn’t in that state of perfect calm that came with combat, but in
the pre-combat stage of readiness and anticipation. He trusted his
teammate. He wasn’t afraid. It was like he’d never left
Afghanistan.

When he came out, Echo was waiting in camo
but no armor.