Chapter 8: Frost

Lucas

Her screams bounced rang into the walls, even through the closed door I stood on the other side of. I fucking hate this girl. She won't talk unless we ask her something directly, and even then, her answers are vague. Now, she is curled up in a ball, hitting her own head and screaming like someone is murdering her. 

It was like a snapped twig. One minute, she was answering our questions, and the next, she was on the floor. Terrified. I know this is because of that prick Chris. Whatever he did to her. He didn't just keep her from having a room; he ruined her.

I shouldn't care about what happens to a mutt like her, especially one with a father who betrayed his pack. But I can't help the pang of guilt that runs through me at the thought. If she hasn't been to the doctor since she was 11, that means she was probably locked in that fucking dungeon for 13 years. 

13 years of what, though? "He'd wear the same Christmas sweater when he-" when he what? Beaten for sure.

My father has been conducting the inspections every year in every pack for the last 40 years. Now that he is sick, I am taking over for the inspections. How did he overlook this? How did he not find her before?

 When her screams cease, I listen at the door carefully. I hear the sound of her repeating a long number, followed by her first name, over and over again, before she becomes silent. It takes me a few minutes to realize that the number was a Social Security number.

Warriors are taught to repeat their social security numbers and their name when they are taken prisoner by other packs. It ensures that if they are ever found again, the packs will know who they are and where they belong. Her father must have fought in the pack wars. My ear is practically pressed against it when it flings open with Rebecca on the other side. She looks as though she just finished wrestling a bear in the woods. 

"Can you help me put her on the table?" She asks, motioning me inside with her. I find Jane slumped against the wall with her eyes closed. 

"What the hell did you do to her?" I ask, dropping to my knees in front of her, instinctively cupping her face in my hands. My thumbs run along the side of her face, listening to the quiet sound of her heart before glancing over my shoulder at Rebecca, waiting for an answer. 

She stares at me with a shocked expression from the other side of the room. 

"She wasn't coming out of it, so I had to give her Propofol. It just put her to sleep, now help me put her up here," she says, snapping me out of my reaction. I let go of her face, but for some reason, I miss the cool feeling of her skin. 

I help pull Jane onto the table, and watch as Rebecca pulls the ties from the sides of the table out. 

"What are you doing?" I ask with more accusation in my tone than intended. I don't know why I feel so irritated with her dealing with Jane. All I feel like doing is taking her back to the house with me and not letting her out of my sight. 

"Tying her down. We don't know her, Luke. What if she comes out of it swinging?" I can't help the glare that sinks onto my face, directed at Rebecca. 

"She won't. What if the ties put her back into whatever she was just in? She doesn't want to be touched. Imagine how she'll feel being tied to a fucking table." I tell her in a whisper through gritted teeth. She gets on my damn nerves. 

She sighs heavily, accepting her defeat in the argument, and returning the ties to the bottom of the table. 

"Hand me that," she points to the scissors on the rolling cart, and I hand them over. 

"Hold her shirt tight," she says, and I take hold of the end of her shirt. As she cuts through it, the blood from her shoulder seeps out. She keeps moving the scissors down until her shirt is completely cut open, exposing her top half. 

"Jesus," I say, looking across the scars on her body. Some are long and lightning-like, others are short and thick. They litter her pale skin from the collar of her shirt to below the beginning of her pants.  A part of me wants to remove the rest of her clothing to see the full extent of her damage, but I can't tear my eyes away from the ones in front of me to do so. 

"So this is what being a mutt gets you in a pack," Rebecca says quietly. My eyes make their way back to her sleeping face. So peaceful, so soft and pale. Her eyes are sunken in and dark, and her stomach is concave from lack of nutrition. 

"You look at her differently," Rebecca says, and I glance up at her to find her staring at me, even though she is preparing a handful of instruments next to Jane's shoulder. 

"I want to know how Chris kept her from Dad when he went for inspections." I let out a heavy sigh when I tell her, partially avoiding her statement. She squints in thought as she focuses her instruments. She uses the end of one to grip hold of the arrowhead stuck in Jane's shoulder.

She pulls it out slowly, and blood pumps out of the remaining wound with the abstraction of it. 

"Put pressure on that for a second," she says while tossing gauze onto Jane's shoulder. I reach over to the wound and press the gauze down into her seeping blood, and I watch as Rebecca prepares her sutures. 

"You're good at what you do, you know. We are grateful you decided to come back," I tell her, and watch her roll her eyes at me dramatically. 

"Yeah, yeah. Finding a doctor that won't out the wolves is hard or whatever, it was my choice to come back, you know," she says, and I smile at the reminder of her and her mate, James.

"Yeah, how's Lilly doing?" I ask with a soft smile on my face. I can't help but smile when thinking of her.

"Oh, you know, mosterous as always. Starts school this fall, so that'll be fun. You should come over for dinner soon. She misses you." She says it simply as she motions for me to move away, replacing the gauze with her needle that threads in and out of Jane's skin. When I don't respond, she glances up at me with a glare. 

"She misses her uncle, Luke. I know she reminds you of Emily, but she needs you, too."