Free Forever by Rebecca Royce

1
    A cross the street , the porch swing creaked obnoxiously as someone swung back and forth too fast for its old hinges. The noise grew too annoying for even Devin to sleep through. He opened his eyes. When he’d passed out on his father’s porch—whether it was from the alcohol, the painkillers, or the pain itself, he wasn’t sure—it had still been nighttime. The midday sun made everything around him look like it had an aura.
    He sat slowly, rubbing his head. It was the seventh day in a row he’d slept away. If he couldn’t get it together, he might as well have died in the Dragon prison. So many had put themselves at risk to save him, yet the way his life had spun out of control suggested he didn’t deserve the rescue. They should have left him in prison to rot.
    Devin shook his head to clear some of the fogginess. The action didn’t achieve the desired result, but only added to the dull ache in the center of his forehead. Finally, he gave up trying to make the pain stop. It would probably go away on its own if he just ignored it. If it didn’t, well then, tonight he would have to dope himself up again.
    In the meantime, he had to figure out who was abusing the swing across the street. The damn thing needed to be fixed or thrown out. He might be burdened with posttraumatic health issues, but his hearing still worked fine. Perhaps his fellow Werewolf across the street had gone deaf. Even the Dragons wouldn’t be able to tolerate such an obnoxious squeak.
    He snorted at his thought as he stood up. Gods, he might as well be ancient. When had forty become so damn old? Staring through the screen of his porch, he found the culprit on the squeaking swing. It was one of his neighbors’ daughters. He had no idea which one. They had several children—all girls. Might be seven, but could be eight. He’d been gone for fifteen years, so for all he knew maybe they were at fourteen. Hopefully they’d continued to have just girls. Females weren’t forced to go to the front lines.
    Devin pushed open his front door. His mother would be horrified with how he looked, but he was long past caring. Life went on whether he tucked in his shirt of not. His mother had told him if he didn’t start shaving soon he was going to frighten little children when he walked down the street. She had never seen the crisscrossed scars lining both sides of his cheeks. His beard seemed preferable. Also, his leg, which he practically had to drag behind him when he walked, frightened the children enough.
    It took him twice as long as it should have to cross it the short distance to his neighbor’s house. What was their last name? For a second he couldn’t remember, but it finally came to him. Knox. He’d known them his whole life—well, the portion of it before the war. Now he didn’t know anyone who wasn’t in a military unit.
    “Excuse me,” he called out, surprised by the gruffness of his voice. The dragon smoke might have done permanent damage to his vocal chords. Another thing to add to his list of issues. Oh well. He wouldn’t be singing in a band any time soon. “Ms. Knox, may I speak to you about your swing?”
    A blonde head popped up from where she had been partially hidden behind a damaged pillar. How pathetic he didn’t notice her before. He was really out of it. She climbed down from the squeaky swing and walked toward him.
    “Sure.” She had a sunshiny voice to match her bright hair. “You can talk to me about it.”
    The door to the porch swung open. It also squeaked and he winced. Did everything these Wolves owned make a racket? His thoughts died as she came down the steps. The Female approaching him stood nearly five foot ten inches. She had long legs shown off beautifully in shorts, which barely covered her curvaceous thighs and a tight, toned stomach not covered at all by her white half shirt.
    Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders, drawing attention to the fact that the white half-a-T-shirt also happened to be a