Chapter 21
Vincent
The urge to destroy something—someone—hit me harder than it ever had before.
It was sharp, immediate, violent. Because when I saw Charles for the second time in my life, I didn’t feel shocked. I felt rage.
He was curled on a cot, barely conscious. Blood and vomit clung to his skin, even the mattress beneath him. His body trembled, pale and fragile, like it had forgotten how to hold itself together.
Tears had dried on his cheeks in thick streaks, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were so swollen he couldn’t possibly see me.
But I saw him. And I knew I’d never forget that image. Not for as long as I lived. Not until I made someone pay for it.
How was it possible for forty-eight hours to destroy something so precious that easily?
I had expected to arrive at Lockswells Boarding House and see a healthy, but reserved Omega. A simple boy who only knew to obey.
I didn’t expect Charles to be nearly dead, fighting to just breathe.
Thankfully, Silas was there, right beside me. He sprouted some words, the documentation, and the Omega was officially in my care. And I made a mental promise to never let anything like this happen to him again.
It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
I stole one of the white, scratchy blankets, wrapping it around Charles before carrying him to my car. I didn’t want any of the other Omegas to see mine fighting for his life.
“I’ll call Moore. Get him home,” Silas said, voice low.
I barely managed to get Charles into the back seat, his body limp, too light in all the wrong ways.
Silas didn’t move. He just stood there, watching. His eyes held something dark, something that understood exactly what had been done.
I gave him a nod. No words. Then I got in the car and drove away from a place I never wanted to see again.
Moore was already waiting when I arrived. His Omega stood beside him, eyes wet, hands clenched.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, like I’d forgotten how to be Vincent.
I watched as my best friend took over, calm, practiced, focused. He took my Omega from my car, carrying him up to my room like he owned the place.
He hooked up the IV, stripped Charles down with clinical care, catalogued every bruise, every cut, every place that had been broken.
And I stood back. Because right then, fury and grief were the only things I knew how to feel. And neither of them could help him.
Only when after all that, when Adrian being his sweet self, had touched my hand with tears still in his hands, did I come back to myself.
I have no clue what I would have done without Moore, or Adrian for that matter.
It took over four days for Charles to become aware of things around him once more. It was slow, little moments here and there. Mostly, it was when his pain and panic spiked.
Those moments didn’t last long, since Moore was right there, giving Charles what he needed to stay calm and relaxed.
By the second day, the V-shaped mark on his shoulder had turned angry and swollen—infected despite everything Moore had done to prevent it. Pus pooled beneath the skin, and my friend had to lance it with a needle, coaxing it open before administering a high dose of antibiotics.
Charles didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream. He just lay there, too far gone to react.
Through it all, Adrian never left his side. He held Charles’s hand, whispered to him in soft, steady rhythms, like he could anchor him with words alone.
He was there for my Omega in ways I hadn’t dared to be. And every time Moore or I had to touch him, Charles would cry. Shake. Like his body knew the difference. Like it could still tell the touch of an Alpha from the safety of someone like Adrian. And I hated that it made sense.
Moore and I took turns handing Adrian cool cloths to put over Charles’ eyes, hoping that the swelling would lessen. The poor boy couldn’t open his eyes, even if he wanted to. Moore assured me it was just from being hit or pushed up against something, but I wasn’t so positive on that outlook.
Moore made sure to change out a cool damp towel across Charles’ back, too, to keep the pain at bay the best he could.
Pain meds only last so long.
I refused to sleep more than a few minutes here and there, mostly dozing on and off in the chair that was in the corner of my room.
Every time Adrian or Charles moved, I was wide awake, making sure my Omega was okay.
Every few hours, I’d guide Charles to the bathroom by half walking, half carrying him. He moved when I told him to, followed commands like muscle memory was all he had left.
Not trust. Not choice. Just obedience.
He flinched every time I touched him. Not violently, just enough to remind me he knew the difference.
And still, he listened. Still, he moved.
Tears slipped down his face in silence, and he never wiped them away. Like even that had been taken from him.
Charles never uttered a word; never made a single noise. I wished he would. I hated the silence of him just existing in my space.
It took all my waning willpower to not fall before him and beg him to just be human; to let me know that he was in there somewhere.
On one of the trips to the bathroom, Charles’ steps were just a tad more steady, his body not leaning as much on me as the other times. His tears had slowed, too. And that almost worried me more than the nonstop tears.
Like before, he obeyed without hesitation. Sat when I told him to. Released his bladder like it was just another command to follow. But this time, his head dropped against my chest.
A small, broken sound escaped him, barely a whimper, but enough to make me freeze. His weight leaned into me, not with trust, but with need.
I stood there, whispering the same words I always did.
“You’re safe now.”
“It’s okay.”
But I knew they didn’t reach him. He was somewhere else, somewhere his mind had decided was safer than here. Safer than me. And I didn’t blame him for that. I didn’t expect to be the place he ran to.
I just cleaned him up again, gently wiping his face like I had every time before. Because it was all I could do. And right now, it had to be enough.
When I got him to stand, his knees buckled almost instantly. I didn’t hesitate. I guided his arms around my neck and lifted him, one hand braced beneath him, the other steadying his back.
His legs wrapped around my waist like it was instinct, like his body remembered something his mind had long since buried.
But it wasn’t natural. Not anymore. It was muscle memory born from survival, not trust. And I felt every ounce of that truth in the way he clung to me without ever holding on.
I carried him toward the bed, arms locked around his fragile frame. He was light and every step felt like I was holding something that could shatter if I breathed wrong.
But when I tried to lay him down, he didn’t let go. His arms stayed tight around my neck, legs wrapped around my waist like he couldn’t tell the difference between safety and survival.
I whispered, voice low. “It’s okay. You’re home.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just held on, face buried against my shoulder, breath shallow and uneven.
I could feel the tremble in his fingers. The way his body clung like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing again.
So I didn’t force it. I sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding him. Letting him decide when it was safe to let go. Even if that moment never came.
Tears began to flow once again, soaking my shirt. That was nothing compared to the torment this boy held within himself.
If it weren’t for the fact his back was torn up, I’d have ran my hands up and down his back. Instead, I gently held him, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other along his back hip bones, mindful of where the deep cuts were.
If I could, I’d give this Omega the entire world. He didn’t have to utter a single word ever again.
Not knowing exactly what Charles needed, I just sat there, holding him as his tears slowly made a puddle on my shoulder.
Too soon, his body began to shake, silent sobs wracking his thin form.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” I wasn’t sure if it was, truthfully. I don’t think anything will ever be okay for Charles again. Not after what he had to go through.
“Adrian is here. He’s been helping me take care of you; to get you back to health. He’s put cold towels on your back. And he’s held you. And got you to drink some sips of water.”
I just talked. I told Charles about everything. The weather. What book I was planning to read next. I even told him that I’d read the leather bound book to him, when he was up for it.
I didn’t know if my words reached him. Maybe they didn’t. But slowly, the trembling eased. The tears kept falling, silent and steady, but his body sagged against mine like he’d finally run out of fight.
“S…Sir?” His voice was barely there, muffled against my neck.
“I’m here, Charles.”
“I… don’t feel good.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
I’d expected that. I expected the pain, the confusion, the way he clung to me like he wasn’t sure if I was real.
Moore stepped in without a word, a bucket in one hand, a syringe in the other, and a cup of applesauce balanced between his fingers.
He didn’t need me to explain.
“Can you try to eat something for me?” I asked gently, brushing my thumb along Charles’s damp hairline.
He shook his head. Didn’t speak, just pressed closer.
Moore’s voice was quiet but firm. “A feeding tube may be the best option, Vincent.”
I swallowed hard. The thought made my stomach turn. No thanks. Not yet. Not unless there was no other way. I had maybe a day before that option was the only one.
“I’ll…try.” It felt as though just those few words exhausted him.
I stayed seated with him still clinging to me, his breath shallow against my neck.
Moore had left the applesauce on the nightstand, but I didn’t reach for it right away. I waited, letting him settle. Let the shaking slow enough that I could shift without him panicking. I twisted my body enough my back was up against the headrest, Charles still stuck against my front.
Then I picked up the cup, peeled back the lid, and dipped the spoon in. “Just a little,” I murmured, voice low, steady. “You don’t have to finish it. Just try.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. But when I brought the spoon close, his lips parted, barely.
I fed him one bite. Then another. Slow and careful. He didn’t chew much, just swallowed like it hurt to exist. But he didn’t fight me. And that was something.
I brushed his hair back, thumb grazing his temple. “You’re doing good,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t pull away either.
When the cup was half gone, Charles turned his head away, a grumble not making its way from his lips.
Moore took the cup, setting it aside before inserting the tip of the needle into the IV slot, pushing the liquid into Charles’ arm.
Within minutes, he was asleep, a soft snore passing his lips.
“That was progress.”
And I’d take it. Any little step was worth celebrating.