Page 23 of Psycho Pack

"The trail leads this way," Thane calls from up ahead, gesturing toward a partially collapsed tunnel. Water pours from broken pipes overhead, creating a curtain of questionable liquid.

For some reason, I can't bring myself to give a shit.

"Through there?" Whiskey's voice carries a note of disgust. "Fuck that. Place looks ready to cave in. And that looks like shit or acid. Maybe both."

"You have a better idea?" I snap, the words coming out sharper than intended. "Or would you prefer to stand here debating while the building collapses around us?"

He turns, eyes narrowing. "You wanna go another round, Doc? Because I'm happy to rearrange that pretty face of yours some more."

"Both of you stop," Ivy cuts in. Her voice carries an authority that makes us both fall silent. "We don't have time for this."

She's right, of course.

But the fact that she has to play peacekeeper between us only proves how far I've fallen.

I'm supposed to be the voice of reason.

The calculating one.

The one with backup plans for his backup plans.

Instead, I'm picking fights like a yapping dog.

Wraith moves forward without hesitation, shielding Ivy with his massive frame as they pass through the water. The others follow, leaving me alone in the tunnel. The red emergency lights cast everything in a hellish glow, turning the water at my feet into rivers of blood.

How fitting.

I can't imagine the terrors the prisoners in this hellhole have been through, and from what I've picked up here and there, the lab Wraith—and apparently Valek—were from was home to even more despicable practices.

Even children were being tortured.

He looks especially shocking in this lighting, and knowing it was deliberate makes it so much worse. In all our years together, I've never seen more than fleeting glimpses when his mask slips during battle or when Whiskey's drunk and antagonizing him. The exposed muscle and sinew, the sharp teeth permanently bared.

It's a masterwork of cruelty.

Imagining someone doing that to a child… I can't imagine. I left everything behind and became a doctor because I wanted to help people. Kill, yes. But help, too. How could anyone feel the call to such a sacred profession only to harm the most vulnerable and innocent people to exist?

He must be in constant agony.

There's nothing I could do to restore the appearance of his face, but perhaps I could give him something for the pain. I doubt he'd trust another doctor near his face, though. It's hard enough to get him to let me give him vaccines.

A wolf would make a better patient.

But even though there's nothing that could be done to fix such extensive damage, our omega clearly doesn't mind. She looks at him with such warmth and affection in her gaze, it's as if she's completely blind to the ruin of his face.

She doesn't just care about him.

Sheloveshim.

That much is clear.

And maybe that's why I'm so fucked up about this. He's surely the first alpha she's ever loved. If she loved all of us at once, perhaps I would feel differently.

At least it wouldn't be eating me alive.

At the same time, it gives me a shred of hope.

If she can look past his face, maybe she can look past my flaws, too. My weaknesses. My endless—and growing—list of colossal fuck ups.

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