Zan’s wounds were severe, possibly permanent.
Giving Jax a grin he didn’t feel, he nodded. “Sorry. Lead the way.”
They hurried out, taking only seconds to dash to their living quarters and retrieve the new laser guns they’d been issued, along with the big bowie knife Zan liked to strap to his thigh. Unlike Aric, he wasn’t a Telekinetic/Firestarter and didn’t have the power to hurl objects or set the enemy on fire in a fight—though that would be awesome. Being a Healer was rewarding, but it certainly didn’t give him an edge in battle, so he preferred human weapons. Teeth and claws and superior speed were cool when he was in wolf form, but the knife was just as effective in close combat.
Meeting in the hallway, he and Jax made their way through the compound and down a corridor leading to the huge hangar that housed all of the Pack’s vehicles. In addition to the helicopters, there were several SUVs, cars, and a jet, along with their personal modes of transportation. Zan’s baby, a big, macho Ford Raptor, sat on the far side of the building, and he spared it a longing glance before climbing into one of the Hueys with Jax, Nick, Ryon, Micah, and Phoenix. In the other copter rode Aric, his mate, Rowan, Kalen, Hammer, A.J. and finally Noah, a nurse who worked in the compound’s infirmary. It was quite common for one of them to need patching up in the field, and Noah’s presence was a great help to Zan these days.
Zan tried not to think about why. It wasn’t like Noah’s being around was a vote of no confidence, since one of the doctors or nurses usually accompanied the Pack on a mission. But an insidious voice inside him whispered, Yeah, but for how long? What happens when you’ve got nothing left to give?
Inside him, his wolf growled at the thought.
Once they were in the air, he lost himself to the dull roar of the aircraft and paid no particular attention to the shouted conversations going on around him. That was one dangerous thing about being practically deaf—it was all too easy for him to retreat from the world. If he didn’t look, he couldn’t participate. Both a blessing and a curse.
Eventually, however, his gaze was drawn to his Pack brothers. Especially Micah and Phoenix. It was strange, getting used to having the two of them with the team again, especially after they’d been believed dead. Zan was glad they’d been rescued from the horrible labs after being tortured for months, and wondered how they were really coping.
One side of Micah’s face was ruined, like melted wax, the result of molten silver being poured on him. God knows he had to still be in pain, but Micah claimed that his medications were helping. He’d come out of his shell in recent weeks, had stopped hiding his face. He smiled more, though the expression was still reserved. The man was a walking miracle; so what if his eyes were a bit too bright, almost feverish?
Nobody questioned it, at least not to Micah. No one wanted to risk setting back his progress.
Phoenix was a completely different story. Rescued separately from Micah, the man had come away malnourished but with no physical scars and seemed to be handling the horrors he’d been through with relative ease. Too much so, which had Zan concerned. But if he was hurting inside, he was hiding it well. Nix appeared to be quite happy lately—and even a blind man could see that it was due to his attraction to Noah.
Were those two Bondmates? A betting pool had been started, and Zan hadn’t bothered to chip in on what he figured was a yes. The great thing was, not one of the guys had expressed a negative attitude about it. In the shifter world, a man’s Bondmate just was, like the leaves on the trees or the air they breathed. If fate blessed a man with the other half of his soul, he didn’t question his good fortune. He simply seized his destiny with both hands and thanked God he didn’t have to walk through life alone.
Zan knew he sure as hell would, if he were so lucky.
Dammit. Not going to think about one more impossible dream heaped on the bonfire. The rest will be a pile of smoldering ashes soon enough.
As if to punctuate that miserable thought, Zan glanced over just in time to catch a snippet of conversation between Micah and Nix.
“Don’t know, man,” Micah was saying. “I’m not one to talk about whether he’s ready to be on duty. I mean, look at me.” He gestured to his own face, but Nix shook his head.
“Your scars don’t affect your ability to do your job, buddy. His situation is totally different. Just sayin’.”
Unable to bear witnessing another word, Zan averted his gaze and stared at the ugly gray wall of the Huey. Hurt speared him like a lance to the gut, and he rested his elbows on his knees. Was that what all of them were saying? Speculating out loud on whether he was fit to be in the field?
Doubting himself in private was one thing.
But seeing his brothers do the same—in front of him, as if he were stupid as well as deaf—was a whole different level of pain.
Lost in his head, he let the hours roll by, scarcely making an attempt to join in what little talk the guys managed. By the time they landed in a wide, grassy plain in Texas, Jax was gazing at him with worry etched on his brow as he stroked his goatee. The second he saw Zan noticing, however, he put on his poker face. Already on edge, Zan wasn’t about to let him get away with pretending nothing was wrong.
As soon as they were clear of the transport, Zan grabbed his friend’s arm and held him back as the others walked across the pasture to meet a trio of men in suits.
“Don’t do that,” he hissed. “Don’t pretend to my face that you’re okay with me being here when you think the same as everyone else.”
Anger flashed in Jax’s eyes. “You telling me what I think now? News flash—you’re a Healer, not a Seer, so you have no clue what’s going on in my head.”
“I have eyes. I can tell you’re second-guessing whether I can do the job.”
“Am I?” He took a step forward, got in Zan’s face. “I doubt any one of us could possibly second-guess you more than you’re doing all on your own. You saw concern, yes. But that’s because I’m your friend, jackass. I give a damn about you, that’s all.”
Put like that, the perspective made Zan feel about an inch tall. Blowing out a breath, he looked away for a moment, scanning the horizon without really noticing much. One of Jax’s hands clasped his shoulder, and he returned his attention to his friend.
“The thing is, your doubt is the only thing that matters. Don’t you see? When you have your confidence back, when you’ve lost the anger and fear and you can join the mission knowing you’re back to one hundred percent, then what anyone else believes won’t amount to shit.”
He swallowed hard. “But what if I’m never the same? What if I don’t heal?”
“Then you learn to compensate, like I did after my leg was mangled.”
“That’s different—” he began.
“No, it’s not. My leg physically healed, yes, but the strength and agility I used to have in that limb are not equal to the good leg. And it won’t ever be the same. But I’ve learned techniques to help me make up for it in a fight—techniques you and the others helped me perfect, I’ll remind you.”
“I get it,” he muttered.
“Do you? Nobody wants anything but the best for you, Zan,” he said, warm sincerity evident in his expression. “The guys are worried, and they may run off at the mouth too much, but every one of them is in your corner. Believe that.”