“Do you want to see him?” She asked, stepping to the side of the door.
I didn’t. No part of me wanted to go into that house and see an eighteen-year-old boy in torment.
And he wasn’t even my pack. I could only imagine how Falon must be feeling.
Murderous, judging by the expression on his face.
It was that more than anything that made me nod and walk towards the door. I understood the protectiveness that came with being alpha. The responsibility that rested heavily on your shoulders. If a member of your pack was hurting, you felt every ounce of that pain as if it was your own.
I could look at things rationally, whereas Falon would struggle to see past his rage and the need to get justice for his pack.
“Talis and I will go in now, if that’s all right with you?” I caught the way Falon’s shoulders relaxed and the slight nod he offered me, relief clear in his eyes.
“Of course.” Callum’s mum stepped out of the way, walking over to Falon and tucking against his side when he held an arm out.
With a quick glance at Talis, I stepped through the doorway and into the house.
She hadn’t told us which was his room, but the sounds of distress and the scent of pain guided us easily.
Pausing at the threshold to Callum’s bedroom, I muttered a soft “fuck.” The sentiment was echoed by Talis beside me.
His mum had already warned us of what to expect, but the sight still shook me to my core.
For a young man coming into adulthood, Callum looked incredibly small and fragile lying tangled in sheets that smelt like despair. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the bed, skin rubbed raw where he thrashed against the restraints.
Sweat coated his face and chest, the scent of it heavy in the air. Stale, sickly.
I swallowed, fighting the urge to flee to the fresh air outside. Instead, I walked closer to the bed, my stomach sinking with each step.
He was healing, like his mother had said, but it was still easy to see the wounds on his body caused by poisoned bullets and a dagger.
Too easy.
Shifter healing should’ve reduced them to little more than red marks overnight. Whatever had caused him to lose control was clearly still ravaging his body. “Something did this,” I murmured.
A bowl of water sat by the bed, a clean cloth next to it. I sat in the chair next to the bed, wet the cloth, and wiped it over Callum’s forehead. He stilled for a moment, at peace for the time it took me to clean the sweat away, and then he started to twitch again, pulling at the restraints as though it had never happened.
I glanced up at Talis. “Nothing natural caused this.”
“Agreed. If he’d ingested anything poisonous from the forest itself, it would’ve worked its way out by now.”
Or killed him outright.
Not caused him to lose himself so much he attacked his own mother and still felt the effects over twelve hours later.
I smelt him before I heard him.
My head snapped up, heart setting off at a gallop, that split second of joy unfurling before anger and hurt took its place.
Gabriel.
Voices sounded outside, Max’s deep and soothing and instantly recognisable as he offered words of comfort to Callum’s mother.
Talis’s gaze shot to mine. “Did you know they were coming?”
“No.”
Seconds later Max appeared in Callum’s bedroom doorway, Gabriel shadowing him. “Any change?” Max asked, looking at Callum with his lip caught between his teeth.
