Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines) (14 page)

“Right. I did great. And everyone still died.”

“Three people died,” Roy corrected her. “The rest lived. I think a lot more of them would have died without you. What did the police say about what you did?”

“They said they’d bored a hole in the wall and gotten a tiny camera inside. They said they were watching for the right moment to break in, when they had the best chance of saving the most people, and I gave them that moment. But I think they only said that to make me feel better.”

“Laura…” Roy stretched out his hand toward her.

Laura jerked back. She didn’t deserve his comfort. “Don’t touch me.”

He dropped his hand to his side. “You’ve heard this before, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “One of the cops sat me down and went through it with me. He said I’d probably feel guilty regardless, because I didn’t save everyone, but I should focus on the people who lived. But…”

“That’s easier said than done,” said Roy, nodding. “Especially when you were forced to choose someone to die. You do know that if you’d refused, Gregor would have shot someone at random, right? Maybe even that same man. Maybe the mom with kids. Or maybe one of the kids.”

Laura nodded, biting her lip, hoping that the pain would distract her enough to hold back her tears. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Roy leaned in, watchful and intense. Laura again flinched back, but this time Roy stayed where he was. His eyes were shone silver in the moonlight, cool and predatory.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but she thought she knew what he looked like when he set that dispassionate gaze of his on a target. On an enemy, she corrected herself; on another human being, whom he intended to kill. She wasn’t the only one in the room who had taken a life.

“Remember that military secret I told you?” he asked.

“You told me two,” she reminded him. “Nightmares are an occupational hazard, and sometimes the enemy is just a guy doing his job.”

Roy nodded. “I’ll tell you a third. It’s the flip side of the nightmares. I know it’s a cliché to say that war is hell, but it’s a cliché because it’s true. Your friends get killed. You see horrible things. You do horrible things. You make decisions that haunt you for the rest of your life.”

He paused. She didn’t think he’d so much as blinked. Waiting for him to go on was such an agony of suspense that Laura couldn’t even breathe.

“But also…” Roy went on. “Actually being in combat… It can feel really good. At first you’re terrified. But if you go
through
the fear—go past it—you get to this place of perfect calm. Perfect focus. You feel completely alive. You feel like you’re the best version of yourself. Everything is bright and clear and simple, not all muddy and complicated the way life normally is. You don’t think. You just
do
. Is this ringing any bells?”

Laura’s heart pounded as if she was leaning far out over the edge of a cliff. “Yes.”

“That asshole Gregor threw that in your face. He said you were enjoying the danger, and he said that made you just like him. It doesn’t. It makes you just like me.”

“It does?” Her voice cracked; her mouth had gone dry. She desperately wanted to believe what he was telling her.

“Yes,” Roy said simply. “You were trying to save lives, not playing some sadistic game. Some people like doing difficult jobs under pressure. It’s why those cops you met were on the SWAT team, it’s why I joined the Marines, and it’s why you enjoyed conning Gregor. I assume it’s also why you stuck with the life of crime for so long. You’re not a bad person, you just enjoy taking risks. There’s legit jobs where you can do that, you know. You should try one.”

A rush of relief swelled Laura’s throat, choking off her reply. She felt as light as if a crushing weight had been lifted from her back. Roy’s words didn’t take away from the horror of what she’d gone through, but for the first time, she could believe that maybe she wasn’t a horrible person herself.

But hard on the heels of that thought came the understanding of what it meant to Roy to be a Marine, and how much it must have cost him to lay out exactly how much he loved the life that he could never have again. He’d done that for her, just to comfort her.

That thought, more than her own guilt, cracked open the pain she’d kept locked inside for so long. Burning tears welled up and ran down her face.

Roy lifted his hand, then stopped. “Can I hold you?”

She was sobbing so hard, she couldn’t speak. But after she’d told him not to touch her, she knew he wouldn’t do it without permission.

Laura reached out to him and hung on, burying her face in his shoulder. His strong arms closed around her, holding her safe and warm and protected. She could feel his breathing, deep and steady, coaxing her to match his rhythm. She relaxed against him, letting him hold her.

She knew he wasn’t judging her for what she’d done or not done, for her choices or for her deeds or for crying now. Roy was nothing if not honest. If he said that she wasn’t a bad person—if he said that she was like him, not like Gregor—then she had to believe it. At least, she had to believe that he believed it.

“I’m not sad,” she gasped. “At least, not only sad. I’m happy, too. Relieved.”

Roy held her tighter, stroking her back and her hair. “I know. I know.”

Her tears slowed and then stopped, leaving her cleansed, as if from a summer rain. She moved her face away from the wet patch on Roy’s pajamas, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away entirely. Instead, she nestled her head under his chin.

Now that her emotional storm had passed, she became intensely aware of his physicality. Roy’s presence, his touch, the heat of his body, the clean scent of his hair. The solidity of his shoulder, into which her face was turned. The scratchy stubble on his chin. His strong fingers massaging the tension out of her shoulders. His heartbeat resonating against his chest.

His breathing, speeding up. His heartbeat, speeding up as well. She felt the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

“Laura…” he said. His voice was lower, husky.

She was trembling, all over. But not from fear. She was dizzy and hot with desire. Laura didn’t have to ask to know that Roy felt the same way.

Laura wanted to kiss him, knew that he wanted to kiss her, knew that it was going to happen even before she decided to do it. She didn’t know who moved first, or if they both turned to each other simultaneously, as if they had read each other’s minds.

His lips met hers, kissing her fiercely. His mouth was hot inside. The first touch of his tongue made her breath catch until the room seemed to swing around her.

He pulled her down, or maybe she pulled him down, she didn’t know. They fell together to the bed. She kissed his cheeks, his closed eyes, the space between his lips and his chin. But when she started to move lower, to kiss his throat, he jerked his head aside, his eyes snapping open, his expression wary.

“Sorry,” Laura said, though she didn’t know what she’d done wrong.

He looked confused. “No,
I’m
sorry. I don’t know what got into me. You can kiss me there.”

Roy tilted his head back, offering her the hollow of his throat. She kissed him there, and felt a tremor go through his body.

“What’s it feel like?” she asked.

“Good.” He hesitated, then added, “And dangerous. I don’t know why.”

Laura remembered two wolves, white and gray, snarling and tumbling in the snow. “When you fought as a wolf, you bit that other wolf’s throat to force him to surrender. How did you know to do that?”

He shrugged. “Instinct, I guess. I had my teeth at his throat, so he knew I could kill him if I wanted… Oh.”

“Yeah. I think you’ve still got some wolf instincts.” Laura started to slide downward, but Roy caught her shoulder.

“My wolf isn’t the boss of me. Do it again.”

Laura bent her head again, kissing the delicate skin of his throat. She could feel his life’s blood pulsing against her lips, and wondered how hard it was for him override his primal instincts and let her put her teeth so close to his throat—how much of him
was
the wolf.

“I trust you with my life,” Roy whispered, his throat moving under her mouth.

Laura believed him, and it frightened her. She pulled away. “You shouldn’t.”

“I do.” Roy caught her shoulders, holding her still. “You went back for me. You didn’t leave me. You shielded me with your own body. You risked your life for me.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Roy interrupted. “You’re brave and smart and trustworthy and my God, you are hot!”

He slipped one hand up her shirt. Laura tensed, abruptly self-conscious of her plump stomach and the bulges of fat on her sides and her whole overweight body, what would Roy think when he actually touched it…?

His left hand stayed on her shoulder, holding her securely in place. His right caressed her belly, her sides, the small of her back, exploring every curve with slow deliberation, as if he could hardly bear to stop touching one in order to get to the next.

She was agonizingly aware of every bit of his hand on her body, of the thickened calluses on his palms and the clipped edges of his nails and the softness of the pads of his fingers, of the slight variations in pressure that sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. Her entire body was on fire and he hadn’t even touched her breasts yet, let alone anything below her waist.

Before she got completely lost in what it was like to be touched by him, while she still had some conscious thought left, she wanted to touch him back. Laura put her hand on his stomach, under his shirt, stroking his hard six-pack and circling his belly button. She felt his belly vibrate as he chuckled softly.

Laura slid her hand upward, then froze when she touched a straight edge. A line of tape: his bandage.

“We should stop,” she said, hearing her own reluctance in her voice, her eagerness to keep on going. But someone had to be sensible, and it obviously wasn’t going to be Roy. “You’re not up to it.”

“What?” Roy sounded like he didn’t even know what she was talking about. He was caressing her breasts, making it hard to concentrate.

“Or, at least, not go any further,” she said.

He pulled her down and kissed her. She forgot what she was saying, lost in passion and sensation and the heat of his mouth.

Then she came to her senses and broke away from the kiss. “I mean, we shouldn’t have sex. It’s too strenuous. You’ll pass out or start bleeding or something.”

Roy took his hands away and rolled over on to his side. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now I feel like a real man.”

To Laura’s relief, he didn’t sound hurt, only amused. She poked him in the shoulder. “I’m serious. I practically had to carry you to the couch this morning. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I know. I was teasing.” He wrapped one of Laura’s curls around his finger and gave it a playful tug. “Listen, if
you
don’t want to have sex, just say so. But
I’m
up for it. I rested all day. I feel good. And I promise to do it gentle…” He kissed her, slow and gentle and sensuous. “And easy…” Another kiss. “And slow.”

A final kiss, the slowest and easiest and gentlest of all.

“God, where did you learn to kiss like that?” Laura said, once her head stopped spinning. “That nearly made
me
pass out.”

“You inspired me,” Roy replied. “But seriously, don’t worry about me. I won’t do anything athletic. I won’t dangle from the ceiling… or dangle you from the ceiling… or put my ankles over your shoulders… or run through every position in
The Joy of Sex
, in alphabetical order… or even just the ‘eighteen mice on a golden throne’ position.”

“What a shame,” said Laura, laughing. “‘Eighteen mice’ is my favorite.”

Roy went on, “…Or pick you up and make love to you standing up.”

That doused cold water on her amusement. “Of course you won’t. You couldn’t lift a fat girl like me anyway.”

“You’re not fat. You’re… what’s the word? It was in
Her Fiery Passion
…” Roy snapped his fingers. “Voluptuous! You’re voluptuous. It means curvy and sexy.”

Laura couldn’t help giggling. “I know what voluptuous means.”

“Anyway, if your previous boyfriends couldn’t pick you up, it’s not because you’re too heavy, it’s because they were slackers. My everyday gear—the stuff I lug around all day, my SAW and my rucksack and my body armor and so forth—weighs eighty pounds. Depending on the mission, I might carry more weight than that. If I wasn’t in danger of
bleeding or passing out,
” he imitated her cadence, “I could easily lift you.”

“You’re never going to let me forget I said that, are you?” Laura asked. Then, her voice sounding fragile in her own ears, she added, “Seriously?”

“Seriously. If you like… if this isn’t a crushing disappointment, and you want to try again… I’ll prove it you later.”

It’s the ingredients for a perfect con,
Laura thought.
He’s persuasive and I want to be persuaded.

Crossing her fingers that it wouldn’t end in blood and tears and passing out, Laura said, “Okay. You’re on.”

“Oh, one thing,” Roy added, sounding less sure of himself. “I hope this isn’t a mood-killer, but do you have any condoms? There’s other things we could do if you don’t, but…”

“But not ‘eighteen mice?’” Laura asked. “I might have some. Let me see.”

She rolled over, found her purse beside the bed, and fished around in it until she found a familiar plastic strip. The condoms had been waiting there hopefully for God knows how long, but when she held them close and squinted, she saw to her relief that they hadn’t expired yet.

“You’re in luck,” she said, offering one to him. “Actually, I think I’m in luck.”

“Thanks.” He took the condom and stashed it under the pillow, which seemed to be his go-to place for keeping things he might want to quickly get his hands on.

He reached out for her pajama top, but the moonlight was so bright, she shied away from exposing her body. Touching was one thing, but she hated the thought of him getting a good look at all of her flaws.