“What’s that?” Beck asks, his voice small and scared.
“Antibiotic,” the doctor says as he taps the top of my thigh, below the hip, like he’s choosing a spot.
A fresh spike of panic hits, and I close my eyes, trying to clamp it down.
Because I’m the pack alpha.
It’s my job to be unshakeable, untouchable, the one who doesn’t break.
Even when every nerve ending in my body screams otherwise.
“Try to relax, Cass,” Beck says softly from somewhere too close, his voice thin with worry.
I force out a breath through my nose, slow and measured. “I am relaxed,” I say, trying, and failing, to sound convincing.
“You’re not,” Dr. Pace says, and he slides the needle in fast.
Fire blooms under my skin. A burn spreads like hot lava through muscle. My eyes sting and water before I can stop it, and I hate that too.
My jaw locks so fast it aches.
“What can we do to make sure he doesn’t overdo it?” Warren asks.
I frown. Being talked about like a fucking child grates down my spine, but I don’t say anything. Not with Beck standing here practically vibrating with nerves.
Warren and Grason are taking this pretty well for the most part. We’re all used to one of us being injured in one way or another.
But Beck…
Beck is my sweet beta.
He doesn’t handle stuff like this well.
“He needs to slow down,” the doctor says, still speaking like I’m not sitting right in front of him. “Gunshot wounds are hell to begin with, but having a bullet tear through a joint is a whole different kind of beast.” He tosses his used gloves into his medical bag, then finally turns to me. His eyes cut back to my leg. “You need to take this infection seriously. No hero bullshit.”
I nod once, curtly.
Beck moves closer to Warren, his hands wringing together in front of him. The worry practically radiates off him. It hits me harder than anything the doctor said.
“I’m going to strongly recommend bed rest,” Pace says, straightening his glasses. “And I’ll be back tomorrow to give you another shot. You’ll need a daily round of antibiotics until we get this infection under control.” He presses lightly near the swollen joint, careful, like he’s testing my skin one more time. “If youdoneed to get up, then I want you to use a cane. No exceptions.”
My stomach knots.
A cane.
The word alone sets my teeth on edge. Another symbol of weakness—another reminder that I’m not who I used to be.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him exactly where he can put that cane, but Warren cuts in first. “He’ll use it,” he says smoothly, voice leaving no room for argument.
Dr. Pace nods, satisfied. “Good. I’ll bring it with me tomorrow.”
I say nothing.
Because if I do, it won’t be polite.
“One more thing, Mr. Vexler.” Dr. Pace picks up his tablet, tapping out a few notes. “It would help if your omegastayed close to you during recovery. Physical proximity stimulates faster healing in alphas—regulates hormone levels, lowers pain response.” He hesitates, then carefully adds, “I know alphas don’t like appearing weak in front of their omegas. Most try to hide injuries, especially ones this severe. But the more she’s with you, the faster this will heal.”
I let out a humorless laugh as Warren says, “We don’t have an omega.”
