“Cripple.” The word stung, even if flung by leering men with thick beards and cruel eyes. Derrick’s captors taunted him with the fact that they didn’t have to chain Derrick like the other prisoners. Why chain the crippled man? It’s not as if he can run away.

How they liked to toss cruel barbs about his infirmity, their English broken and heavily accented. Yet the sneering jibes were easier to bear than the way they scored his body, dozens of small cuts, slices in his flesh, burn marks too, with wagers placed on how quick each one would heal. The fine lines didn’t prove as painful as the yanking of his nails—one by fucking one. With guttural exclamations, they marveled when they realized they’d regrown by the next day. Damn my ability to heal.

The pain was almost more than he could bear. More than any sane person could handle. He’d thought the agony of shifting a torturous thing, and yet that proved fleeting compared to this daily abuse of his body.

Sometimes he partially let go, closing his human self and letting his feral side, beneath a thin human veneer of flesh, cope with the pain. It almost worked. Almost except for…

Why won’t you let us change into our stronger shape? Let the wolf come out to play and tear into those that think to bring him low.

His beast side wanted to welcome the exulting agony of changing skin. Let the fur fly. Let the jagged teeth of his predator side snap and tear at those who thought to torture.

It’s not allowed. The reminder faint and yet filled with will. No. No. No.

No matter the torture, the agony, everything they did, the one lesson taught from the crib was Derrick’s mantra—“Don’t let the humans know.” And those who held him, despite their cruel torture, were most definitely human.

He had too much time to think in the darkness of his cell, too much time to count the seconds and the grains of sand in his cell, but he preferred the damp solitude to when they dragged him to that other chamber, and he meant dragged to then toss to the cold, dirty floor.

The dirt floor proved hard, and it didn’t crumble, not with the blood tainting it and gluing the grit.

Before he could even think to push himself up on his arms, the lash whistled, the only precursor before it struck, a fiery line of agony across his back that stopped cold at his waist. The whipping, layered across not fully healed wounds, drew a gasp from him, nothing more because, with his throat dry and his cords raw, he had no voice left for screaming.

Whistle. Crack. Arch.

His fists clenched tight, and his eyes screwed shut. Animal instinct always took over when the pain became too intense. He pulled himself away, a strenuous drag with his hands and arms. Futile really because where did he expect to go?

Another flick of the whip. Slice. Another. He collapsed on the floor, not even caring his nose smashed first. So tired, so hurt, he could hardly move. But his captors were not done. They turned him over onto his back, the throbbing agony somewhat relieved by the pressure of the floor. Their raucous laughter and the whipping started again, this time marking his dead flesh, and while he couldn’t feel the lashes on his legs, it proved a painful reminder that half his body was gone.

Gone.

Gone…

No. Sob.

Soft hands cradled his cheeks, and a soft angel voice murmured, “You’re safe.”

No one is safe.

“Wake for me, Derrick.”

I want to. I want to wake from my nightmare.

“Don’t make me dump cold water on your face.”

I know that voice. Janine. She shouldn’t be here.

The intrusion on his memories—relived nightly—snapped him awake. His eyes shot open, bleary as the brightness of his room and the darkness of his despair clashed. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.” Even with the cuffs he used each night, he could be dangerous. Mostly dangerous to himself—no big deal—but it was the others he worried about. They didn’t deserve to suffer because he couldn’t cope. No one should get hurt because I’m too weak and broken.

Instead of leaving, Janine clutched his cheeks and stared into his eyes, not with passion but intensity, the doctor in her checking his pupil dilation.

“They’re glowing.”

“The beast is strong at night.”

“Strong enough to break free?” she asked, running her fingers along his jaw, such a personal embrace for a clinical observation.

“If my wolf were free, you’d know. I have a much more impressive snout than this. Bigger teeth too.” He snapped his chompers at her when she tried to peer within. “Don’t you dare. I’m not a horse.”

“And you’re not a wolf.”

“Yet.” Because how much longer could he keep his beast caged? It had been so long since his furry self ran on four feet.

The tips of her fingers pressed against his pulse, and he couldn’t help staring at hers, a tiny flutter beneath tissue-thin skin.

A perfect spot to mark her.

He cast his gaze away, hoping she didn’t note the sudden inhale of breath.

“Your heart is racing,” she observed as she pulled away from him.

“It’s the only thing that can anymore.” The pessimistic words came so easily.

“Oh please. I saw the way you took off on me this morning. And I’ll bet when you’re pumping iron, no one can keep up.”

“Petty things, and nothing like running the 400 meter or a steeplechase.” The list of things he couldn’t do stretched endlessly.

Her head tilted to the side. “I agree, it’s not the same, so you need to redefine how you think of racing and realize it doesn’t always involve two or four feet. Speaking of feet, when was the last time you let your wolf out?”

At the blunt question, his lips tightened. “You shouldn’t be asking that.”

“Why not? We’re alone. I kicked out the orderlies, so it’s just you and me. No secrets.”

“In the spirit of no secrets, I feel like I should mention I sleep in the nude to avoid extra chafing.” He couldn’t help a wolfish leer, not with her so close, the soft scent of her calming his raging blood. She’d obviously come straight from bed, her chignon of red hair falling sloppily to the side, her robe, loosely belted over—

His head tilted as he squinted at the glimpse peeking through the vee of her sloppily belted dressing gown. “Is that a sasquatch onesie?”

“Bear actually.” She opened the robe and flashed him the fuzzy brown pajamas. “Do you like it? My stepdad buys me one every year for Christmas. It’s a bit of a dorky tradition we have. He gave me the first one when he adopted me.”

“Dare I ask why?” Curiosity made him speak before he could bite his tongue.

“It started after I accidentally found out Orson was a bear. That Christmas, when we were done opening all our gifts, he handed me a present wrapped in polar bears wearing red bows. My mother knew nothing about it. He’d gone and gotten it on his own. Inside was a furry brown onesie. And do you know what he said to me when I pulled it out? That I would always be his cub.” A hitch caught her words. “And it’s true. He’s been the best papa bear to me and my mom. As a reminder, every year, he gets me a new one.”

“That is a ridiculously sappy story.”

She smiled. “Yes. It is. But a good one.”

The story raised a question, though. “What happened to your birth father?”

For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t tell him. He could practically see her body shrink in on itself. Her gaze wouldn’t meet his, and she pulled at a loose thread on her robe.

“Red?” He said her name in a soft query and almost wished he’d not asked, except now he needed to know. What could make this firecracker look so sad?

Her head lifted, and her piercing green gaze caught his. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. You’re the one who’s supposed to talk about your past, not me.”

“That seems a bit one-sided. You want me to trust you with my secrets, but won’t tell me yours?”

“My secrets have nothing to do with your treatment.”

“Don’t they? I have a feeling what you’re hiding has everything to do with why you’re here.”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not a pretty or happy story.” Her gaze finally met his. “My dad went through an experience similar to yours. He was in a tank that rolled over an IED. He lived, but the left side of his body was heavily damaged. He lost his leg below the knee and his arm.”

“Your dad was crippled?”

She shot him a look, a dark, angry one. “He wasn’t a cripple. They fitted him with a prosthetic so he could get around. Like you, they rehabilitated his body, but they didn’t do such a good job on his mind. He went into a deep depression and killed himself. One bullet to the head.” She said the words with a stark blankness to her features.

“Fuck.” He’d suspected she had daddy abandonment issues, but never expected anything like that.

“I was only nine years old when he left me.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t even try to stop the soft, comforting words.

But she wouldn’t accept them. “Sorry for what? That my dad took the cowardly road and ended his life instead of learning to adapt? Sorry that he chose to die instead of staying with me and Mom?”

“That seems kind of harsh.” He had to reply in the face of her vehemence. She didn’t understand how hard it was to get up each day and live.

“Harsh is leaving me without my daddy. Harsh is making me believe I wasn’t good enough to live for. What he did was selfish.”

Even though he hadn’t yet taken the step in the same direction as her father, he could see her implication. “I don’t have any kids to miss me.”

“No, just a huge family who calls daily to ask about you. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? Do you know how many people would trade spots with you in a second, as you are, simply to have a chance at that kind of love?” She stepped away from his bed, tugging her robe tight around her.

“Where are you going?” he asked, unable to reach out for her, the tethers he demanded nightly holding him prisoner.

“Back to bed. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m tired.”

She’s leaving? It made total sense.

So then why did he have the fiercest urge to say, “Stay with me”?

Sleep proved hard to achieve after her departure, his tumbles into slumber fraught with strange nightmares, and even some erotic ones. Cruel and taunting dreams where he was still a man able to seduce a woman. Not just any woman. My woman. Janine.

He woke from those shaking and sweating, yanking at the ties that bound him, his primal side lunging forth with the single-minded intent of tracking her down.

To do what? Claim her? Was he insane? Probably, given his experiences, and yet not insane enough to tether her to a broken veteran. Especially now that he knew why she’d chosen the medical profession. In her mind, I’m her father. She wants to save me, not love me.

Slap. The furry paw to his mental face snapped him out of pity mode. His beast refused to accept their limitations. Refused to let itself despair.

Around six-thirty in the morning, the orderly arrived to release him from his nighttime restraints. Freed, Derrick didn’t immediately move, even when the sun rose and, with annoying precision, brilliant rays hit him full-on in the face. Usually, he grimaced and growled at the brightness. Today, he closed his eyes and let the warm rays dance upon his skin. He inhaled. Deep. And relaxed.

Despite the rough night, it surprised him to note no true signs of fatigue in his body. As a matter of fact, the sunlight bathing his skin felt nice. Very nice.

He didn’t recall the last time he woke happy to see the sun rise. During his imprisonment, he recalled longing for a glimpse of blue skies instead of the daily darkness of his cell. Now, he usually dreaded it, as it meant a new day, a new reminder that not everything was right in his world.

Except, this morning, he didn’t feel the usual dread. Instead, as he showered and dressed then ate, he found himself imbued with an odd sense of anticipation. He had a reason to rise today, a purpose, and much as he might deny the connection between him and Janine, he yearned for it.

Usually, he tried to avoid their ten a.m. meeting, but this morning, he found himself not trying to flee. Not that fleeing ever did any good. She always tracked him down.

Because I want to be found.

His wolf was the one to point that out because, in truth, if Derrick truly wanted to hide, she’d never find him.

However, this morning, he didn’t lead her on a wild goose chase. He remained in his room, door open, waiting.

A few minutes after ten, he heard her light step outside in the hall then the prickling sensation that always touched him when she neared and let him know she’d entered his room.

She’s here!

He whirled around in his chair, ridiculously eager to see her, only to freeze.

With a child nestled on each hip—looking oh so right—stood Janine. What the hell? Why did she have two ankle-biters with her?

The matching little faces were familiar to him. Very familiar. Panic crept into his body, tensing his muscles, gripping tightly to his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“I brought you two visitors.” Red jiggled the children.

For a moment, a dry mouth and a thick tongue wouldn’t let him speak, and when he did, his voice emerged rough—big-bad-wolf gruff—especially once he realized who she held. “I told you no visits with family.”

“You said no visits with family and friends who would look at you differently. Since the only time you apparently met these guys they weren’t even crawling, I’d say they pass muster. I promise they won’t judge or look at you funny.”

They might not, but the fact that his niece and nephew were here, their chubby cheeks rosy, their eyes bright and inquisitive, meant their mother wasn’t far behind. “Where’s my sister?” He half expected her to pop out, even braced himself for the vibrancy of her presence.

Auburn locks bounced as Janine shook her head. “She’s not here.”

“She’s not?” Surely he wasn’t disappointed?

“You’re not ready for that yet. But she is in town in case you change your mind. When I heard, I went to meet with her and asked to borrow these cuddly monkeys.” She gave them a little squeeze and then took a turn nuzzling their cheeks, enough that they giggled.

As sounds went, it drove a dagger into his heart. Such sweet innocence. They shouldn’t be allowed near him, not with all the darkness he harbored. What if it rubbed off? He didn’t want to taint them.

“Would you like to hold them?” Janine stepped closer, and it wasn’t just her scent that hit him—that brought all his cravings to the forefront—but the scent of baby powder and apples, a childhood staple that brought back memories of climbing the trees in his uncle’s orchards when they visited his farm.

I can’t climb trees anymore. Just like he couldn’t be the uncle they needed. He recoiled from the idea of holding them, perhaps a little more violently than warranted.

She made a face at him. “You do know they’re not contagious? Sticky, yes”—Janine smiled as she bussed his niece’s cheek—“but they won’t hurt you.”

Their very presence hurt, an ache in his chest. I survived the war to die of a heart attack.

“You have to take them away before I hurt them.”

“You won’t hurt them.”

How could she be so sure of that? Because he sure as hell didn’t have the same conviction. “What if I drop one?”

A snort escaped her. “Since when do you lack the strength and agility to hold on to something?”

Should he be flattered she’d noticed his dexterity or annoyed she so easily poked a hole in his excuse? “I don’t know what to do with kids.”

“That’s the beauty of children. You can just be yourself. They love without prejudice or conditions.”

How dare she make it sound so tempting, within reach even. He closed his mind against the allure and fought back with words. “This is cruel. Bringing them here and reminding me of what I can’t have.”

“Says who?”

He shot a hot glare at her. “Have you forgotten about my problem?”

Her lips pursed. “First off, you can still have children. You’re paralyzed, but your swimmers aren’t. Having you own kids might require artificial insemination, but they would be one hundred percent yours. And second, how dare you accuse me of cruelty. It isn’t cruel to remind you that you’re not some monster who needs to be locked away from children. You’re a man, a good man, and their uncle. So stop wallowing in your self-pity and start acting like one. Starting now. I need to pop downstairs and grab their diaper bag. Which means you need to watch them.” She bent down so the children could slide from her hips to the floor, straightened, and walked away.

“You can’t leave me alone with them. I don’t know how to—” Except Janine wasn’t listening or caring about his excuses as she exited the room, firmly shutting the door behind her.

She left me alone. Okay, not quite, there were two sets of curious eyes watching him from where she’d sat them on the floor. On the floor in reach of an electrical outlet. He remembered only too well what happened when his brother Stu licked one on a dare. He couldn’t sit for a week.

The things that could happen brought a fluttery panic and his breathing quickened.

Calm down. Surely it wouldn’t take her too long to grab their things and return. They could all just sit here until that happened. Sit and—

“Where are you going?” He couldn’t help but ask, even if he wouldn’t get a reply from his nephew, Mark, as the tyke took off on hands and knees with explorative intent.

The little boy checked out all aspects of the room, heaving and pulling at the blankets of the bed until he could clamber on top of the mattress. He didn’t stay there long. He slid right off the other side, only to slither under the bed. He crawled out grinning and drooling before pushing himself to his feet and toddling, in search of more things to discover.

The girl, however, little Mellie, short for Melanie, sat and stared at him. Big blue eyes with superbly long lashes perused Derrick.

You’re going to break hearts when you grow up.

And he’d break the faces of anyone who made her cry. It was his job as uncle.

A job I’ve been neglecting. Seeing his niece and nephew, seeing how big they’d grown and how much they’d changed from the pictures he’d seen reminded him of some of the things he’d missed out on. He couldn’t blame it all on his service overseas. He’d chosen to shut himself off from his family.

It’s for the best. What can a crippled uncle offer them?

He didn’t need his wolf to slap him. Even he wanted to smack himself for such a woe-is-me thought.

Melanie leaned forward and placed her hands on the floor, using them to brace herself as she pushed out her bum and straightened her legs. She stood and grinned at him, the wide smile such an obvious look-at-me expression he couldn’t help but be reminded of his sister, Naomi.

Little Mellie put her arms out for balance as she took wobbly steps toward him, and he held his breath as he watched, worried she would fall and anxious he wouldn’t be in time to catch her. But she made it to him and cooed with excitement.

Even an ornery bastard like him couldn’t help but smile. “You made it.”

Made it to his legs and yet, she wasn’t done. She leaned forward and grabbed a hold of his pants, and grinned at Derrick, the white protrusions of teeth adorable—and sharp, he’d bet. His sister used to have the same jagged maw. He remembered screaming more than once as a youngster when Naomi let him or one of the other brothers know of her displeasure.

But this sweet pup didn’t nip him. She pulled at the fabric covering his legs, grunting as she tried to climb, her little feet not getting purchase. A scowl pulled at her lips, and she uttered an imperial, “Up.”

Before Derrick knew what he’d do, he’d leaned over and scooped her onto his lap.

A happy giggle left her and she clapped her dimpled hands.

She should be proud. She’d just managed to get a grown man to do her bidding. The good news? No one was around to mock his weakness. Then again, was there any shame in doing this sweet child’s bidding?

A hand, still slightly sticky with what smelled like apples and cinnamon, patted his cheek. “Dodo.”

“As in dodo bird?” he muttered. He sure felt like an idiot.

The squeal by her brother drew Mellie’s attention. She slithered off his lap like a pro and did an interesting crawl where her diapered butt stuck in the air. She disappeared behind the bed, and all Derrick could hear was happy cooing and alien baby language.

What had them so intrigued?

He didn’t care.

“Ka. Or. Do. Ha. Ga.” They kept conversing in twin language.

He drummed his fingers.

“Ooooh.” The simultaneous sound finally had him pushing his chair around to see the twins playing with a pen they’d found on the floor. A pen that Mellie was using to write on her brother.

For a moment, he could only gape in horror at the blue squiggles on Mark’s face. Then he laughed. And kept laughing because, dammit, he remembered doing the same damned thing as a child and his mother grumbling as she tried to scrub it from his siblings.

“Damn it, did you have to use permanent marker? We were supposed to get our family portraits done this afternoon.” And they still had, the group picture owning a place of pride on the mantel, despite the fact that three of the children in it had black tribal markings on their faces.

The door to his room opened abruptly, startling the babies. Mark reacted by pushing to his feet and growling—which really wasn’t all that impressive, given his gap-toothed grin and drool.

Mellie lunged at Derrick and squeaked, “Up. Up. Dodo.”

Since the princess demanded, he obeyed, scooping her into his lap.

With a diaper bag dangling from one hand, Janine stood in the open door, and her gaze immediately zeroed in on the baby in his lap. Worse, she smiled. Such an evil doctor.

He scowled at her obvious pleasure. “What is wrong with you, barging in like that? Never do that, not around my kind and especially not around a war vet. Some of us keep guns.” He didn’t because he feared the temptation of an easy out.

“Oops. Did I startle you? I didn’t mean to do that.” Total lie, he could see it, but why?

He narrowed his gaze. “What are you up to?”

“Are you accusing me of being devious?”

“Yes.”

An unrepentant shrug lifted her shoulders as she stepped into the room and set the bag down. Mark abandoned his macho stance to go rummage in the bag. His sister joined him.

“Maybe I was sly,” she admitted. “But only because you didn’t leave me much of a choice. You’re awfully stubborn.”

“It’s a family trait.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“What I don’t get is what you were trying to prove by leaving me with the kids. What were you thinking? I can’t take care of babies.”

“Why not?” Janine glanced at the two toddlers who’d located a bowl that had a flip-up lid and contained bite-sized cereal. “Looks like they did just fine.”

“You weren’t gone long.”

“What exactly do you think would have happened if I’d left you longer?”

“What if they got hungry? Or, I don’t know, started crying?”

“Given you are perfectly capable of feeding yourself, I don’t know why you’d think they’d prove a problem. As to crying, what did your mother do when you were little and you cried?”

Being a man, he naturally lied. “Boys don’t cry.”

“Ha!” She snorted with evident derision. “Bull. Boys can and do cry. It’s not a measure of your manliness if you do or not, just an indication that you can feel. Just like your legs aren’t the absolute measure of your capabilities.”

“Perhaps, but a lack of legs makes everything more difficult.”

“I’ve already agreed with you that it does, but you need to realize that it doesn’t mean you’re incapable. For example, if one of the children had begun to cry, you would have been perfectly able to pick them up and soothe them, the same way you soothed Melanie when I entered abruptly.”

As if the mention of her name was a sign, Mellie stuffed a last piece of cereal in her mouth and then monkey-walked back to Derrick. She didn’t need to say a word this time, just lifted her arms and he picked her up. He wouldn’t look at Red, though. “This is a cruel test.”

“It’s not a test but a reminder. You’re still alive, and there are people who need you in their lives. Don’t shut them out. Don’t keep punishing yourself and them.”

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s for their own good. Because it’s not.” Green fire blazed from her eyes. “Stop being so damned selfish. You’re not dead, so stop acting like you are.”

Not dead. Funny how, a week ago, he might have disagreed. A week ago, he might have said the world would be better off if he was. But now…

Now, dammit, a part of me is eager to live.