Read Online Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines) by Lia Silver - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lia Silver
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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.
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.
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