Chapter 9 #2
I need to make my time count. My mind clears the second I smell the ice and I kick off the blade guards as I step out to begin practice. Maybe if I play until I’m ready to pass out, I’ll stop seeing her bruised face in my mind.
Somehow, I doubt it, but it’s worth a shot.
SILAS
I’ve migrated from the hallway to the kitchen to feed my pack, and then infiltrated the guest bedroom. It’s been a slow process over a course of hours, but here I am with my ass planted in a chair beside the dark haired beauty that’s my scent match.
“You’re sneaky,” Dr. Walsh mutters, checking on her vitals.
“I needed to be closer. She keeps whimpering in her sleep.”
“There’s a lot happening inside her at the moment.
The ultrasound shows she is still miscarrying and there can be some pain during that process.
The tapestry of bruising on her skin tells me this is an unwanted pregnancy, and there is evidence of nonconsensual sexual intercourse,” he explains.
“She also may be having nightmares despite the sedation. All I can do is keep her as comfortable as I can. I don’t want any scents to freak her out either, Silas. ”
I nod slowly, understanding that alpha scents could be a trigger for her.
While the doctor is also an alpha, he’s scrubbed his scent off himself while he’s treating her.
I also watched as he used a descenting soap up to his elbows once she was stable and then sprayed the air with something to neutralize the room.
Basically, he’s asking me not to fuck up the work he’s done. Leaning back, I go back to watching every flutter of her dark lashes and the crease of discomfort between her brows.
“Why is she here and not in a hospital, Silas?” he asks.
I’m surprised he’s been able to hold his questions for this long. It’s late afternoon, and he hasn’t done more than grunt in my direction.
“At first it was because she needed fast and discreet medical care,” I drawl. “Well, that’s what I could tell you but I won’t. Your morals aren’t very straightlaced, are they?”
“No more than yours,” he smirks.
“She’s my pack’s scent match. All of ours and Troy’s,” I sigh. “We aren’t capable of letting her out of our sight. We have no idea who she is or her story. So here I am while my pack tries to pretend life is continuing as usual.”
“Lyle has court, I doubt he wanted to leave if she’s his,” the doctor says.
“You’d be correct. I had to push him out the door and promise to give him updates.
Easton is seeing what he can dig up on the people who took her and is paying a visit to Pack Tremaine.
He has to work later today and is also being called in by the police commissioner about our little rescue mission last year. ”
“That’s a delayed reaction. It happened months ago.”
“Mmhmm.” Easton pulled a lot of strings to put together a city wide effort to rescue Pack Domino’s omega. They refused to help initially which didn’t go over well.
Don’t fuck us over or we’ll fuck you right back with a hot poker and no lube.
“The police commissioner can complain all he wants, but Easton has dirt on him too. Kenny has always been a dirty cop, and that’s the only thing he understands.”
“The way he treats the people of Savannah is appalling,” Dr. Walsh grumbles. “Did Rosa tell you that Rise up is encountering problems?”
“She did. Lyle’s putting together a legal team to work with Rise up on a pro bono basis. The commissioner is trying to say Rise up needs to limit the amount of people they take much like he’s pressuring shelters not to help omegas.”
“Fucking prick,” Dr. Walsh says, shaking his head. “Word of mouth is working too slowly and people like my patient are still out on the streets.”
“We don’t know how long she’s been held captive or if she has been homeless,” I remind him. “Fuck, we don’t really know anything about her outside of what you’ve been able to tell us.”
“Ughhh.”
Dr. Walsh snaps so quickly to attention, I’m surprised he didn’t hurt himself as his patient whines on her sleep. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her name. I’m tired of not having something to call her.
All I’m certain of is she’s a fighter. Maybe that’s enough for now.
“What hurts?” Dr. Walsh asks softly, his eyes moving over her body. Honestly, it could be anything with how banged up she is.
Her lashes raise and fall as she blinks, and she stares in confusion at the doctor.
“This isn’t a hospital, is it?” she whispers. Her eyes dart around quickly, and then she screams as she sees me.
“Wait. Just take a breath,” he says quickly. I remain quiet and still, knowing he needs to gain her trust before I can. “This is not a hospital, but you are safe here.”
Breathing heavily, she pulls down the sheet covering her and closes her eyes as she sees she’s wearing clothing. God, I can’t even begin to imagine the horrors she’s faced if that’s the first thing she thinks to look for.
“I need…information,” she wheezed, opening her dark eyes.
“You’re currently a guest in my home,” I say softly. “You broke the window of a warehouse my pack owns and we went out to investigate. If we hadn’t, you’d be dead. Dr. Walsh is caring for you.”
“You’re very dehydrated, which is why you’re hooked up to an IV,” the doctor continues, glancing at me before fully focusing on the girl. “I can give you the full rundown on what I’ve been doing but I’d really like your name before I do that.”
“Does it matter?” she asks.
“I’m ready to call you ‘Little Fighter’ in my head, but I would prefer a name too,” I admit teasingly.
“I’m not a fighter,” she mumbles. “It’s not fighting when you’re barely surviving.”
“I don’t believe that’s true,” Dr. Walsh replies. “When all you can do is focus on one day at a time, staying alive is the only thing you can do. For all intents and purposes, you should be dead, young lady. Now, what can I call you?”
“I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that.”
My nails dig into my palm at her very honest words, and I promise to murder anyone who has ever fucking hurt her.
“Silas, you’re going to need to step away if you can’t calm down,” the doc breathes.
I have a problem and I know it. Closing my eyes, I shake my head because I can’t get my anger under control. I’m fucking with his carefully curated scent free bedroom, and I can’t stop.
“Give me the spray you had earlier,” I rasp, opening my eyes. My voice will be nonexistent soon because I’ll be too angry to push them out. It’s as if my vocal cords get strangled when I’m pissed off.
I catch the bottle he tosses at me and spray myself down to dispel the scent of ozone building. I’m watched with wide eyes by the Little Fighter in bed, but that’s fine. I would rather she be curious than scared of me.
“The smell will clear up soon,” I say, putting down the bottle on the nightstand. I wonder how long it’ll take for her to notice we’re scent matched, but for now, she doesn’t seem to make the connection.
I can wait.
“My name has never mattered to my owners before,” she says softly.
“I am not your owner,” I say, struggling almost immediately with the growl threatening to claw its way out. “I simply want to help you get better. If you’ll allow my pack to help you find your feet, we’d very much like that. However, we are all equal in this home.”
My Little Fighter doesn’t seem to believe me and she curls up tighter in the bed before she frowns.
“What am I wearing?” she asks. “It’s scratchy.”
“It’s a sanitary napkin,” the doctor explains. “When Pack Mayor found you, they found you in a pool of blood. This is from a miscarriage you’re currently still having.”
“Oh.” Her eyes shutter and I mourn the dark orbs as she presses her hand against her stomach. “Those are the pains I feel. Does it make me a bad person if I’m relieved this is happening now? I wouldn’t have been able to leave if it was later.”
Leave where? With who? No it doesn’t make you a bad person!
Breathe, Silas. Come on, ya big bastard. Don’t freak out. The pep talk is barely working, but then, I’m better at giving those to other people than myself.
“I don’t believe there’s any right or wrong way to feel about a miscarriage,” Dr. Walsh says gently. “There’s no way to change it and your body wouldn’t have been able to carry a child to term with how malnourished you are.”
“Hmm. I don’t remember the last time I’ve eaten something that wasn’t off someone else’s plate,” she mutters.
None of this feels like information she’s intentionally giving us. Instead they’re all inner musings. There’s still antibiotics, meds, and saline dripping into her vein through the IV. My little fighter also appears as if she’s fighting sleep.
“I can make you a plate if the doctor doesn’t think it’ll make your stomach upset,” I murmur. “Food is freely given here. It makes me happy to feed people.”
“There’s no such thing as a truly good person,” she says sleepily. “Everyone wants something.”
“I think the definition of what makes up a good person should be clarified,” I reply. “As far as myself, my name is Silas and it hurts my heart not to take care of the people who find themselves in my life.”