Strength of the Pack (32 page)

Lucas stripped down to his skivvies and undershirt and started to slip beneath his blankets.

“You’re still half dressed,” Noah said with annoyance and incredulity.

Several responses raced through Lucas’ mind. He snapped his mouth shut audibly, deeming none of his potential answers to be appropriate.

“You’ve been around us long enough now to know that werewolves take comfort from skin on skin,” Noah said into the silence.

Comfort. Lucas reminded himself that this was about taking care of his Alpha and nothing more. He quickly removed the rest of his clothing and slid under the blankets.

Noah was right there. The familiar blazing heat of his body burned into Lucas. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him backward into Noah’s chest. Lucas relaxed against Noah’s firm body, enjoying the feel of Noah’s warm breath against the back of his neck.

He expected Noah to fall asleep almost immediately. Instead, Lucas enjoyed the feel of Noah’s hands as they lightly glided over his body. The hair of Noah’s legs was pleasantly coarse against the skin of his own, as Noah skimmed his feet and calves along Lucas’.

“So, what do you know about Eleanor of Aquitaine?” Noah’s asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Lucas couldn’t help but chuckle silently. “Is this your idea of pillow talk?”

“It might be if we had actual pillows,” replied Noah dryly.

“This is obviously a werewolf history lesson,” Lucas whispered over his shoulder, “so I’ll play along. Eleanor inherited her father’s lands in what is now southern France. She was married for a time to Louis, the King of France. When that was annulled, she married King Henry the First of England.”

“You’re such a good sport,” Noah said facetiously, lips pressed to the back of Lucas’ head. “Since you figured out this is a werewolf history lesson, where do you think the werewolves fit into the story?”

Lucas applied what he’d come to learn about werewolves working with humans to the facts of Eleanor’s life. He gasped when realization dawned. “Are you telling me the British royal family has werewolves in it?”

Noah scoffed. “Hell no. That line died out with the Plantagenets. Could you imagine the Tudors as werewolves?”

“If you told me Elizabeth the First was a shifter, I’d believe it,” Lucas replied. “But the idea of Henry the Eighth having that kind of power is frightening.”

“Not necessarily,” Noah countered. “He wouldn’t have had all the health problems, and that would have altered some of his behavior.”

“Hmm,” mused Lucas. “But back to Eleanor. I want to say Henry was the were but I’m actually not sure.”

“Which of them spent more time in battle?” Noah hinted.

“That would be Eleanor,” Lucas said firmly. “She took her father’s men into battle. She fought at Richard’s side in full armor. I just find it hard to believe that a werewolf could be locked up against her will for twenty years.”

“She loved Henry. She also had an endgame.”

“Well, she did outlive everyone and had influence over her children who held the throne after Henry.”

“And her cooperation meant her pack had the protection of the King of England,” Noah said on a heavy sigh. “Henry never took out his anger with Eleanor on her pack.”

“Is that why she had her marriage to Louis annulled?” asked Lucas. “Because she met Henry and recognized her Dominant?”

“Her Mate, yes.” Noah’s words slurred slightly. His movements had stilled. Lucas knew he was sliding into sleep.

“Does this mean Richard the Lionheart was a shifter?” Lucas couldn’t resist one last question to assuage his curiosity.

“Richard was, yes. Not John, though.” Noah’s voice was barely audible.

“You can sleep in peace, Noah. I promise I will never lock you away in a convent,” Lucas teased.

When Noah didn’t answer, Lucas thought he’d fallen asleep. Long moments later, Noah shifted closer to him and murmured, “Good. Celibacy sucks.”

Shahrak District
Ghowr Province, Afghanistan

Lucas shifted slightly, settling more deeply into the spot where he’d taken cover. The only sounds around them were wind in the trees and the call of birds. The comms were silent as they waited for the seven werewolves gathering intel to complete their mission.

Noah lay mere feet from Lucas, calm and relaxed, yet still very alert. Of the twenty-five men Lucas had been given for this assault, fifteen were werewolves. Since the company’s casualty replacements had included a significant number of shifters, Noah’s command had become nearly as important as Lucas’.

The interrogations of the prisoners Lucas and his men had detained had yielded intel on Taliban fighters taking refuge in the village they were preparing to assault. Noah himself had said he could smell no deception from the men, only fear and anxiety. Battalion command had ordered them to take the village and capture Taliban members for interrogation.

Lucas was patient. Waiting was an integral part of his job. The werewolves on the ridge overlooking the village would eventually return and report, after which Lucas would plan the assault itself. In the meantime, he waited.

This time, the waiting was infinitely more entertaining. His link with Noah allowed him to receive musings and humorous images, and the time passed much more quickly. When Noah shared the ways in which he wanted to run the local fauna to ground, Lucas countered with images of the wine labels he thought would best accompany the meal.

Once or twice he suspected he might have heard Noah stifle a laugh.

When the recon team quietly made it back into their lines, Lucas ordered everyone to withdraw back to their victors. They spread out maps and drawings on the hood of a Humvee and planned the assault.

When there were no more questions, Lucas ordered five Marines to stand watch while the rest of them got some sleep. They would step off at zero-three-hundred hours, late enough for the villagers to have gone to sleep and early enough that no one should be waking yet.

Lucas tried to sleep. He crawled beneath a Humvee, curled in his bedroll for warmth, closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. He was too keyed up. His anxiety for his men was a part of it, but Lucas would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t looking forward to combat.

Lucas had ceased to close the link between himself and Noah, so it was no surprise when Noah’s mind gently caressed his. Noah was always there now, hovering on the edges of his consciousness. He wondered if it was the same for Noah, if he was aware of Lucas’ presence constantly in the background.

Noah’s mind pushed forward more assertively. When Lucas closed his eyes, he felt warm fur on his skin and heated breath on his neck. Noah wanted him to relax and sleep. As Lucas yawned, he reflected Noah’s wish back to him.

Lucas’ next thought was surprise that he was being awakened. He wondered when warm fur and breath on his neck had made it so easy for him to fall asleep.

He crawled out from beneath the Humvee and stowed his gear. Lucas rubbed the sleep from his eyes and banished his fatigue through the sheer force of his will. Slipping into his armor and strapping on his Kevlar, Lucas stepped up to implement the plan for their mission.

The first team quietly made their way down the far side of the hill, splitting in half in order to make entry through the front and the rear simultaneously. The rest of them, Lucas and Noah included, provided cover from the hilltop. They would intercept anyone who tried to flee the village, moving in to secure the perimeter once the first team launched their assault.

Lucas rested his cheek against the stock of his M16 and watched his team’s progress through his night scope. Most of the shifters, still in human form, were with the first team; the rest were on the ridge with him. Noah was at least a hundred yards away, and his displeasure with the distance was thundering through their link. It couldn’t be helped. He and the other werewolves were using their heightened senses to detect anything that might go wrong, at the very least giving an early warning before the shit hit the fan.

“There’s movement and scent to the rear of the village.” Noah’s voice sounded low and quiet over the comm.

Adrenaline had the hair on Lucas’ neck and arms prickling. “Do we need to abort?” he asked.

“Unknown. Hubbard’s the one picking up on it.”

Damn it. He wished Noah was getting first-hand information.

“Contact,” Noah said, even as the sound of gunfire erupted in the valley.

Lucas couldn’t identify a target through his scope. The chatter on comms was surprisingly calm. The best he could decipher was that someone from the village had been out in the brush as the Marines had approached.

Armed hostiles streamed out of the homes in the village. They emerged, firing blindly into the foliage. Now that Lucas could identify targets, he squeezed off rounds.

The forward team pushed on, engaging the enemy and steadily moving in to complete their original mission. Lucas waited for them to make entry into the village structures, so he could order the rest of the Marines down off the ridge.

In an instant, Noah’s calm, steady focus became blinding pain and rage. Lucas stopped breathing, fumbled his weapon and nearly dropped it. The lower left side of his body screamed in agony.

Shouts rose up along the line of the ridge. “Corpsman!” “Man down!” Lucas managed to drag in a shaky breath when the first call of “Lieutenant!” went out.

He pushed himself to his feet, already knowing Noah had been wounded. He stumbled down the length of the ridge, staying low. It wouldn’t help anyone if they were both wounded.

“LT, you need to get down here, sir,” Sergeant Rodriguez shouted. “It’s Sergeant Hammond.”

Lucas reached the cluster of Marines and fell to his knees. Noah was on his back, his left side covered in blood. Doc Brennan was already bent over him, examining the wounds. Several werewolves huddled around Noah. They had removed his Kevlar and opened his armor, and now they knelt, each with a hand on a part of him, speaking in hushed tones.

“You gotta keep him from shifting, Lieutenant,” Brennan said tensely, ripping open Noah’s shredded utility pants.

Lucas crawled closer to Noah’s right side, stripping off his own Kevlar and tearing open his armor. “Gunny,” he shouted over the gunfire. “The mission is yours to complete. Secure that fucking village.”

“Roger that, sir,” McAllister replied. Lucas heard him issue orders and knew he didn’t have to worry.

“He’s trying to shift, LT,” Doc said desperately. “You gotta stop him.”

“Keep him calm, sir,” Grant added. “Make him focus on you and not the pain.”

“I thought weres healed faster in wolf form.” Why were they desperate to keep Noah from shifting?

“They do,” Brennan replied. “But if he shifts with this much damage, it’ll heal like this, and he’ll be permanently deformed.”

A chill ran up Lucas’ spine. He leaned over Noah to force eye contact. Lucas cradled Noah’s head with both hands. “Noah, look at me.”

Noah’s chest heaved, and his eyes darted wildly as he looked up sightlessly at the sky.

“Noah, look at me,” Lucas encouraged. He kept his voice firm but made it as low and soothing as he could. “Come on, Noah, listen to my voice. Focus on me.”

Opening his link with Noah all the way, Lucas reached for the pain he knew Noah was feeling. He gritted his teeth as intense agony washed over him, and he swooned over Noah’s body.

Noah took a deep shuddering breath and focused on Lucas. “Need to shift,” he gasped, his right hand twisting in Lucas’ fleece.

“No,” Lucas replied firmly. “The physical damage is too great. You’ll heal lame.”

“Hurts.” Noah hissed.

It felt like a knife twisted in Lucas’ chest. “I know. Focus on me, Noah. Let me help you.”

Noah met his eyes, and Lucas synced their breathing. The pain in Lucas’ own leg spiked, but he kept his breathing steady.

“His femur is shattered,” Brennan said. “Obviously, he needs a cas-evac. He’s gonna have to have surgery.”

“Call in the chopper, Doc,” Lucas ordered, not looking away from Noah’s eyes.

Lucas knew Noah was barely hanging on. His link with Lucas was the only thing keeping him from shifting, despite knowing he’d render himself permanently lame. Lucas draped his upper body over Noah’s chest. He ran his palms soothingly over Noah’s cheeks and his hair.

He held Noah’s pain filled gaze, struggling to keep his own anxiety and distress out of his expression. “Look at me, Noah. Listen to my voice. Concentrate on me.”

“That’s good, LT,” Doc Brennan said hastily. “I gotta get his leg stabilized and the bleeding in his side stopped. The cas-evac bird’s on the way.”

Lucas took Noah’s pain into himself. He thought if he could just take away what was driving Noah to shift, he could keep him in human form long enough to get patched up. Lucas’ leg was on fire. It felt as though someone was driving knives into his thigh and his side. He straightened his leg to try to ease the pain in his leg and hip. Lucas struggled to keep his breathing slow and deep.