Page 41 of Psycho Pack

Accepted whatever punishment they deal out.

Even if it's death.

No!

I slam my head back, catching one guard in the face. As his grip loosens, I drive my elbow into the other's solar plexus. They release me and I sprint forward, throwing myself between my father and my brother.

"Enough!" I yell.

Father's fist stops inches from my face. "Move."

"No." I straighten my spine, staring him down. "You want to hurt him? You'll have to go through me first."

"He's dangerous, Thane. A liability. Look what he did to your goddamned arm!"

I look down at my shattered forearm and realize it's hanging limply at my side. The other arm still functions, and I can makea fist even if it's excruciating, but it looks like it was mauled by a wolf.

"He's my brother." I don't back down, even as my father's eyes narrow dangerously. "So let me handle this."

"He needs to be put down."

"He needs time!" I gesture at Wraith's huddled form. "Look at him, Father. Really look. He's not fighting back. He's not attacking. He's terrified."

Father's jaw clenches.

For a long moment, no one moves.

The only sound is Wraith's ragged breathing behind me.

Finally, Father's hand drops to his side. "Fine. Then he's your responsibility. But if he ever loses control like this again..." His eyes harden. "I won't be so merciful."

"He won't," I say quickly. "I'll work with him. Train him properly."

"See that you do." Father turns away, gesturing for the guards to follow. "Because if he fucks up again—ifyoufuck up—you'll both pay the price."

They leave us there, my brother bleeding in the dirt while I stand guard over him. When their footsteps fade, I turn to check his injuries.

He flinches away from my touch, trying to make himself even smaller.

"Hey," I say softly, crouching beside him. "It's okay."

His shoulders shake. Whether from pain or fear, I can't tell. Probably both. Blood drips steadily from his wounds and his jaws, soaking into the earth beneath us.

"Here," I murmur, pulling his bandana out of my pocket. He flinches again like I might be drawing a weapon. When he sees it's his makeshift mask, he grabs it from me and hastily ties it back over his lower face. Then he goes back to staring warily at me again.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I continue, keeping my voice gentle. "I just want to help. Will you let me?"

More fearful staring over his hands.

Slowly, so slowly, he nods.

I pull off my shirt, using it to wipe some of the blood from his ravaged face. He growls and winces, so I turn my attention to the wounds on his body from the bullets grazing him. Doesn't look like they hit anything vital, but he'll need stitches. His resilience is… impressive, to say the least.

The whole time, his eyes stay fixed on the ground, shame radiating from every line of his massive frame. He keeps glancing at my wounded arm where he sank his teeth into me.

I'll need stitches myself, but I'll heal.

"This wasn't your fault," I tell him firmly. "I shouldn't have let my guard down during training. Should have been more careful with your mask."

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