CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A hiss slipped through Caleb's lips as he pressed an ice pack down on the massive bump his father had left on his forehead.

He had been ruminating on his next line of action when his father busted into his house. He'd thought that the old alpha had finally understood how dangerous and useless Andrew was to the pack and had come to deliberate with him, but was shocked by the first punch to his bowels. His father bared his teeth at him, then inserted his claws into his left leg and tossed him about, beating him until he passed out. Tremors ran through Caleb's body as he relived the moment.

It'd been two days already, but his wounds, even the slight ones, had yet to heal, which was abnormal even for werewolves that received no medication. Unless it was a major injury or sickness, werewolves had no need for hospitals or clinics. A cut or bump disappeared in minutes, leaving the affected area as good as new.

Wincing, he grabbed a bottle of liquor and limped out of his kitchen to his bath