Finally Her Turn

Chapter 27: Kane

“Why am I in your house?” I repeat his question back to him with as much calm and control as I can muster considering the emotions swirling around inside me. “Can you even call it a house anymore? It’s a wreck, Owen. Completely destroyed.”

“That’s none of your business,” he seethes, and I can’t help but notice the spittle that flies out of his mouth with every “s” sound he makes.

I also can’t help wondering if it’s because he’s that enraged, or if he’s missing teeth in the front. Maybe both, by the look of him. Now that he’s closer to me, I can clearly see the swelling and bruises on his face that are still in the process of healing. But the question is whether that’s something he’s done to himself, or if someone else was involved.

“As your Alpha, it is absolutely my business,” I remind him, straightening my posture and squaring my shoulders as I stand before him. “I received a complaint from a concerned packmate who wanted to make sure that you were being looked after.”

“A complaint from who? No one cares about me anymore. I’ve been keeping to myself, staying away from your precious town. So, your story doesn’t check out, Alpha. And I don’t need you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“What happened there?” I ask him, pointing a finger at his face and ignoring his protests. “And when’s the last time that you changed your clothes? Or took a bath? Or hell, when was the last time that you ate or drank anything that didn’t come from a whiskey bottle?”

“None of your business, like I said. Now, kindly get out and leave me be.”

I sigh, reaching up to rub a hand down my face as I puzzle out what I should do here.

“Look, Owen. Marissa’s gone –,” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“I know that,” he grits out through his clenched jaw, his fists bundled just as tightly at his sides. “She went off to do your bidding, Alpha. She’s been gone for weeks.”

“She was assigned to a long-term mission off-territory, that’s true, but what I’m saying is that she’s gone now. Left the pack yesterday. Transferred elsewhere.”

“You lie,” he cuts me off again. “You’re just trying to provoke me into getting myself banished. And frankly, I’ve about had it. I’ve just about stopped caring about you and this stupid pack. Nobody wants me here anyway. I only stay for Marissa.”

“You mean Mary?” I can’t help challenging him snidely, hoping that his reaction will show me the truth of it.

“Don’t call her that,” he growls, starting to lunge for me, and only managing to hold himself back at the last second.

But now that he’s less than a foot from me, the stench of him has grown so thick that I can barely stand it.

“Why, because only you can call her that?” I go on taunting him, knowing that it’s my best means of pulling any shreds of the truth from him. He’s only honest when he’s too angry to hold himself back.

“Who told you that? They’re all liars too,” he snarls, turning away from me and starting to pace in the other direction.

“You did,” I point out, gesturing around us at the paint all over the walls. “I’m just going to take a stab in the dark and guess that Marissa didn’t do this to herself, and you’re the only spiteful bastard I see around here.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he seethes, turning and charging at me again.

But this time it’s me who stops him, thrusting a hand out to grab him by the throat and lift him off the ground, shifting his forward momentum upward before I slam him down on his back.

He crashes to the floor with a pitiful yelp, and I watch as he lies there looking senseless for a moment. I know I threw him with some force, but it shouldn’t be affecting him that much. The man’s a warrior, after all, or at least he was.

But now with his shirt raised up slightly, I’m finally noticing how skinny he looks. He’s nothing but skin and bones, an angry old skeleton covered in a thin, almost translucent layer of delicate skin. No wonder his face hasn’t healed, and with the state he’s in, there’s no telling how old those bruises really are. They could be a day old, or maybe even a week. I’m almost wondering if he hasn’t really eaten much but scraps ever since Marissa left for Maine almost a month ago. She really wasn’t exaggerating about him needing my help so that he doesn’t just rot away out here on his own.

“Come on, Owen. Get up. I’m taking you over to the packhouse,” I command him, making the decision on the spot.

“I’m not allowed to go there,” he mumbles, and it sounds slurred and delirious.

But considering that he was asleep when I got here, I’m skeptical that he’s already intoxicated. Although I suppose with the condition he’s in, it wouldn’t take all that much to get the job done.

“I’m the Alpha who banned you in the first place, and I’ve decided that you need my help, so I’m unbanning you. I can already tell that I can’t help you here. There’s nothing left that will do you any good here.”

“I don’t need your help,” he attempts to protest, but it takes him a lot of effort and I can barely understand him.

He’s still on the ground, twisted at an odd angle now that almost looks like a lopsided fetal position, and it seems to require a lot of effort for him to keep his eyes open. I’m realizing perhaps a bit too late that slamming him on the ground might not have been the best strategy. Something more is going on with him, and I might have just made it worse.

I need some medics and maybe even a doctor, I mind-link some of the medical staff over at the infirmary, not knowing who’s on call or available currently.

Seconds later, one of the female doctors responds to me, and I give her Owen’s address and instruct her to put a rush on it.

Then I crouch down to take a closer look at the condition that the man is in, lifting his shirt a bit more to expose his belly and chest to me. He is black and blue from top to bottom it seems, although some of the bruising is fading and yellowing around the edges.

“What happened to you?” I ask again, even though I know he probably won’t tell me.

“Marissa,” is all he says, smiling at me in a way that is straight out of a horror movie, with his own blood smearing his teeth.

That part is probably my fault, though I didn’t know that he was already so injured to start with.

He starts laughing, a sound that comes out sounding more rattly and strained than happy or amused. It’s as if he’s laughing at himself, and now I’m wondering if he’s completely lost his mind. It would certainly explain the paint everywhere, and the state of the house, not to mention the state of him.

“Is she really gone?” he asks, lifting his head and opening his eyes to look at me, still leering, though I’m not sure if it’s intentional anymore. It almost looks like his muscles have gotten so lazy that he’s lost control of his face.

“She is,” I confirm, nodding solemnly. “She found her mate, and she left yesterday to join his pack.”

“And he wants her?” he wonders, his tone sounding surprisingly hopeful.

I expected him to be angry when he found out, but he doesn’t seem to be. In fact, this conversation might even be calming him some.

“He does. He couldn’t even wait for her to finish her assignment,” I chuckle, relaxing slightly now that I’m seeing hints of the old Owen surfacing.

Maybe I’m not too late to help him, at least. I failed to save Marissa from whatever horrors she endured here with him, but if the old, sober Owen is still in there, maybe he’s not a completely lost cause. Or maybe I’m letting myself be too hopeful because I feel responsible for him and who he’s become.

“That’s good then,” he says, closing his eyes again and letting his head drop back to the floor. “I’m glad she won’t be alone.”

He chokes a little on that last word, which concerns me enough to take a closer look at his face. His closed eyelids are flitting around now, and I reach over to lift one up to check his pupils only to find that his eyes have rolled up in his head. His body is starting to jump and thrash a little, and I realize with horror that he might be having a seizure.

I roll him onto his side so that he doesn’t end up choking on his own tongue, and mind-link the doctor again to find out how much longer until help will be here for him.

I’m literally flooring the gas pedal now, she answers. Maybe a minute, if I can keep up this pace. The terrain is a bit rougher out in these parts though.

Which is true. Owen’s house is up on a hill, and the trails that lead out this way are mostly single-lane dirt paths that can be a bit bumpy. Drivable, but just barely.

The shaking and jerking around finally stops right about when I hear the front door being opened. I realize that I should have warned the doctor about the state of the house because the first thing out of her mouth when she walks into the living room is a string of curses spewed in disbelief. Nevertheless, she dutifully pushes her way through the debris and the stench and makes it to the back bedroom as instructed.

Owen is a bit breathless as she’s working with another medic to load him onto a stretcher, but he’s regained consciousness, though he still seems a bit dazed.

“What happened to him?” the doctor asks me, glancing up from her patient to meet my gaze.

“I’m not entirely sure, although he was aggressive when he first woke up. I didn’t realize the condition he was in and reacted to him the way I would have anyone else who charged at me the way he did,” I explain regretfully.

“A swift body slam of authority?” she questions, and though I know there’s a hint of teasing mockery to it, she asks it with a straight face.

“Yeah,” I sigh, hating having to admit it, “but I regret it now that I’ve seen more of him.”

“Don’t worry, it will all heal in time,” she is quick to assure me. “As soon as we get some fluids and nourishment into him, that is. I can tell just by looking at him that he’s emaciated and dehydrated. And I can guess why just by the smell of him.”

“Screw you,” Owen slurs at her, though she has him restrained on the stretcher now so the threat in his voice is an empty one.

I think even he knows that judging by the way that he slumps back against the board pretty much immediately after, sighing and giving himself over to their care. He seems to know that there’s no point in struggling or fighting anymore, or maybe it’s more that he no longer has the strength for it.

“They’re going to take good care of you, Owen,” I promise him gently, but I can’t help adding, “for Marissa’s sake.”

“Screw her too,” he adds spitefully. “If she cared, she wouldn’t have left me.”

Well, the glimpse that I got before of the caring father I wish he could be was certainly short-lived. This seems more like the guy I can picture scrawling hateful words and sayings all over his daughter’s walls.

But it doesn’t matter, not right now anyway. Right now, I’m going to get him the care that he so desperately needs. I’ll make sure that he’s nursed back to good health, and that he’s weaned off the booze. And then, when I’m sure that he’s once again blossomed into whatever sort of person he really is and can show me the man he has truly become, I can finally decide what to do with him.