Chapter Thirty
I knocked on the RV’s door. “Can I come in?”
It opened, and Jason looked out and then down. The red manbun quivered slightly, and the pale skin flushed. “Damn it.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. Can you?” Noah asked dourly, looking out of the window from a perch on the sofa inside, and probably referencing the fact that I hadn’t yet made it up the stairs.
They looked… kind of tall… and I’d barely managed to shuffle over here from my chaise, where I’d been napping in the sun for a couple of hours.
And wished I still was, only I had things to do.
“Damn it!” Jason said again when I just stood there, and then he grabbed me under the armpits. “Get in here before Cyrus sees!”
“Would that be bad?” I asked as I was hauled inside.
I hadn’t been in there before, as the RV was a recent acquisition, not that you could tell.
The bones were good, all sleek white leather with black and chrome accents, but otherwise it screamed boy dorm, with what looked like an entire basket of laundry thrown around, a gaming system set up under the big, flat-screen TV, and the new-car smell seriously challenged by wolf musk.
But at least with the pool’s help, the guys were clean.
I wondered if that was why Cyrus had gotten it.
“We’re supposed to leave you alone,” Andy informed me. He was sitting at the table with Chayton, Luis, and three illegal beers, because none of them was of age, although with their metabolisms, it might as well have been juice.
He got up to offer me one from the full-sized fridge that this behemoth came equipped with, but I shook my head. “Already had one.”
“Yeah, but you know, it doesn’t hurt to have a backup.”
I raised another eyebrow, but he didn’t explain. I was deposited on the sofa, where Noah moved his leg to make room for me. “I can sit at the table,” I offered, only to have him scowl.
“I’m not an invalid!”
“What would you call it, then?” Luis asked.
Noah switched the scowl to him, but it was a valid question. I hadn’t noticed in the dimly lit hall, but with the sun streaming through the big window behind the sofa, it was obvious. Noah looked worse than me.
His face was pasty white, his eyes had dark circles underneath, and he had bandages on his hands, face, neck, and even the feet poking out of a loose pair of sweatpants.
Not to mention the leg, which was in a cast that stretched all the way to his hip.
And that was after almost a week, when Weres usually healed broken bones in a few days.
The only bright spot was that the clan had found time to decorate the cast, and I could guess just from the handwriting who had done what.
Kimmie’s message was the biggest, with a huge heart over the knee surrounded by flowers and “Get well soon, you furry idiot,” written in the center.
Jen’s was a gentle tease in a glittery gel pen, “Cause of injury: overconfidence,” and Sophie’s was a checklist:
? Healed
? Still hot
? Lesson learned.
The boys weren’t so kind, with a variety of disses that ran the gamut from “Needs Professional Grooming” and “Who’s a good boy?
Not you,” to “Do Not Pet (He Bites)” and “Broke it trying to be cool,” while someone else had just written brUH.
Cyrus had sketched a small, cartoon wolf howling dramatically with the same tiny cast and the promise “We’ll run slow,” underneath.
And Aki had written “Stay wild, heal fast” inside a paw print.
The best was Dimas’s, though, which was a beautiful full-color forest scene that covered the entire calf. A tiny buff-colored wolf sat on an outcropping of rock, baying at a pale moon. It was hauntingly lovely, and looked like a professional artist had done it, and must have taken hours.
It made my lame “Still faster than a human” comment look as pathetic as it was. But at least I didn’t try to draw anything. “How long until it comes off?” I asked, handing Jason’s pen back.
“Too long,” Noah said curtly.
“The healer said the bone has to knit back together,” Jason explained. “Then he can try Changing and see if that takes it the rest of the way.”
“So two to four weeks,” Andy added, coming back with my beer. “It has to reach the soft callus stage, whatever that is.”
“Yeah, if not, he risks shattering it in his Were form, too, and then he’s gotta heal them both separately,” Chayton put in. “And that could take months.”
“Shit,” I sympathized.
“Uh-huh, it’s why he still has the other wounds. He’s having to heal them the human way, ‘cause he can’t risk Changing yet.”
“Here, let me pour it for you,” Andy said as I reached for the beer, and he pulled it back and waggled the glass he’d brought along.
“I’m fine with the bottle,” I told him. “And it’s already been almost a week, right?” I said to Noah. “You’re halfway there.”
This attempt at encouragement did not appear to help.
“He’s halfway there if he stays off it and doesn’t reinjure it again,” Jason said. “I had to practically sit on him yesterday—”
“Don’t,” Noah said tightly.
“—to, uh, keep him from going anywhere.”
“Where on Earth would you need to go?” I asked.
Noah didn’t respond, and neither did anyone else, except for Andy, who was frowning at me. “But it’s a Pilsner. You gotta think about the foam.”
“Says the bartender’s son,” Jace said, coming in wearing swim trunks and scrubbing his wet head with a towel.
I was thinking more about not having to hold a heavy glass when a bottle could be propped up beside me, but didn’t say so. No Lupa would admit to being that weak. “The bottle’s fine,” I repeated. “Noah?”
Nothing.
“The beer’ll heat up too fast that way,” Andy argued, “while the stem on the glass will help to—”
“My last beer was out of a lukewarm can with unflavored yogurt for a chaser,” I said impatiently. “I think I’m good.”
He looked personally offended. “That’s no way to enjoy a fine—”
“Give her the damned bottle!” Noah exploded. “And shut the hell up!”
Andy tightened his lips but handed over the beer. “Bad timing?” I asked carefully.
Noah didn’t reply, or even glance at me. Just glared out of the window some more. Since it overlooked the cheerful little table and nearby chaises, I wondered if he’d been watching me drool onto my bathrobe.
So much for what was left of my dignity.
Andy cleared his throat. “Bad week,” he said.
“I feel that.”
The boys exchanged glances, except for Noah, although he seemed to know what they were doing. “Don’t,” he warned again.
“Don’t what?” I asked. I’d just come to check on how he was doing and maybe float an idea that had occurred, but it seemed like I’d walked into something.
“We have to tell her sometime,” Jace began, only to stop when Noah growled at him.
“You know what Cyrus said!” The blond reminded them.
“What did Cyrus say?” I asked.
“Ask him!”
I frowned. “That would require getting up again, and I don’t feel like it. And last time I checked, he wasn’t my boss.”
“Well, he is ours!”
“He just said not to trouble her while she’s recovering,” Jace pointed out. “But she’s up now—”
“Does that look recovered to you?” Noah asked savagely, gesturing at me.
There were no mirrors in sight, but I’d glimpsed myself this morning when Cyrus was hauling me out of the bedroom and didn’t need them.
My hair was a tragic snarl, my color was as non-existent as possible for someone with olive skin, and my collarbones could have cut someone. So I couldn’t really argue.
“Guess I should have put on some makeup,” I joked.
Annnnd yet another attempt to cut the tension fell flat.
“I saw your guts,” Noah seethed, leaning forward to try to get in my face, although he could barely move. “On the floor. You were in a puddle of blood so big, I thought you didn’t have any left in your body. You were ripped open, and you weren’t moving!”
I blinked at him. “I’m moving now,” I pointed out, because I wasn’t sure what was appropriate here.
“Yeah!” he said, only it didn’t sound happy. “Yeah!”
He flopped back against the couch, panting and glaring at me. I suddenly wished I’d brought Cyrus along, because he was better at this sort of thing than I was. And the lame ass breakfast I’d been allowed wasn’t lending me any strength.
“Do you have any ham?” I asked after a minute.
Noah blew out a breath of air in what might have been a laugh if not for his expression. “What?”
“Or roast beef, or chicken, or a hot dog? I’ve been on cream of wheat and plain yogurt for days, and I’m about to lose my shit.”
The boys exchanged glances again.
“Cyrus is cooking pulled pork for lunch,” Andy said doubtfully.
“Which I won’t get any of. I’ll be dining on a lovely bowl of broth with maybe some Jello afterwards, if I’m good.”
“Well, yeah, ‘cause the Corps doctor said—”
“The Corps’ docs don’t know shit about Were diets.”
“But the healer Cyrus brought in does,” Noah said savagely. “And she agreed—”
“That was days ago—”
“—so you can damned well stay on the regimen until you’re cleared!”
“Here,” Jace said, handing me something out of the fridge that smelled heavenly. Maybe because it was half of a roast beef sandwich with red peppers and potato chips on top of the meat. The juices had made the chips a bit soggy, but I didn’t mind.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Noah yelled and tried to knock it out of his hand.
“Giving my Lupa what she wants,” Jace said, easily evading him.
“That has hard-to-digest meat and fried chips,” Noah began, before breaking off because I’d just inhaled it in three massive gulps.
Oh, God, that was good!
“You’re going to get sick!” he said angrily.
Worth it, I thought, but didn’t say, because he was looking close to tears again. And I suddenly felt bad. I took his hand.
“I’m doing better, okay? I lost a lot of blood, and that takes time to replace, but I’ve had excellent care. Sedgewick’s an ass, but he’s had plenty of practice patching me up.”
“Who’s Sedgewick?” That was Luis.
“The Corps healer.”
“The grumpy old asshole?”
I’d never heard Sedgewick described so well.