Dr. Robert, our pack doctor, knelt beside us, his experienced hands already assessing Khalil. His face remained calm, but I could tell he was taking in every detail, every breath, every heartbeat.
After a moment, he looked up at me and gave a reassuring nod. “Alpha, this is a strong pup. He’s going to be fine. He’s severely dehydrated and hungry, but there are no bruises, no scars. He hasn’t been physically abused. His vitals are stable.”
Relief flooded through me, but my rage still burned. That bastard had starved my pup, locked him up like a damn animal. He’d pay for that.
Dr. Robert wasted no time. He unzipped his bag and pulled out a bowl and four bottles of water. “Bo, I need you to pour one bottle over my hands so I can lather the soap. After 30 seconds, use the remaining bottles
