Feral Bonds

Chapter 38: Trouble

Cernunnos stood beside the examination table, his arms crossed tightly, eyes locked on Akecheta's limp form as the vampire doctor worked. The sterile light of the hospital room illuminated every scar, every bruise, every gash on the omega's fragile body, and with each new detail that emerged, Cernunnos could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface. He had seen his share of injuries over his long existence—battle wounds, hunting scars, signs of struggle—but this was different. This wasn't just the aftermath of a fight. This was cruelty, inflicted with purpose, designed to break someone too weak to defend themselves.

The doctor's hands moved methodically over Akecheta's body, tracing the patterns of damage. His pale fingers pressed lightly against the discolored skin along Akecheta's ribs, then his hips, then his shoulders, as he studied the deep pressure scars that marred his form.

"These scars aren't from fighting," the vampire said, his voice clinical, detached. "This is from malnutrition and prolonged confinement. His body has been deprived for a long time—months, maybe longer. The pressure marks tell the story. He was kept lying down, motionless, likely on hard surfaces for extended periods of time. A cell, or worse."

Cernunnos's eyes darkened at the doctor's words. He had suspected something like this from the moment he had found Akecheta, but hearing the confirmation ignited something primal within him. The boy wasn't just a victim of dark magic—he had been tortured, starved, locked away like an animal. The wounds told a story of unimaginable suffering, a life spent in agony and despair, and now Cernunnos had to make sense of it.

The doctor's hands moved to the numerous bite and claw marks that littered Akecheta's skin. Some were old, barely healed, while others were fresh, still oozing blood despite the omega's natural healing abilities. The doctor shook his head slightly as he examined the wounds. "These should have closed up days ago. But something's been done to him—something to prevent the healing process. His body's been forced to stay in this state, as if the magic was keeping the wounds fresh."

He stepped back and retrieved a small scanning device, running it over Akecheta's body. A low hum filled the room, and after a few moments, the device displayed an image of the omega's internal structure. The doctor's frown deepened as he studied the results, his expression darkening with each passing second.

"What are we looking at?" Cernunnos asked, his voice low and tense.

The doctor pointed at the screen. "His glands—the ones responsible for regulating his transformations and his healing—are severely damaged. They've been targeted repeatedly, likely by magic or some other form of supernatural force. His body can't keep up with the damage, and the trauma is centered around two key areas—one in his neck and another near his stomach."

Cernunnos narrowed his eyes. "That's not normal for a lycan."

The vampire nodded grimly. "No, it's not. Lycanthropes usually only have one set of glands, near the neck. But Akecheta has a secondary cluster near his abdomen—an abnormality caused by the witch magic he's been subjected to. It's... unnatural."

As the doctor pressed lightly on the gland in Akecheta's stomach, the omega's body twitched violently in response. His form wavered, and for a brief moment, his oversized lycan ears and elongated fangs slipped out, as if his body were caught between forms. A low, guttural growl escaped his lips, though he remained unconscious. His body was desperately trying to fight off the shift, but the transformation was unstable, chaotic.

Cernunnos watched with growing unease, his gaze locked on Akecheta as the boy's body struggled against itself. "The magic has twisted him," he said quietly. "He can't control it. His transformations are unstable, unpredictable. Whatever they did to him... it broke him."

The vampire doctor stepped back, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice tense with fear. "I can't treat him any further."

Cernunnos's eyes snapped to the doctor, his voice a low growl. "What do you mean, you can't treat him?"

The doctor raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, taking a step back. "The magic that's been embedded in him is too dangerous. Dark magic, witchcraft—things that go beyond my expertise. If I tamper with it, it could destabilize his condition further. His body is already on the edge. I won't risk it."

Cernunnos's jaw clenched tightly, frustration building in his chest. This wasn't what he wanted to hear. Akecheta needed more than just basic care—he needed someone who could undo the damage that had been done to him. But no one was willing to go near the dark magic that had twisted the boy's body, and that refusal made Cernunnos's blood boil.

The doctor swallowed nervously, clearly sensing the rising tension in the room. "I can give him surface-level treatment—stitches, pain management—but I can't fix what's been done to him. You need to take him somewhere else."

Cernunnos glared at the vampire, his voice barely controlled. "Get him some clothes. Something clean. And make sure it fits."

The doctor nodded hastily, eager to escape the Wendigo's wrath. He disappeared from the room, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft, labored breathing of Akecheta as he lay unconscious on the examination table. Cernunnos stared down at him, his fists clenched at his sides. The boy was barely more than skin and bone, his body ravaged by torture and magic alike. The vampires didn't understand—they didn't see the depth of what had been done to him. This wasn't just about dark magic. This was something far more sinister, something that had twisted Akecheta's very being.

A few minutes later, the doctor returned with a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, both clearly too large for the boy. Cernunnos didn't comment on the size; it didn't matter. The vampire set the clothes down beside Akecheta and glanced nervously at the Wendigo.

"You need to take him and leave," the doctor said quietly. "I don't want any more trouble."

Cernunnos fixed the doctor with a cold, dangerous stare. "You don't know the meaning of trouble," he growled. "If I weren't here, you'd already be drowning in it."

The doctor flinched visibly but said nothing in response. Two orderlies appeared in the doorway, both of them avoiding Cernunnos's gaze as they moved to lift Akecheta from the table. They handled him carefully, as though afraid he might break under their touch, and carried him toward the door.

Cernunnos followed them in silence, his mind already turning to what came next. The hospital had given him little more than temporary relief for Akecheta's wounds. The real danger—the dark magic that pulsed within the boy's body—was still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to consume him.

When they reached the car, the orderlies gently laid Akecheta across the back seat, his limp body hidden beneath the oversized clothes. His breathing was steady, his face peaceful in the dim light, but the scars on his body were a constant reminder of the horrors he had endured. Cernunnos stood for a moment, looking down at the boy. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

As the orderlies retreated, Cernunnos climbed into the car, closing the door behind him. The vampires had washed their hands of Akecheta, unwilling to deal with the complexities of the curse that had been placed on him. But Cernunnos wasn't about to abandon him. Not when he was so close to uncovering the truth.

Akecheta was more than a victim. He was something more—something that the Wendigo couldn't quite put into words.

And Cernunnos wasn't done with him yet.