Bowie brought Boo-Boo to his chest and hugged him without thought, warmth flowing through him like liquid caramel sliding over sticky toffee pudding.
Kari threaded his fingers through Bowie’s hair, fingernails gently grazing his scalp, and Bowie leaned instinctively into the touch.
“There. You’re such a good boy,” Kari murmured, adding to the feeling blossoming in Bowie’s chest. “That should do. Now, let’s get you settled in bed, and I’ll make you something to eat.”
True to his word, Bowie was snuggled under the covers, resting against the headboard, his bear clutched against him, when Kari returned with a tray. It was the most surreal day of Bowie’s life. From pain to comfort. How was this possible? He didn’t know.
Kari perched on the free side of the bed and placed the tray over Bowie’s lap. On it were scrambled eggs, bacon, and a side of pancakes with a pot of maple syrup. His belly woke up and gurgled loudly in appreciation of the smells coming from the steaming food.
Bowie wasn’t sure why he didn’t reach for the cutlery. Instead, he peeked under his eyelashes at Kari, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. Kari’s behaviour just told some part of him that he should.
When Kari beamed at him and reached for the fork to scoop up some eggs, Bowie blushed while leaning forward, lips parting. Silently, Kari fed him. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he dug out a memory of once being very sick and he’d been helped to eat a bowl of soup. The feelings right now were not dissimilar, except Kari displayed no frustration at helping him in this way like his foster carer had.
Kari picked up a cloth and dabbed at the corner of Bowie’s mouth when he’d finished everything. Then he reached for the glass of apple juice, bringing it closer.
Bowie tightened his hold on Boo-Boo and, not quite meeting Kari’s gaze, he drank the sweet drink.
When he’d finished, Kari placed the cup back on the tray. “I’ll just tidy up and then we should talk about what happened.”
Bowie wanted to hide. To protest. But he did none of that and nodded when Kari patiently waited for his response.
“Good boy.”
Bowie glowed inside at the praise. He wanted to be a good boy, he really did.
Chapter Ten
Kari
Only once in his entire life, when Silas was beaten badly, had Kari wished violence on others. The bruises on Bowie’s neck and black, swollen elbow where Rex had kicked him, brought back the need to do harm to someone. He’d sweated over how hard it was to contain his wolf when they’d undressed Bowie to see the damage to his arm. And later, when he’d hiccupped his way through the events that had him so scared, he’d peed himself.
His terror was so big that it had felt like Kari was suffocating in it, and as much as he’d wanted Bowie to stop, he needed to know. The added torment was how Bowie had displayed so much shame and placed the blame on himself. Like he’d asked to be abused because he was less than the fucktard who’d chosen to take his temper out on Bowie.
Kari knew where the blame should be directed. Himself and Rex. He could argue that he didn't know exactly what level of douchebag Rex was. It didn’t matter, he was the catalyst for the guy losing his shit. Exactly what was said between them,Bowie hadn’t gone into a great deal of detail. The violence gutted Bowie, the remnants of the shock clear in the retelling. The trigger was Rex having received the email from Kari.
Bowie had allowed him to take pictures of the bruises, but refused to let Kari contact the police. He could see Bowie’s fear when he talked about Rex, so he’d agreed not to go to the police on Bowie’s behalf. What Kari had been careful not to do was say he would do nothing. That, he couldn’t agree to. Because Kari had promised his wolf they would make the asshole pay. It was the only way he’d gotten through what had been a traumatic afternoon without shifting.
When it all became too much, Kari hadn’t pushed for more information. Instead, he’d tucked Bowie into bed and sat until he fell asleep. Then, watching over Bowie—for far longer than was healthy—he ruminated over his part in the attack.
When the hour got late, Kari had finally dragged himself out of Bowie’s home, making sure he’d scrubbed the stained carpet and ensured there was no sign of the previous night's meal. He’d left a meal covered on the counter with a note that Bowie was to eat it when he woke up. He also left a separate note next to Bowie’s bed explaining that he was not in any trouble and Kari would see him in the office. He’d done that when he’d considered Bowie would believe he’d done something wrong by not showing up to work in his distressed state.
Kari had sent a text message to Hollis to let him know Bowie was okay. It wasn’t the complete truth, but Bowie would need to choose what he shared with his friends.
The drive home was made in record time, his hands furrier with his animal straining to be set free and go on the hunt. He pulled into the drive and sat for a minute at the wheel, staring at the house where violence was never welcome.
I promise we’ll kick the motherfucker’s ass. But there are other ways to do that than hunting him down and biting his head off.
He deserves nothing else after laying hands on our omega, marking his beautiful skin with bruises!
Don’t you think I know that too! I bathed him and took care of his hurts. I swear we’ll make him pay.
You better or I will.
Kari had never been in this position, and really, he wanted to be sensible—he should be sensible—except it was fucking hard because he was in total accord with his wolf. Those big doe eyes, full of fear, haunted him.
Clenching and unclenching his hands, he breathed in and out slowly, working to stem the seething anger burning through him that he’d had to contain all afternoon, unwilling to scare Bowie.
Because Kari seldom got into this state, it was so much fucking harder to get his feelings under control now he’d unleashed them on the drive home. But if he went into the house in his present state, his brothers would know he had an issue and want to poke their noses in.
