Layla checked his bandages throughout the day, making sure that nothing was leaking through and that his wounds were healing. They were, but more slowly than she would have liked-more slowly than any wolf's wounds were supposed to heal.
When the afternoon came, Layla stuck the steaks in the oven and allowed them to cook through. She boiled and mashed some potatoes and made some greens to go with everything.
Henry needed to eat if his body was going to heal itself in any way. If he was going to be able to overcome this, he needed nutrients in his system.
They were wolves, so the best thing that he could get into his system was meat.
Once the steaks were done, Layla took the food to him. They ate in relative silence. Once they were done, Layla cleaned up the kitchen and redressed his wounds. They had healed throughout the day but were still nowhere near where they should have been.
Layla was frustrated. Wolves did not heal this slowly. They just didn't. That he had even woken up with his wounds still was a problem. To have lasted the entire day like this ... She shook her head. Something was wrog.
She bandaged them again in fresh wolfsbane dressing as best as she could and turned to him.
"Henry," she said, her voice firm. "What caused these wounds?"
For a long moment, he was quiet. Layla wondered if he had actually heard her.
"Henry," she called him again when he still didn't answer her. "What made your wounds? These are serious. They're not healing at all the way they're supposed to."
"I was in a fight, obviously," Henry answered eventually.
Layla pursed her lips. That was too throw away of an answer for the time he had taken and the wounds that he had. A fight could be anything.
Layla had fought almost every day with her packmates, scratching and biting at each other.
That was just the way a wolf lived.
But these were intense wounds. They were the kind a wolf got from defending territory against feral wolves or loners, the kind they got from fighting off a rival pack.
Even still, they should have healed by now. These looked like they were designed not to. It was like they had been made to last long and cause suffering.
"I need to help you," Layla said eventually, trying her best to keep her voice even. "Your body is not healing on its own, which means that it needs lots of help. I used wolfsbane already, and it isn't doing much. That means I need you to tell me what else I can help you with. For that to happen, you need to tell me what happened." Her words made sense. Layla knew that, but Henry was still being as stubborn as could be. For a long time, he didn't answer. He looked intent on simply ignoring her.
"Henry," Layla said eventually, exasperated. "Do you want me to just use liquid silver when I don't even know if that would help or make it worse?"
She was well aware that he might not know what would make it better or worse but being silent like this wasn't going to help him. She needed him to talk, to tell her what had happened so that together they might be able to figure out what it was that he had been hurt with. They then might be able to heal him.
"You know," Henry said, his voice helda tinge of aggression in it, "if you're so interested in sharing secrets, why don't we start with yours?"
Layla was a little taken a back and just stared at him. There was no way that he was attacking her after she had spent the whole night and day trying to help him. And there was no way that he was equating her secrets to his own. Her secrets weren't killing her.
Layla almost couldn't believe what was happening. But here he was, accusing her of secrets just the same while she tried to get to his.
"Why were you in that part of the city in the first place?" Henry asked her, determined to have an answer to the questions she had been avoiding since he'd found her. "Why were you there alone, and where are you from?"
Layla turned away from him. He had no real right to ask these kinds of questions. And there was no purpose to him knowing these things. It wouldn't save her life because her life wasn't the one in danger right now. His was.
"I'm not interrogating you about your past," Layla pointed out to him, the obvious difference between their two lines of questioning. "I'm asking you about something that happened yesterday that might have put your life in serious danger."
"Okay," Henry said immediately. "We can talk about present-day issues too. Why are there endless missed calls from mom and dad on your phone?" He pressed. "Why aren't you answering them?"
Layla felt anger surging inside of her. He had no right to pry into her private business. She hadn't been looking at his phone. He had come into the house barely able to walk, bleeding from wounds that wouldn't heal. These were two entirely different things, and she couldn't believe that he could even equate them.
She decided she wouldn't fight him any longer. She would just be done with everything. If he wanted to rather bleed out on his expensive sofa and rug, then so be it. She would leave him to do just that.
"You know what?" Layla replied, letting her anger show through in her voice. "Never mind. I won't ask any questions at all. You don't have to tell me anything. In fact, I won't bother you in any way. I'll just be leaving. Thank you for your hospitality these past few days." With that, Layla turned to the door.
There was absolutely no reason that she had to put up with this. She was trying to help him, and he refused to understand. He refused to help her. How was she supposed to help him if he wouldn't even tell her what was wrong with him in the first place?
It didn't matter anymore. She would leave. This was his house and his problem, and he could deal with it however he wished. She had no idea where she was going to go, but she knew that anywhere would be a better bet than staying here with him. If nothing else, she knew that it was at least as dangerous being here with him as with anyone else on the street.
There was a good chance that the people who had done that to him would come here looking for him to finish whatever they had started.
"Wait, please," Henry called out to her, but she ignored him. She was trying to care for him, and she was done being treated like she was trying to pry into his life.
Layla continued her path to the door.
Henry sped up and blocked her exit. His arms folded over his wrist. Ordinarily, there was no way that Layla would be able to overpower him in a fight. Weakened as he was in the state that he was in now, she had a fair chance of beating him.
"Wait, please," he asked her again, seeming to struggle to breathe. He clutched his side like those few steps had given him stitches.
He had moved too fast, and his wounds were nowhere near healed. He shouldn't have moved with speed like that.
Layla felt that she could push past him easily, but she didn't want to be rude after the hospitality he had shown her. She knew that if she used force against him now, some, if not all, of his wounds would definitely open again.
No matter how angry she was, she didn't want that.
"I'll explain," he said eventually when he had recovered his ability to breathe properly.
Henry said nothing further, so Layla didn't move an inch. She would have his explanation right now or she would leave right now. That was just how things were going to be.
"I'm waiting," she told him, folding her arms
across her chest. He was in no position to force her to stay. The only thing that would keep her from walking out of that door was his honestly.
"It has to do with my pack, and my father," Henry said, taking deep breaths between his words. Of course, it had to do with a pack. Everything in their world had to do with a pack. A wolf was only a part of something. Loner wolves or feral ones were known for the fact that they didn't have a pack to call their own.
"I'm heir to Wolfsbane, the biggest pack gang in Lunavia," Henry said, exhaling as he finished.