“Well”—Hunter got up from the chair—“you can see for yourself. Della, you got any clean water to wash my hands?” To Cal’s dismay, Della launched into action, vacating his side to fetch the water basin and soap for Hunter when all he wanted was to keep her close and breathe her in to distract him from the wound he was about to face for the first time.
In the heat of the moment—the literal heat of a burning building—there had been no hesitation about what needed to be done to free him from the shackle. Once Della declared she would not leave him to ensure her safety, no other option existed. Cal would never, not even for a single second, allow himself to regret that decision. At the same time, he hadn’t considered what the rest of his life would be likesans one foot. Alphas, as a rule, were not known to tolerate weakness in each other. Would the injury be not only a disability but a liability?
Hunter rounded the foot of the bed, drying his hands. “How much pain are you having?”
“Some.” Cal relaxed his neck against the bedframe and sucked in air through his nose. “I can still feel my foot, you know? Like if I try to move it, it’s still there moving around even when I know it’s not.”
“It’ll take your brain time to adjust,” Hunter explained, squatting down and beginning to unwind the bandaged stump. “I had to file down some of the jagged edges of bone, which you were probably happy to be unconscious for, but there’s nothing sharp left to come poking out of you.”
Hunter’s words swept past him like a gust of dried, fallen leaves, quickly forgotten. Cal’s body stiffened as each wrap of the bandage loosened, knowing that at any moment, the ghastly reality of his mangled body would be exposed. Chilled air hit his skin as the last of the bandages peeled away. Overcome with a sudden rush of foreboding, Cal stared at the ceiling and braced himself in the final breath ofbefore.A cool palm settled across his forehead. Della gazed down at him, her expression somber but unbothered, raining gentle encouragement on his tumultuous thoughts, and he moved his arms to circle her waist and draw her body close. He buried his head in the soft pillow of her stomach, shaking with relief and gratitude. Now that they’d hashed out their feelings, he could lay himself bare like this, knowing without a doubt she’d be there to catch him if he happened to stumble.
“Hey,” she whispered, her lips pressed to his hair and her arms secured tightly around his head. “It’s not so bad, handsome, I promise.”
No question, he believed her and hugged her all the tighter because of it.
“In terms of healing,” Hunter said, his usually gruff voice gentled, “the edges are already knitting together, no signs of infection. All told, I’m gonna guess you’ll be completely healed up in about four to six weeks, Alpha immune systems being what they are. Do...” He cleared some discomfort from his throat. “Do you want to see it now or wait? I can always come back—”
“Now,” Cal said, his voice firm but muffled in Della’s shirt. He eased away from her, taking solace from her calm, beloved face before turning fully toward the foot of the bed.
Gone was the ghastly raw meat of his muscle and the white, exposed bone from his last memories of that night. The stump lay propped on pillows, cleaned and neat, with no trace of any of the former gore. A chaotic railroad track of sutures decorated his flesh, but Della had done as he’d directed and left enough skin to close fully over the amputation site. He rotated his leg this way and that, noting that the sutures appeared neat and uniform and not overly taut or straining.
His breath left him in a relieved hiss. It was still his body, recognizable and identifiable, except for the absence of the foot. The sight of the rest of his leg and thigh—still intact, strong, and capable—filled him with an early hope. As he’d told Della that night in desperation, he was losing the foot anyway, so the only question was whether he lost the rest of his body along with it. His hand found its way to hers, and he gave it a solid squeeze, relishing the stable, anchoring feel of her firm grip.
“Della knows how to clean it, but try not to get the sutures wet. We’ll give it another few days and then get them out. Once the wound is closed, some gentle compression will help the swelling.” Hunter lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know anything about prosthetics or even what might be possible to make for you, but”—he met Cal’s eyes with a look of solid promise—“we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I’ll get someone working on a set of crutches.”
“Thank you, Alpha.” His voice was shakier than he might’ve liked, but he was well past caring. Despite the mess they’d made of their relationship, Hunter had patched him up like a true brother, and he was grateful.
Hunter tossed the soiled dressings aside and began wrapping the wound with fresh, clean strips of cloth. “It would be pretty ridiculous to let you die after everything Della did to save your life,” he groused as he focused on arranging bandages with swift, practiced movements. “Besides which, we owe you much more than some stitching up. I hope you know that this Pack is gonna do everything we can to get you up and moving again.”
At this statement, some final pool of unrest released from Cal’s chest. Yes, Packs were supposed to take care of each other. Safety and security in numbers and commitment to each other. That’s the idea Pa had drilled into him all those years ago when he was a young Alpha learning to one day take over as Alpha of Alphas. Somewhere along the line, in the fallout from the bridge collapse, that lesson had been forgotten by the people he knew and loved and whom he thought knew and loved him in return. Blind and tortured by grief, some of them sought to console themselves by scapegoating him, while others were poisoned by long years of jealousy. Either way, he’d been drummed out of the Pack that was his birthright. Betrayed not only by the people but by the principles he’d taken for granted.
But perhaps Pa hadn’t been correct in putting all his faith in Cal to uphold the principles of the Pack. Maybe he ought to have worked harder to build the community and instill those values in everyone rather than putting all his focus on his one and only Alpha son. Here was Hunter, doing the exact thing Pa failed to do, working not only to protect individual Pack members but protect the idea of the Pack as deserving of protection as well.
Hence, the difficulty in dealing with Silas and Hunter’s unsatisfactory answer to Cal’s inquiry about that outcome. Along with the unresolved question of what Colt had been doing with the shackle key while the mess hall burned, Cal had set the question of Silas’s disposition aside during their earlier conversation. But now it roared back into focus, and Cal realized he required a better answer than the one Hunter had provided, given the sacrifice he’d made as a result of Silas’s actions.
“So that complicates the decision about Silas then, doesn’t it?” he asked, meeting the subject in the only way he knew how: head-on.
Della started, her hand spasming where it had come to rest on the back of his neck.
Hunter frowned, giving one last squinted examination of Cal’s bandaged stump before standing. “It does.”
Packs had a responsibility to each other; they were supposed to care for one another and the Pack as a whole. And despite what had befallen him in his life, Cal still believed in those ideals. His commitment and respect for those ideals prompted him to ask Hunter if he could join his Pack back in OT. How would things have been different for him if his Pack truly embodied them rather than dismissing them when tragedy struck?
“What if...” Della spoke with quiet caution, “what if there was some way for Silas to atone?”
“I was thinking banishment, myself.” Hunter rinsed his hands again. “It’s kinder than what the rest of those bastards got, that’s for damn sure. What did you have in mind?”
“He should replace the food that was lost.” Della’s voice swelled with confidence. “Give him a horse and let him go out and find work. He can trade his labor for food stores—dried goods, whatever he can get his hands on. Once he’s collected a sufficient amount, then he can return.”
Cal grinned at his mate as his chest gripped tightly with pride and appreciation.
If Silas chose not to accept the task, then he’d effectively banish himself by his own choice, not by the Pack’s judgment. If he chose to accept the task, he would have time to contemplate his life choices as he worked to replace what was lost. Returning with food would demonstrate his recommitment to the Pack and help the Pack forgive someone who had so dangerously betrayed them. It was the perfect solution: creative, merciful, practical, and fair.
“Won’t be easy to replace all that was lost,” Hunter muttered.
“It’s not supposed to be easy,” Della countered, her conviction growing. “He was responsible for a lot of destruction, so he bears an outsized responsibility for the reconstruction. It’s achancefor redemption, not a guarantee.”
“It might be good for him to spend some time away from the Pack,” Hunter said thoughtfully. “He’ll be persona non grata around here for some time.”