Strength of the Pack (3 page)

Lucas wasn’t sure if he was worried or relieved.

“Sergeant Noah Hammond reporting, sir.”

At an unexpected voice, Lucas’ head snapped up from his paperwork. He hadn’t heard anyone enter the office.

“My orders, sir.”

Lucas knew his mouth hung open, but he couldn’t help it. Sergeant Hammond was huge. Lucas wasn’t short, but he could tell the Sergeant towered over him, even though he was still seated.

Suddenly remembering himself, Lucas leapt to his feet. He took the stack of papers from Sergeant Hammond’s hand, tore off the ones he needed and handed the rest back.

Lucas cleared his throat. “Welcome to Fox-two,” he said. “We’re glad to have you with us.”

“Glad to be here, sir,” Hammond replied, looking somewhere just past Lucas’ left ear.

This was
not
what Lucas had expected. He’d been ready for a short, stocky Marine who vaguely resembled a Pit bull. He didn’t know how to deal with the tall, well-muscled, Nordic warrior who stood before him.

“The platoon is out on the shooting range today.” Lucas said. “If you’d like to head out there and look them over. Otherwise you can just use today to get settled and report in for exercises tomorrow morning.”

Something shifted in Hammond’s eyes, and they went from a soft blue to cold silver. Fuck. Lucas had already fucked up.

“No, scratch that,” he said firmly. “Double-time it out to the range, Sergeant. Report to Gunny McAlister. No reason to delay getting a look at your men and starting to whip them into the shape you want them in.”

“My men, sir?” Hammond asked. His rigid posture eased slightly at Lucas’ decisive words.

“You’re going to be my platoon Team Leader when we ship out.” Lucas used his tone to reinforce the order.

“Am I, sir?” Hammond’s left eyebrow lifted.

“I’ve been led to believe you’re a badass among badasses, Sergeant,” Lucas replied. “Who better to be my Team Leader?”

“Whatever is required of me, Lieutenant,” Hammond answered evasively.

“Unless you’re not up to the task, Sergeant?” Lucas regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Dominating an Alpha was one thing; he’d just baited a predator.

Hammond finally looked Lucas in the eye. Time seemed to stop as Lucas couldn’t breathe. He was frozen in place, his heart hammering in his chest, as if he was prey. Hammond’s eyes glowed a menacing silver. His nostrils flared slightly, but otherwise his expression didn’t change.

Lucas straightened his spine and forced himself to hold Hammond’s hard, icy gaze. The very last thing he could afford was to show fear. Lucas’ face flushed, and a jolt of electricity ran down his spine as he realized not all of what he was feeling was fear. He licked his lips nervously and Hammond’s eyes dropped to track the movement.

“I believe you’ll find this Marine is more than equal to the task, Lieutenant,” Hammond said with a low voice, his jaw tight.

“Very good, Sergeant.” Lucas was pleased to hear his voice was steady. “You can double-time it out to the range, now. Do you know where it’s located?”

“Interrogative, sir. Have you been to the range today?” Hammond asked.

“Yes. Why?” Lucas demanded, puzzled.

Noah’s nostrils flared again as he inhaled deeply. He lifted one corner of his mouth in an almost imperceptible smile. The silver of his eyes shifted back to blue. Lucas realized Hammond was scenting the air. He was scenting Lucas.

“I’ll just track your scent to the range, sir,” Hammond finally said. Without waiting to be dismissed, he turned on his heel in a perfect about-face and left Lucas’ office.

Only then did Lucas release the shaky breath he’d been holding.

Sitting down, he tried to focus on his work; the fitness reports wouldn’t write themselves. Lucas had to get control of his strong reaction to Sergeant Hammond. He hadn’t reacted to the other three werewolves in his platoon in this manner. Was it because Hammond was a True Alpha?

Lucas gave himself a mental shake and started typing again. Instead of seeing the words on his computer monitor, he was picturing brilliant eyes that shifted from blue to silver and back again. Remembering Hammond’s brightness, a light that burned from within him, Lucas felt dim and lackluster in comparison. His dark hair and hazel eyes were bland in the face of Hammond’s ethereal brilliance.

Sitting back in his chair with a frustrated sigh, Lucas considered heading out to the range to look in on the training. He rejected the idea almost immediately, skimming his palm over the bristles of his hair. If this was intimidation he was feeling, Lucas had to get control of himself. He’d be a very ineffectual platoon commander if he let himself be intimidated by a sergeant, no matter how experienced he was.

Lucas bolted upright in his chair, a chill of dread snaking down his spine. He wasn’t intimidated by Sergeant Hammond; he was
attracted
to him. Lucas was beyond fucked.

Grabbing up his utility cover, Lucas left his office and headed for the range. He’d meet this head on. No matter what he was feeling, he couldn’t ever let it show, especially not to Hammond. He was going to start right now.

Lucas stood at the edge of the range and watched the training in progress. Sergeant Hammond had wasted no time in assuming his role as Team Leader. He was perched atop the wooden tower that resembled a stunted oil derrick. Marines used the structure to practice climbing and repelling. Hammond stood on top of it, as if it had always been his own personal possession, shouting both instructions and insults to the Marines below.

Gunny McAlister caught sight of Lucas and ambled over to join him. “Lieutenant,” he greeted with a nod.

“How is he doing?” Lucas asked, inclining his head in Sergeant Hammond’s direction.

“The other shifters deferred to him immediately,” Vince replied. “Fowler and Rodriguez already know him from a previous deployment, so they accepted him without question.”

“Good,” Lucas answered, watching Sergeant Hammond rise from his crouch. “Any problems?”

“Viejo is challenging him, and Branch is pushing him. Hammond put them both right in their places without blinking, so they’re settling down.”

As if he sensed Lucas watching him, Hammond looked up and right at Lucas. Or was it Lucas’ imagination? He certainly wasn’t imagining the small thrill he felt when he thought their eyes met.

“What’s your assessment?” he asked Vince.

“I think he’s such a badass motherfucker that he doesn’t have to prove it,” Vince said with a chuckle. “How’d your meeting with him go?”

“I think I’m in over my head,” Lucas admitted, watching as the sergeant spoke to the Marines who had started to scale the tower. “And I think Hammond knows it.”

“I been thinking about that, sir,” Vince said thoughtfully. “He knows you’re human. He won’t expect you to know everything about having weres in your platoon, so he won’t see it as a sign of weakness if you ask a question.”

“You really think so?” Lucas asked.

“I’m betting that if you treat him like he’s any other Marine sergeant and follow his lead when it comes to the werewolf shit, you’ll do just fine.” Vince sounded confident in his assessment.

Lucas sighed, his heart skipping a beat or two when Hammond looked up at him again. “I suppose it’s worth a try.” Corporal Branch neared the top of the tower. Sergeant Hammond looked away just long enough to do something that sent Branch tumbling to the ground. “What’s going on here?”

“Strategic thinking, tactical planning and execution,” answered Vince with obvious appreciation. “Hammond has them broke up into teams, and they have to work together to knock him off the tower. It’s skill assessment, team building and training all in one, and it’s pretty fucking brilliant.”

Hammond’s initiative impressed Lucas. “Has anyone succeeded?”

“Not yet, and I doubt anyone will. Doesn’t mean they won’t learn something, though.” Vince chuckled.

“Whoa!” Lucas exclaimed as PFC Grant and Corporal Chandler both scrambled up opposite sides of the tower while the rest of the team seemed to provide a diversion. The two climbers moved with inhuman speed and seemed to be running rather than climbing.

“Do they have
claws
?” Vince asked incredulously, gesturing toward the tower.

“Holy shit,” Lucas exclaimed, uncrossing his arms from his chest in surprise. He was sure the tactic would work. Noah appeared to have fallen for the diversion.

At the last moment, he leapt from the platform, catching the edge with one hand. His movements were almost too fast for Lucas to track, but in less time than it took to draw breath, Noah had swung around the tower to another side. If Lucas had thought Grant and Chandler moved quickly, Noah was nearly a blur.

Clinging to the platform with only one hand, Noah reached up with his other, fisted Chandler’s pant leg and pulled him from the tower. Lucas winced at the sound of a body landing hard on the ground. Noah was already back up on the platform. Grant tried to flee, but he was caught in a headlock.

At first, Lucas thought Noah had actually snapped the Marine’s neck. When Grant lay prone but moving on the platform, he realized Noah had only simulated the act.

“We win!” Corporal Branch shouted from the base of the tower. “We got you off the platform.”

“I said you had to knock me from the tower,” Noah called down calmly, not even out of breath. “I left the platform on my own and never left the tower.” He looked up, straight at Lucas. “Nice try, though. If it was anyone other than me, it might have worked,” Noah said with a grin.

Lust spiked through Lucas. Sergeant Hammond stood looking tall and lean, one hip cocked to the side. Not only was his new Team Leader sinfully sexy, but he was proving to be intelligent and capable, as well. Competence was Lucas’ Kryptonite. His life had just gotten immeasurably more difficult.

Hammond’s smile widened as if he knew what Lucas was thinking. The world fell out from under Lucas’ feet, and he wondered how he was going survive having this Alpha werewolf under his command.

Two days later, Lucas suspected that Hammond had begun challenging him. It was like the Sergeant was testing him, searching for weakness. Lucas knew he could show none, regardless of what he was thinking or feeling.

“Sergeant Hammond, you’ll be with me on Team One,” he outlined the village infiltration training mission, “along with Chandler, Catinella and Hubbard. Sergeant Fowler, you’ll take Gunny McAlister, Branch, Grant…”

As Lucas laid out the rest of the assignment for the mission, he struggled to focus on his task. He pointed at the map and written briefings tacked to the board but was acutely aware of Noah—Sergeant Hammond, damn it—watching his hands with apparent fascination. He was proud that his voice stayed steady as he laid out the mission objectives and parameters.

“Due respect, sir,” Noah said, leaning forward in his chair and watching Lucas intently, “you and I on the same team makes it top heavy command-wise.”

Lucas had anticipated this argument, and he was ready for it, even though his heart slammed in his chest under Noah’s intense regard. “Your skill and ability are well established, Sergeant. The safety of a training exercise is optimal for building experience and confidence.”

For several interminable moments, Noah looked as though he was going to argue. Lucas stood his ground and held the Sergeant’s assessing gaze unflinchingly.

Finally, Noah sat back in his chair. “Yes, sir.”

The training mission was a perfect storm of fuck-ups. They were pinned down by simulated mortar fire, and Lucas ordered Chandler and Catinella forward to identify the spotter’s position so they could call in an air strike. Noah looked ready to argue but in the end, held his tongue.

The intensity of the mortar fire increased. The two young Marines froze in their positions behind a flimsy barrier, huddling beneath their Kevlar helmets and curling into their armored vests. Lucas knew it wasn’t fear but indecision from a lack of experience. This was precisely what he’d designed this training to address. Noah glanced over at Lucas again, and this time, he gave the Sergeant a curt nod.

Noah belly-crawled quickly through dirt and over rocks until he reached Catinella’s and Chandler’s position. Noah had to raise his voice to be heard over the mortar fire so Lucas could hear him speaking slow and calm, issuing clear and precise instructions to the two young Marines.

Chandler and Catinella moved forward. They found cover in a location from which Lucas knew they would be able to identify the spotter’s hiding place. He adjusted his grip on his M16, pulled it tighter to his shoulder and resumed suppressive fire for Noah’s crawl back to his position. Noah moved so fast, Lucas only had time to fire two quick bursts before he was back. Dropping back under cover, Lucas gave Noah an approving nod.

To Lucas’ surprise, Noah appeared to flush, holding his gaze for far longer than was necessary. Lucas’ blood rushed deafeningly in his ears. He wondered if it was possible that this attraction went both ways. That would make things so much worse.