Chapter 20

Raymond lets out another strained wheeze, and my attention snaps back to him. His face is still flushed, and sweat beads along his temples despite the cool washcloth resting across his forehead. I moved closer and brushed a damp strand of soft raven-black hair away from his face, careful not to disturb the fresh dressing Monica placed over the cut near his hairline.

"So damn stubborn," I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. “You waited until you physically couldn't stand anymore before asking for help.”

Why?

Draven glanced over at me and pondered for a moment before speaking. "He was most likely scared that if we found out about his injuries and the state of his body, we would send him packing." He released a heavy sigh and shook his head before looking back at Raymond for another moment before continuing. “Our pack isn’t known for being the most…forgiving,” he let out a chuckle and turned his attention back to Raymond’s unconscious figure laying on the bed.

I know he's right. Everything about Raymond’s screams closed off and cautious. The way he apologizes for the smallest things, the way he was isolated from the rest of his pack besides that of one other person in his group, and the way he crouched down into a protective stance earlier when Colt and I placed our hands on his shoulder. 

Monica finally lifts the probe away and wipes the excess gel from Raymond's stomach with a soft towel. "I don't see any obvious free fluid," she says, finally breaking the silence. "That's encouraging."

I release a long sigh and let my shoulders drop a fraction.

"But..."

Of course there’s a ‘but’, there’s always a ‘but’. Fucking typical.

"...the size of his spleen is severely enlarged." She studies the monitor one last time before turning it toward herself to review the images. "It’s placing significant pressure on his left kidney, stomach, and colon. Given the extent of the enlargement, he needs surgery to remove it,” she exhaled a quiet breath, “From the bruising littered all over his stomach, he received numerous blows that resulted in severe damage to the soft tissue.”

My stomach knots again, and the muscles in my shoulders tense. I took a moment to look over at my brothers. Colt was still gently running his hand through Raymond’s hair, his touch slow and reassuring, while Draven remained standing with his arms crossed over his chest, listening intently to Monica while keeping his eyes locked on the young wolf.

She removes her gloves and tosses them into the biohazard bin before looking directly at the three of us.

"I already drew blood earlier and completed his initial lab work,” she said while picking up her tablet and pulling up the results before continuing. “His basic metabolic panel shows low glucose, calcium, and potassium, which is consistent with prolonged malnutrition and dehydration.”

She flipped to another page. “His complete blood count is even more concerning. His red blood cell count is low, his platelet count is decreased, and his white blood cell count is significantly elevated, indicating his body is actively fighting an infection.”

Fucking hell.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest, my fists clenching until my knuckles turned white. Every muscle in my body coiled with restrained fury, the tension threatening to snap as I fought to keep my rage under control. Every instinct screamed at me to hunt down whoever had done this; to tear them apart with my own hands for what they'd done to the young Alpha lying broken in the bed before me.

I closed my eyes and drew in a slow, measured breath, forcing myself to regain control.

It barely helped.

How could a pack allow this?

How could an Alpha's own son be reduced to this?

My wolf was howling inside me.

Threatening to break loose. 

The questions echoed through my mind, each one feeding the fury simmering beneath my skin. The more I looked at Raymond's battered body, the harder it became to believe that anyone who called themselves an Alpha could have stood by and let this happen.

I looked over to Draven and watched him stand by Raymond’s bed with eyes full of worry and contained rage, locked up tightly. I have watched my brother lead the pack for years. He is a strict leader and holds everyone in the pack to high standards and strict moral codes, but never have I seen him cross certain lines. If someone in the pack did something out of line, he would spend time collecting all the evidence and questioning witnesses before proceeding. 

Draven has always had a rule when it comes to punishments. He never lays a hand on the weak, the young, or the innocent. Something he has stood by since he came into leadership.

What is being shown before us now, is a young wolf who has just reached adulthood just a few years ago, laid out in our medical wing, covered in brutal wounds, and scars from years of strategic abuse.

Monica’s soft voice broke me away from my thoughts.

“I’ve already started broad-spectrum intravenous antibiotics,” she said. “The infection can’t wait. Once we arrive at the hospital, we’ll complete full-body X-rays and a head CT. I still need to rule out fracture or breaks, pulmonary injuries, and any intracranial bleeding before surgery.”

She slipped the chart beneath her arm.

“I’ve already linked up with my husband, Dr. Toney, at Shadow General and briefed him on Raymond’s condition,” Monica said, glancing down at the chart in her hands before looking back at us. “The operating room has been prepared, and radiology has cleared both the CT scanner and X-ray suite for his arrival.”

Her eyes lifted to meet ours.

“The ambulance is already en route. It should be here any minute.”

My eyes drifted back to Raymond. His skin looked almost painfully pale beneath the lights, same for the unnatural flush burning across his cheeks from the fever. The thin gauze wrapped around his head where he received stitches became damp with a mixture of sweat and cool water. His lips were cracked and dry, and every breath came out labored. Each wheezing inhale scraped through his chest before escaping in a slow, shaky exhale that seemed to take everything he had. 

How long had he been living like this?

How many nights had he gone to sleep wondering if he’d wake up again?

How long had he been surviving… instead of living?

I rested one hand gently on his thigh, rubbing slow, reassuring circles over the blanket, while my other hand held his, my thumb tracing the same soothing pattern across the back of his hand.

The sound of teeth gnashing reached my ears, causing me to look up.

Colt stared down at Raymond, his eyes full of tenderness and rage blending.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath. “I hate seeing him like this.”

“So do I,” Draven admitted quietly.

Colt was seated beside the head of the bed, one large hand still slowly combing through Raymond’s damp hair. He had been doing this motion since he sat down beside him. You'd think his hand would cramp up by now with the repeated motion.

“I’ve never wanted to raise hell so badly.” Draven’s voice was calm.

I knew that tone. It was the same one he’d used years ago before nearly tearing apart a rogue who had attacked a pup near our southern border.

“I swear to the Goddess,” Draven growled, his jaw flexing, “if I ever get my hands on who ever fucking did this to him…” His sentence trailed off, but it didn’t need finishing. We all knew exactly what he meant.