Chapter 178 Chapter 178
Violet
My hands were still trembling as I brought the damp cloth to his back, starting with the areas that looked less damaged, trying to work up the courage to address the worst of it.
The moment the cloth touched his skin, he flinched. Just slightly, but enough that I knew he was awake, aware, feeling everything.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."
I didn't know if I was apologizing for causing pain with the cleaning, or for being the reason he'd been beaten in the first place, or for everything that had led to this moment.
Probably all of it.
I worked as gently as I could, dabbing away the blood that had dried and crusted around the wounds.
The warm water turned pink, then red, as I rinsed the towel repeatedly. Some of the cuts were deep, deeper than I'd initially realized, the edges ragged where the leather had torn through skin.
The tattoos made it worse somehow. I could see where the belt had struck directly across the carefully inked designs that included a wolf's head on his left shoulder blade, partially obscured by a gash that wouldn't stop bleeding along with geometric patterns along his spine, interrupted by welts that were already swelling.
These tattoos had been chosen carefully, each one meaning something. And now they were destroyed, marred by his father's cruelty.
My vision blurred with tears. I blinked them back furiously, trying to focus on the task at hand. Crying wouldn't help him or make this better.
But the tears came anyway, silent and hot, dripping onto my hands as I worked.
I moved to his arms next, where defensive wounds suggested he'd tried to protect himself at some point.
The muscles I'd admired, the strength I'd felt when he held me, all of it was damaged now. Bruised and cut and broken.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted quietly, even though I wasn't sure he could hear me. "I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to make it better."
There was still no response. His breathing had evened out slightly, but it was too shallow, too careful, like he was trying to minimize movement to avoid the pain.
I reached for the antiseptic hesitantly. This was going to hurt worse than the water, and was going to burn like fire in those open wounds. But I couldn’t risk letting it sit like that because infection would make everything worse.
"This is going to sting," I warned, then immediately felt stupid for saying it out loud.
I applied the antiseptic with trembling hands, watching his muscles tense beneath his skin as the liquid hit the wounds. He made no sound, gave no indication of the pain except for the way his hands clenched in the bedsheets, knuckles going white.
The bleeding wasn't stopping.
I'd cleaned the wounds, applied pressure with the towels, but several of the deeper cuts continued to ooze blood. Dark red blood continued to appear against his skin, soaking through the clean cloth I'd pressed against them.
Horror and helplessness crashed over me in equal measure. He needed medical attention such as stitches for some of these cuts, proper wound care, pain medication and antibiotics and all the things I wasn’t very good at.
The more I saw his wounds, the more I started to hate his father. Elijah had a good reason for staying away from these people who called themselves his family.
What type of father decided that suffering was part of the lesson, that healing should be slow and painful and a constant reminder of his disobedience?
My father would never even raise his voice at me, forget raising his hand. In the world of evil werewolves, my parents were truly lovely and I was blessed to have them.
But somehow, in the weeks that I had stayed here, I hardly missed them, all my focus was always on Elijah.
And the wedding was tomorrow. We wouldn’t stay under the same roof after that.
Would I still get to see him everyday?
I would definitely miss the feeling of having him around and just walking out of my room to go see him.
But for now, I had to heal him first.
What if I made it worse? What if an infection set in?
I stood up abruptly, the decision made before I'd fully thought it through.
"I'll be right back," I said to Elijah's unconscious form. "I promise. I'm going to get help."
Saying so, I ran outside the room and through the hallways of the manor, my footsteps echoing on the marble floors.
A few servants were startled at first but they took one look at my blood-stained hands and quickly looked away.
If alpha Alaric wouldn't help, there had to be someone who would.
Someone who loved him enough to bypass Alpha Alaric’s words.
Author's note: I uploaded chapters in bulk today because I saw a few comments asking for more. I might take a few days off to write more chapters and plan the future story accordingly. Please let me know if you love the story so far, if you have any theories etc. I would like to hear them. Thanks for reading all the way upto here.