Page 29 of Marked By Love

Dozens of video files filled the black screen, meticulously dated and timed. He clicked on the most recent one, dated over four years ago.

An omega’s round face filled the screen; his hair was streaked with gray and his skin wrinkled, but the resemblance was uncanny. This was Doc’s parent.

He played the video.

“There was another transfer today. Twin boys, age seventeen. Rory and Ray Bruston, I don’t know what their destination was. I’ve lost count of how many they made me do, how many lives I was complicit in destroying. I started these video logs late, too late … most of them will never be found again.

“I’m sorry for that.

“I’m sorry for the role I played. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them.

“This is going to be my last log. I’ll probably be dead before this is found. I’m hoping that’s a good thing. I’m hoping that gives my son the time he needs to get away.”

The man’s voice cracked, and he covered his eyes with one hand.

“They were going to kill him. Not just kill him, but send him to the worst of the worst. That’s how they got me to comply. It’s a terrible excuse. It’s no excuse, but after they killed my wife, he’s all I had. But he’s older now, too old for them to be interested, and he’s left Seerinoga.

“I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused. I’m sorry for everything. I know I can never make up for it, but I hope this information is a start.”

The man on camera broke down before the recording stopped.

Royce didn’t watch all of the videos, there were too many to consume in a single day. Scrolling to the end of the video logs, he found still images. Pictures of emails from the offices of sitting members of the North American Union to the heads of various breeding clinics and brothels.

They knew.

The government, at least at some level, knew and was personally involved.

With a strangled cry, he looked up from the laptop to Doc’s face, ashen and small. His heart thumped wildly, his hands shook, his chest tightened. The look of absolute terror plastered to Doc’s face whenever he spoke to Royce, the ferocity in his eyes when he fought. It all made so much sense, and a pit fell in Royce’s stomach—for everything this beautiful, brave, and resilient omega had been through, and everything Royce had contributed to that burden.

He was going to fix this, if it was the last thing he did.

First things first, he packed everything away. The tin he cleaned off the blood and placed it on a shelf next to the laptop. He put the flowers in a vase in the kitchen. Looking around the cabin, he searched for a thermostat—why the hell was this place so cold? It couldn’t be good for Doc on a good day, let alone while he was passed out on the sofa hooked up to an IV.

That’s when he noticed the little cast-iron stove in the living room. He scowled and searched the other rooms. Sure enough, the bedrooms each had one. Was this whole damned cabin heated by wood? And there was no firewood stacked inside. Which meant Doc had either used it all up his first week, or it had never been stocked for his arrival, and he’d been freezing since he moved in. Royce scowled at the furnace in the bedroom.

He paused to check on Doc—he was unchanged—before tromping outside. When he was circling the cabin as a wolf, he hadn’t gotten close enough to inspect the little lean-to by the back door, but that’s the most logical place he thought he’d find wood.

Pushing the tarp aside, his scowl deepened. The lean-to had a large open area with chips of bark and half-rotten wood pieces, but no firewood. He did, however, find an axe.

Cussing under his breath, he took the axe out to the forest edge. Who the hell had been responsible for getting this cabin ready for the new doctor? Royce had half a mind to find them and yell at them for their negligence.

There was a large stump covered in divots that had obviously been used for splitting wood. Next to the stump was a pile of fat logs. They were wet and covered in moss, but better than no firewood at all.

Setting up a log, he gripped the axe and swung. A loud crack and shattering filled the air as the log split into two pieces, still too large for the furnace.

The image of Doc’s face, with blood-stained lips and bloodshot eyes, came to his mind unbidden.

Royce swung.

Crack.

The despondent look on Doc’s face as he fell unconscious, gripping the tin of documents for dear life.

Crack.

Doc’s tear-stained cheeks as he cowered in the corner, covering his neck with his hands.

Crack.