Page 118 of Psycho Pack

I let out a relieved breath. I love Wraith completely. I don't care what he looks like. It never mattered before, and it doesn't matter now. But it does matter to me that he's in pain.

The attendant's eyes crinkle with understanding. "There's no rush to decide. The offer stands whenever you're ready." She turns back to finishing the stitches in his side, letting the subject drop.

I lean closer, pressing my forehead against his shoulder. His arm comes up to wrap around me automatically, and I feel some of the tension leaving his body. Whether from relief that she's stopped pressing about his face or from the comfort of my touch, I'm not sure.

Probably both.

Another sharp yelp from Whiskey breaks the moment. "That's it! I'm doing my own fucking stitches."

"As you wish," his attendant says serenely, though she makes no move to hand over her needle. "Though I should warn you, the last patient who tried that ended up sewing his own fingers together."

Even Wraith's chest rumbles with silent laughter at that.

Valek is on surprisingly good behavior as the attendants examine his head and the back of his neck. Actually, he seems to be enjoying the poking and prodding, a lazy grin curving his lips even though one is pushing her finger into the cut on the back of his neck.

The attendant checking his scalp gives him a wary look. "Are you alright?" she asks hesitantly, as if she isn't sure she wants to know.

"He's not alright. This is awful," says the one poking into his neck. "They chipped him like a dog. Look, there are still fibers laced into his spinal column." She shows the other attendant, who leans in to examine the wound. "Who would do such a thing to another person?"

"Common practice in Fucklandia," Valek says smoothly.

The attendants exchange horrified glances. One of them quickly prepares some kind of solution while the other begins carefully extracting the embedded fibers. Each time she pulls one free, Valek's shoulders tense slightly and his face twitches.

"No wonder he's so strange," the other attendant mutters. "The chemicals in the broken fibers were likely poisoning him."

"Drugs, too," Valek adds. "And a few head injuries."

"He's always strange," I chime in. "But does that explain why he's acting loopy? He's been weirder than usual lately, and that's saying something."

"Could be," one of the attendants muses. "But there were head injuries?"

"A few," I say dryly.

They don't need to know who gave him the first one.

He's trying so hard to maintain his usual smug demeanor, but I can see the cracks in his mask. The way his silver eyes dart around the room like a cornered animal. The slight shake in his hands as he grips the edge of the cushioned bench.

I'm still so pissed at him.

Beyond pissed, actually.

And I know he doesn't deserve to be comforted after everything he's done. After betraying the pack. Betraying me. Putting us all through hell. Nearly getting us all killed.

But I get up anyway and go to him.

I sit on the bench at his side and wrap my hand around his. As much as I can, anyway. He may be leaner than Thane, Wraith, and Whiskey, but his hands are still huge and strong.

Valek's grin turns toward me and I have to fight to not be infuriated by the smug tilt in his lips. The only reason I win that little battle is because I know his asshole act is mostly just that. An act.

"What is this, little omega?" he purrs. "Have you forgiven me already?"

"No," I say flatly.

He looks like he wants to say something that'll change my mind about offering him some comfort, but to my surprise, he holds back. Guess even Valek is capable of learning new things.

Whiskey snorts from across the room. "I could've used some hand holding, too, you know," he says. "And I didn't kidnap anyone or fuck us all over."

"I'll come hold your hand after," I promise him.