Grab the lock, too.”
Omar smirked when Derrick renewed his struggle in his hold.
“I am not an animal to be chained.”
“I offered you a chance to be treated with honor, but you ran. I offered you a chance to return to your cell in honor, but you defied me. How many chances do you think you deserve?”
“I am Tor here.”
“Not really, but we’ll let you think that for the next couple of hours.” Omar nodded to Luke, who had the collar open.
Derrick fought to avoid the collar, but only managed to bury his teeth in Luke’s arm. Ronan returned in time to sedate the aggravated Tor before extracting Luke’s arm without it sustaining too much damage.
“Thanks,” Luke said as he cradled his arm to his torso. “Do you always carry tranqs with you?”
“I knew he was going to be a headache. Figured knocking him out would make our lives easier.”
Ronan helped Omar carry Derrick inside and down to the cells that Derrick used to hold members of the pride when he wished to punish them. Ronan led them to the infirmary just down the hall where he started cleaning and stitching Luke’s arm against the Rocky’s wishes.
“Shut up,” Ronan said. “You’ll take forever to stop bleeding, and nobody wants to walk behind you with a mop until the blood stops.”
“Asshole,” Luke replied. “Your stitches don’t let people scar.”
“Sorry I’m such a good doctor. I can let the kid stitch you up if you want scars.”
Luke shivered. “I’m good, but hurry up.”
“Speaking of the kid, where is Trent?” Omar asked.
“Right here,” a little voice responded, which caused them all to jump.
“Shit! How the fuck do you move so quietly?”
The boy shrugged. “The cells has two entrances; I was guarding the one they escaped from. The girl took me on when I wasn’t looking and knocked me out.” He glanced down at his weapons, the disappointment coming off in waves. “I’m sorry, Tor. It won’t happen again.”
Omar clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. He and the girl are in the cell now.”
Luke muttered about his stitches, wanting the honor of the scars gained from battle. “Maybe I should let Trent sew me up.”
Trent glanced at Luke’s arm. “I’ve been doing my own stitches since my first injury. Mikko said I needed to be able to take care of myself in all aspects.” He lifted his arm to show a set of old wounds. The long scars were so faint that the average human wouldn’t have seen them. “Stitched this one about six months ago. You wouldn’t scar if I stitched you up, either.”
Ronan laughed. “Damn, he’s making you sound incapable as hell, Luke.”
Trent held his hands up. “Not my intention, Rocky.”
“Don’t worry, Trent. I’m capable of stitching myself up in a bind, but I can’t say Mikko was ever as hard on me as he is on you.”
“This is hard?” Trent asked.
Omar turned away from the conversation, but not before he noticed that Ronan and Luke tried to avoid Trent’s gaze and his innocent question.
“Tor,” Trent said. “What is hard about what Mikko has me do?”
Omar heard Ronan smother a laugh. He shook his head and turned his attention to the kid, who seriously had no concept that his childhood was not what an average child—even a Lycan child in the midst of war times—experienced. But the fact that he was the Mikko’s son, the future ruler of the Order of Rockys, made his possible comment on Trent’s abnormal childhood likely unwelcome to his Mikko.
“If you were an average kid, then your childhood isn’t… normal. That being said, you aren’t normal, and I don’t mean that in a negative way. You have the potential to lead the Rockys when you complete your Withstanding. You must learn earlier than most to embody all that we Rockys learned late in life. Mikko Wayne is preparing you for the day when you are at the helm and you lead us. Already you are mighty. I can only imagine how much more so you will be when you finally
Omar smirked when Derrick renewed his struggle in his hold.
“I am not an animal to be chained.”
“I offered you a chance to be treated with honor, but you ran. I offered you a chance to return to your cell in honor, but you defied me. How many chances do you think you deserve?”
“I am Tor here.”
“Not really, but we’ll let you think that for the next couple of hours.” Omar nodded to Luke, who had the collar open.
Derrick fought to avoid the collar, but only managed to bury his teeth in Luke’s arm. Ronan returned in time to sedate the aggravated Tor before extracting Luke’s arm without it sustaining too much damage.
“Thanks,” Luke said as he cradled his arm to his torso. “Do you always carry tranqs with you?”
“I knew he was going to be a headache. Figured knocking him out would make our lives easier.”
Ronan helped Omar carry Derrick inside and down to the cells that Derrick used to hold members of the pride when he wished to punish them. Ronan led them to the infirmary just down the hall where he started cleaning and stitching Luke’s arm against the Rocky’s wishes.
“Shut up,” Ronan said. “You’ll take forever to stop bleeding, and nobody wants to walk behind you with a mop until the blood stops.”
“Asshole,” Luke replied. “Your stitches don’t let people scar.”
“Sorry I’m such a good doctor. I can let the kid stitch you up if you want scars.”
Luke shivered. “I’m good, but hurry up.”
“Speaking of the kid, where is Trent?” Omar asked.
“Right here,” a little voice responded, which caused them all to jump.
“Shit! How the fuck do you move so quietly?”
The boy shrugged. “The cells has two entrances; I was guarding the one they escaped from. The girl took me on when I wasn’t looking and knocked me out.” He glanced down at his weapons, the disappointment coming off in waves. “I’m sorry, Tor. It won’t happen again.”
Omar clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. He and the girl are in the cell now.”
Luke muttered about his stitches, wanting the honor of the scars gained from battle. “Maybe I should let Trent sew me up.”
Trent glanced at Luke’s arm. “I’ve been doing my own stitches since my first injury. Mikko said I needed to be able to take care of myself in all aspects.” He lifted his arm to show a set of old wounds. The long scars were so faint that the average human wouldn’t have seen them. “Stitched this one about six months ago. You wouldn’t scar if I stitched you up, either.”
Ronan laughed. “Damn, he’s making you sound incapable as hell, Luke.”
Trent held his hands up. “Not my intention, Rocky.”
“Don’t worry, Trent. I’m capable of stitching myself up in a bind, but I can’t say Mikko was ever as hard on me as he is on you.”
“This is hard?” Trent asked.
Omar turned away from the conversation, but not before he noticed that Ronan and Luke tried to avoid Trent’s gaze and his innocent question.
“Tor,” Trent said. “What is hard about what Mikko has me do?”
Omar heard Ronan smother a laugh. He shook his head and turned his attention to the kid, who seriously had no concept that his childhood was not what an average child—even a Lycan child in the midst of war times—experienced. But the fact that he was the Mikko’s son, the future ruler of the Order of Rockys, made his possible comment on Trent’s abnormal childhood likely unwelcome to his Mikko.
“If you were an average kid, then your childhood isn’t… normal. That being said, you aren’t normal, and I don’t mean that in a negative way. You have the potential to lead the Rockys when you complete your Withstanding. You must learn earlier than most to embody all that we Rockys learned late in life. Mikko Wayne is preparing you for the day when you are at the helm and you lead us. Already you are mighty. I can only imagine how much more so you will be when you finally
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