TEMPORARY MATES PERMANENT CRAVINGS novel Chapter 305

Three hundred and five

Wesley POV

Sweat pooled down my neck as my body burned with fever, my wolf pacing beneath my skin. Mom’s absence made everything worse. This time, I was tied to a rough mat that smelled faintly of piss, the smell turning my already unsettled stomach. Dad rested a hand on my shoulder, but unlike before, he didn’t tell me to be strong. Maybe he knew hearing those words now would only irritate me.

“He’s worked up,” Charlie said, rolling his sleeves up. “Can we just get it over with?”

Charlie never looked at me with pity. He always looked at me the same way, as if to say, We’ve done this

before. You survived it.

One of the healer’s daughters, a bald woman whose hard features looked almost masculine, stepped forward carrying the cowhide cane. It was thick, dark, and scarred from years of use.

The moment I saw it, every muscle in my body locked.

My wolf always knew what was coming.

They held me down because whenever my wolf became this restless, it stopped fighting the world and started tearing me apart instead. Dad pinned one shoulder, Charlie the other, while two guards restrained my legs.

The first lash cracked across my back.

I grunted through clenched teeth.

Another strike.

Then another.

With every lash, the wolf fought harder before it began to settle. Heat churned beneath my skin, low growls rumbling in my chest as I fought the terror of losing control.

By the fifth… maybe the sixth… raised welts covered my shoulders and back. Sweat rolled over the welts, making them burn.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the pain.

It became about everything else.

Every loss.

Every sacrifice.

Every piece of grief I’d buried.

I cried out on the twelfth lash.

The cane stopped.

“Untie him.”

Dad’s voice sounded rough.

His face glistened with sweat, and he kept blinking as though something had gotten into his eyes.

The restraints came off, and before I could react, he pulled me against his chest.

I buried my face against his shoulder as the tears finally came.

Charlie turned away, giving us what little privacy a room full of people could.

“You’re good,” Dad whispered. “You’re good.”

‘Let’s get you ready,” Joanna said as she approached with a tray of injections.

She found a vein in my arm.

The medicine burned as it entered my vein, and I couldn’t stop the scream that tore out of me.

“That one calms the rot.”

As the medication dulled the fever, Charlie cleaned the welts across my back with warm water and antiseptic.

That somehow stung almost as much as the lashes.

When I finally tried to stand, my legs gave out beneath me.

The fever, the lashes, the injections. Together they’d drained everything out of me.

Dad supported one side of me and Charlie took the other.

A guard cleared the way while they practically carried me to the car.

I barely remembered the drive home.

By the time we reached the house, I was barely aware of my surroundings.

They laid me on my bed while Dad settled onto the couch beside it without a word.

Joanna handed him another syringe.

“It’ll help him sleep,” she said.

I swallowed it. I didn’t have the strength to stay awake anyway.

When I woke up, the room was painfully bright. I drifted back to sleep, woke, and slept again.

That’s what the medication did. It kept dragging me into a heavy sleep.

Every time I surfaced, Charlie was there, sometimes leaning against the doorway, sometimes sitting in the chair Dad had occupied earlier. Every time, he checked on me with the same look, as though he was afraid I’d stop breathing.

“Are you hungry yet?” he asked the third time I woke.

I shook my head and pulled the blanket higher.

The next time I opened my eyes, a tray of food sat beside the bed. My chef had finally learned not to drown everything in spices.

I ate propped against the headboard. Charlie kept his attention on his phone, giving me space to eat without feeling watched.

“Where’s my dad?” I asked.

Charlie looked up.

“Home. He’s waiting for Cassidy to finish making your favorite meal.”

By the time I’d finished eating, I felt better than I had since the ritual.

The fever had started to break and my wolf had finally quieted. The welts from the cowhide cane were

already scabbing over.

Werewolves healed quickly. Mine healed slower than most these days, but it’d all be gone before the third day.

“Too bright,” I groaned as sunlight streamed through the blinds.

Charlie got up and shut them.

I relaxed against the pillows.

“That’s not what you were saying last night when you cried into my shoulder.”

I groaned and he chuckled.

“I knew you were going to bring that up. And just so you know, that joke was terrible.”

Charlie returned, and the conversation drifted to pack affairs; territory disputes and border negotiations. Charlie was an Alpha himself, so the discussion came as naturally as breathing. I mostly listened. None of it was new to me. Dad had never hidden pack matters from me. He’d raised me to inherit the title.

The question was when.

“I think we should start preparing for the handover at the end of the year,” I said into the lull. “By then I’ll be strong enough to take over. The handover committee should get started.”

The room went quiet. Dad’s expression tightened.

“Wes, perhaps we should wait another year before making any announcement.”

The words burst out.

“Twelve months? Why?”

Dad didn’t answer. The answer was already on his face.

“Calm down, Wesley,” Charlie said.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

Charlie looked at me, caught off guard. He lifted both hands.

I turned back to Dad.

“You always do this. You keep undermining me, and I don’t understand why. Tell me one Alpha responsibility I’m not already carrying.”

“Wesley…”

“No, Dad! We’ve been dragging this out for three years. Three years since you told me my condition wouldn’t stop me from becoming Alpha. Every year it’s the same. ‘Next year.’ Then ‘next year’ again. And again.”

Everything I’d been holding back came out.

“You don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you, son. I just don’t want your treatments interrupted because you’re trying to prove something. I don’t trust what people might do if they realize you’re vulnerable. I’m thinking about my son, not the title.”

His calm only irritated me more. He sounded reasonable. Protective. But none of it changed how trapped

I felt.

I waved him off.

“You might as well give it to Brandon. He’d probably make everyone happy.”

“Wesley. The title is yours. I’m on your side. Whether you believe it or not, I still blame myself for the condition you’re living with.”

I scoffed.

“Then stop making decisions because you feel guilty. If you really believe this is your fault, let me lead.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. Not until-”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I forced myself up and walked onto the balcony overlooking the water.

“Charlie… go talk to him,” Dad said behind me.