A Kink in the Tail

Chapter 17 - A bound wolf for life.

Constantine opened the door a fraction, just enough to listen to the conversation going on in the lounge. Lewis was on the phone with his Boss. It was obvious who was at the other end by the tone of his voice. The werewolf had noticed that the commanding Lewis was more deferential when he spoke to him. On this occasion, his composure was shaken and he sounded flustered. It had been one hell of a night and Constantine could understand how he felt. Explaining the shit show was not something you could put down in a report or even explain to someone without it sounding like an exaggeration.

"I realise the outcome isn't ideal but Fischer is alive and as soon as he's well enough to move he'll leave the city as planned. Rizzo will find a place for him to recuperate and then they can disappear for good. There is no need for you to come all this way. It will be all in my report." Lewis stood kicking the table leg in frustration as he spoke.

The voice on the other end of the line ignored him, instead informing him that he was on the way to the airport and will be catching the next flight. He'll be there later in the day and Lewis should be prepared to explain everything IN DETAIL.

Lewis ran his hand through his hair."Yes, Sir."

"For one thing...." The voice went on. "I want to know how a human single-handedly freed Fischer from four powerful Lycans." The voice dropped an octave. "The Alpha has taken an interest in the mission and you know how he feels about Homeland Lycans. He doesn't want history repeating itself."

Constantine pressed his ear to the gap in the door. His curiosity was piqued. What history did the Pureblood Pack and the Homelanders have?

"Yes, Sir. Thanos is not aware of our presence. I've made sure that we have stayed in the background, letting things progress without interference. Our involvement has been minimal. Fischer and Rizzo didn't even accept our offer of the stun guns and went to Thanos unarmed as a sign of good faith." Lewis growled under his breath, and mumbled "Fools".

There was a loud moan from the bed and Constantine stepped away from the door. Shaun and Adam were sharing the bed. Both looked fragile. Throughout the night Shaun faded in and out of consciousness, even dosed up with strong painkillers he fought and lost the battle with pain.  At least his face was looking better, his cheeks held a little colour. His wolf saliva had done wonders and the cuts had closed nicely. His legs were another matter.

Then there was Adam. Constantine thought he would never see him again when he left him behind but there he was, alive, ευχαριστώ τηv θεά. He hadn't regained consciousness yet, probably his body's way of coping with the trauma. In the few hours between leaving him and his rescue his brother had systemically tortured him to the point of death and it took a lot to take down a powerful Lycan like his master. Constantine had counted twelve silverburns, over his neck, shoulders and arms, down his chest and abdomen, his thighs and feet.

They were all deep bubbling wounds and it had taken one of Lewis's men a long time to cut away the burnt flesh, then cut into the healthy skin around it to stop the spread of the silver. It was a disgusting process that he could barely stomach watching. The man, Barnes recalling his name, packed the wounds gently with ointment and covered each one. It was up to the Goddess and time to see if he survived. Constantine felt useless, not even his healing saliva was of use. As a bound wolf, he felt bone-deep shame. Adam had been saved by a human, of all things, and nursed by a stranger. It should have been him, his bound wolf who had taken a vow to protect him with his life. Regardless of what he thought of the Lycan he was his charge and would always be.

Another moan from Shaun dragged him back to reality.  He walked to the bed and pulled back the blanket. Shaun was naked, two red angry wounds across his thighs. The evening before Constantine had cut away his blood-splattered shirt and underwear and cooled his feverish body and washed away the dried blood that caked his legs.  He'd hoped that the human medication they'd given him would help the healing but overnight the wounds had started to swell, pulling on the sutures which were starting to rip open.  There were signs of infection, no wonder he was moaning even in his drug-induced sleep. He had to do something.