4. Day 22 – Oscar
Day 22 – Oscar
“A re you aware that a member of your pack is sleeping on the floor in the hall?”
The dry words don’t make me turn away. I keep my eyes on Kenny’s face, tracing the pale blue veins across her eyelids. They don’t flicker. My response is sharp in the otherwise quiet room. “Yes.”
He’s not sleeping. He’s feigning unconsciousness. Easier than facing reality.
Behind me, Max and Jake are pretending to sleep too, their backs resting against the wall. I can feel their attention on us through barely closed lids as Kennedy’s consultant rounds the bed, a frown on his face. Abrams picks up the chart, his lips pursed. “We should talk, Oscar.”
I don’t move. “We can talk here.”
She can’t hear us. That’s what they keep saying – but if there’s even the smallest chance, I want her to be part of the discussion.
Before they lock her away again.
I wait as he pulls up a chair opposite me. “Kennedy is a highly unusual case, as you know.”
I know all too well.
Because she’s young. Because of what happened to her. “Because she was made, not born.”
Forced into becoming a feral. This was forced into her veins with seventeen bites, and hours spent fighting for her life in a meadow while we did nothing .
He hums. “And her circumstances, where your pack is concerned. Ferals don’t usually have mates. It tends to be a very isolated experience. Sadly so.”
She has us.
She should have had us all along. “Do you think we could have stopped this?”
Abrams knows what I’m asking. He answers patiently, as if I don’t ask the same question every single time we talk. “It’s impossible to say.”
A politician’s answer. He always says the same thing, never giving a clear response. I clear my throat before I look up. “For real, doc. Do you think we could have stopped the change happening to her?”
If we hadn’t rejected her. If we’d embraced the bond the first time we’d felt it, opened up that link between us instead of slamming the door closed. If we’d bitten her to lock it in, if we wore Kennedy’s teeth in our necks with pride instead of pushing her away.
If she hadn’t been left alone, in pain and suffering that we only increased with the way that we treated her.
We hurt her.
He sighs. “A problem shared is a problem halved, or so they say. It really is impossible to say for certain, Oscar. We’ve never seen a case like this. But if you’re asking for my opinion… Yes, I think it’s possible. It may have diluted the feral effect, or stopped it. Shared it, even. But that’s only a hypothesis. We’ve never been able to test it.”
He sounds disappointed at the loss of a medical opportunity. I look back down to my mate. She doesn’t look feral . Not like this.
Only the restraints give away what she is. The thick padding secures her to the bed, holding her in place, and I hate the fucking sight of them. “I got the exemption from the board to resuscitate her. What now?”
Day by day. We’re fighting a battle we have no hope of winning.
But at least she’s not dying today.
At his hesitation, I look up, my attention sharpening. “What is it?”
Abrams’ brows knit. “She should not have survived what happened today. No feral has ever survived past twenty-one days, not once they fully turn. This is day twenty-two. Which means that we’re now in uncharted territory. You used your bark on her earlier, Oscar. And she made it through.”
Twenty-two days of watching Kenny pace inside a cage, snarling and snapping until her heart gave out. This place might be marketed as a safe space, but we all know exactly what it is.
A prison.
Hell. This is hell.
Twenty-two days of forcing her heart to keep beating. And watching it stop.
First, on day eight. Again, on day thirteen.
And today.
Frowning, I find myself leaning forward, curving myself over Kennedy. Abrams leans back slightly in his chair. “You think this is some sort of… opportunity?”
You’re not a fucking lab rat, Ken. I won’t let them make you one.
The older male winces. “I wouldn’t put it quite that way. But I’m rather invested in this case, Oscar. And – yes, to be blunt. There is an opportunity here. We’ve never truly been able to study the effect of the mating bond on feral omegas before. If it does change things, it won’t only be Kennedy that might benefit from it. And if it doesn’t… well. We’re not losing anything by trying.”
New pathways begin to open up in my mind at his words. Behind me, I feel Jake and Max unfurl, getting to their feet as the air fills with something new.
Something dangerous.
Something that feels a lot like hope .
There’s movement at the doorway, a shadow stretching out across the floor in the corner of my eye, but I don’t turn to look. “Explain to us how this can benefit her , and we’ll consider it.”
Abrams glances between us all, spreading his hands. “The original plan was for Kennedy to come here for respite care. End-of-life. The fact that she’s still here suggests that something we didn’t anticipate is interfering in that process.”
“The bond.” The gruff, low words don’t come from me. “You think the mating bond is keeping her alive?”
Abrams glances at Theo, his eyes flickering. “Yes, I do.”
I turn his words over in my head, examining them. “The question is how far that goes. If it only keeps her alive, as… as she is now.”
My gut clenches at the thought. Of Kennedy, forever trapped within the body of a feral omega.
We don’t know if she’s still there .
“Or if it can heal her,” Max breathes. He steps up beside me, his fingers brushing Kenny’s cheek. “We could bring her back?”
I shake my head when Abrams opens his mouth. He closes it. “Max… if we do this, she might not come back. This isn’t going to be an easy road.”
“But it’s still a road,” Theo says roughly. He edges closer. “It’s a possibility, Oz.”
A difficult one. Abrams doesn’t have to say it. There are many ways that this could fail, and only the slimmest possibility of anything good.
We could lose her anyway.
“She might not be able to come back,” I murmur. They all stiffen. “We might be condemning her to a lifetime of this. We have to consider that. She’s not able to speak for herself.”
Trapping her forever – keeping her alive, in a horrific existence inside her own mind. Assuming she’s in there at all.
We haven’t seen a single sign.
“I’ll leave you to talk it over.” Abrams gets to his feet. “If you want to move forward, then we’ll need to put a plan to the board. Her set-up, her care, the access you receive as her mates – we’ll likely need to fight for all of it. It’s never been done before. And there’s no guarantee of success. We all need to understand that before we begin.”
I’m not afraid of a fight. Not for her.
I’m not going to fail her again.
I stare at her closed eyes again as Abrams leaves.
Show us something, baby. Tell us you’re in there.
Tell us what to do.