Page 21 of Marked By the Alpha's Son
“No hospitals,” Omar manages to say through a series of coughs. “I just need rest.”
I glance back to Aisha, not knowing whether to force him to see some sort of human medical practitioner or let him decide. She seems as unsure as I am, shrugging in response.
“Let’s get you in the car and we can figure out what to do on the way back,” I say. “Can you stand?”
Aisha and I bundle Omar onto the back seat. It doesn’t seem like he can put weight on one leg, his left arm is hanging limply at his side, one of his eyes is almost all the way shut from the swelling.
“You’re a mess,” I say once Omar is nestled along the back seat.
“Good to see you too,” he says, somehow managing a smirk.
Aisha jumps into the driver’s seat and shoots me a look. I give her a nod to say thanks. She didn’t have to jump inand follow my blood-wolf senses the way she did. She hits the ignition, turns us around, and whisks us back to the city.
“You’re sure you don’t mind me crashing?” Omar says from Aisha’s couch, a blanket draped over his legs.
Since we cleaned up his wounds, applied antiseptic, gave him some of Troy’s clean clothes, and fed him herbal tea, the color has come back into his face. He’s still in a bad way, and a whole world of pain, but not in immediate danger.
“Of course,” Aisha says, placing a plate of peanut butter smothered toast on the coffee table. “I’m just glad nothing was actually broken.”
Omar shifts awkwardly, clutching at his ribs and wincing. “Not a hundred on that front, but I’ll survive.”
Aisha heads back to the kitchen to tidy up, touching my shoulder as she passes. The beanbag I’m drowning in makes a loud crunching sound as I shift my weight forward so that I can sit up.
“Do you know who did this to you?” I ask, forcing myself to look at Omar’s face, even though it hurts my soul to see him so beat up.
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue, and I can tell he’s thinking back to a couple of hours ago when whoever did this got the jump on him.
“Things are getting bad out there, Cuz.”
“Things are pretty bad here as well.”
Omar nods solemnly. “You’ve got problems,” he says. “I know. Those problems are happening everywhere.”
I shake my head, not computing what Omar is trying to say. What does his attack have to do with what’s going on inside the pack?
“Your pack is under threat, right?” he asks.
“Yes, Walter Bridgers, the bad guy we thought was after you, is amassing this giant conglomerate pack to destroy the Elite Pack.”
Omar purses his lips and waits a beat before replying. “Not just the Elite Pack.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying this bad dude you mentioned, his wolves are everywhere. Man, your whole territory is surrounded by them. And they’re not just hurting pack wolves. They’re coming after rogues. They’re trying to recruit us and anyone who says no ... well ...”
“Well, what?”
“I’ve heard stories about rogues disappearing. Whole encampments destroyed or vacated. Since the attack on the Sanc, my people have scattered, we haven’t got anywhere safe we can hide. We’re in trouble.”
“So Walter is padding out his numbers with rogues?”
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner.”
“And it was his wolves that—?”
He nods. “Yeah, three wolves, big ones, jumped me while I was making my way back into the city. And I was so confused because they weren’t from the same pack. I even thought they could be rogues for a moment. So when they asked I told them I was a rogue and that’s when they got aggressive.”
“Fuck,” I say, because what else can I? “I’m sorry.”
