ON THE BRINK

(CONT'D)

Commotion ensues, Anduan is by the bodies in an instant, checking for pulse, feeling for life and his heart hammers in his chest, fists flat against his thighs and his eyes hurt and his head pounds.

Like a ragdoll he stands there, almost lifeless—useless, frozen to his core, head pounding, he shuts down, sways, unsteady on his feet, something slashes his cheeks, spits out blood but he's unfeeling, unseeing, bile stuck in his throat.

Someone shakes him, pulls him to the side and he collapses on a wall. A wall. Kamil blinks, panic rushing in his ears, everything is so loud, so bright, it smells, reeks—disinfectant, antiseptic.

When he comes to, he's on the floor, head trapped between his legs, gasping—one two three, one two three—gripping his hair, the deep scar circling his waist itches, hot, sweat dripping down his back as if he's in a furnace.

The Doc is saying something but he can't answer, not yet, not when he feels like lashes strikes his skin. Get a grip! Hold yourself together! Breathe in, breathe out. Good. Again. One more time.

His breathing slows but the headache doesn't recede. Lifts his head to find the Cap aggressively gesturing but either the Doc isn't listening or he isn't speaking.

Yeah, and pigs fly.

Rapidly blinking, his hearing comes back and Kamil picks up the tail end of the Cap's displeasure.

"....Blue Sun Pack. First the omegas, now this. We can't let them stay here."

What's he saying? That they should be thrown out?

"The girls are on the brink of death, Captain. We—"

"Exactly. On the brink of death. If they die here, we'll be put at a disadvantage. Those Blue bastards would eat us raw."

The Doc stands her ground, crisp short hair hidden under a scarf. "Look at them! They're barely breathing."

Kamil does and can't force himself to look away. The Doc has done a bang-up job of cleaning their bodies, changing torn clothes to hospital gown but even she can't hide the sickening pallor of their skin, the cuts and bruises on their chests, arms and legs, head bandaged.

Goddess, he feels sick to his stomach.

"....those omegas surely know something. By the time I'm through with them, they'll regret the day they were born."

"Let's not do anything rash. We wait until there's more information—"

"I have to inform the Alpha. He needs to be kept abreast of this latest...development."

Kamil clears his throat and finds his voice. "The Alpha is attending an important conference. I doubt he'll answer."

Camuel whirls on him, fire in hazel eyes. "This is an emergency. Those girls could start another useless claimant war."

Dusting himself, he picks himself up but isn't ready to see the girls in all their weakened glory—hearts constantly falling, bandages around their necks a choking necklace, the bruises a gash.

His throat thickens with emotion but manages to croak, "We wait for them to awaken."

"They were found on our turf, bloodied and half-dead. Oh, the Blue Sun Pack would love this."

The Doc tries to settle this by stating, "Then we wait for the Alpha. He's the only one that can solve this predicament."

"Bullshit. I'll knock down some doors, break some skulls. Someone would start talking."

The Doc opens her mouth to object but Kamil beats her to it, leaping towards him and in a voice fed up with his unrestrained pugnacity warns,

"No, no. You don't start something you can't fix. The Alpha is who you'll burden when your violence goes south."

Camuel glares, starts to speak but the Doc placed a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head.

"He's right. Besides, we can't have anyone talk—"

"The troops—"

"Will keep quiet. As would you. We move discreetly, keep it a secret, contained. Until the Alpha gets here, you do nothing."

For all his faults, the Cap knows when someone is making sense. He doesn't like it but as a good North Star, he'll wait for the Alpha's command.