Through the bond, I felt Lena.Distant but present, a warm pulse of awareness at the edge of my consciousness, a low hum of unease and confusion.She was in a meeting, I thought, safe in her hotel, surrounded by staff who adored her, with Petrov’s team watching every entrance and Michael under surveillance.
I had taken precautions.This punishment was an inconvenience, not a disaster.
Mate is safe, my wolf rumbled.Endure this.Get back to her.
Max nodded to one of his enforcers.The wolf stepped forward, and I recognized Konstantin, the Pakhan’s personal attack dog.He was built like a freight train, with fists like sledgehammers and dead eyes that showed nothing but anticipation.He cracked his knuckles, and the sound echoed off the concrete walls.
“Ten blows,” Max said.“For embarrassing me at the gala.You will count them.”
Konstantin’s first punch drove into my ribs with the force of a battering ram.I grunted, absorbing the impact, keeping my feet through sheer force of will.Through the bond, I felt Lena’s confusion sharpen into concern.She was feeling my pain.Not understanding why her husband was suddenly hurting.
Just endure this, I told myself.Get through it and get back to her.
“One,” I said.
The second blow caught my kidney.White-hot agony lanced through my side, and I staggered but didn’t fall.My wolf thrashed against my control.
“Two.”
Through the bond, Lena’s unease grew into something more urgent.I tried to shield her from what I was feeling, tried to dampen the connection the way I had seen other mated wolves do, but the bond didn’t work that way.Not for us.Our emotions bled into each other whether we wanted them to or not.She would feel my pain.My resignation.My hatred for the man delivering these blows.
I was sorry for that.Sorry she had to share this burden.
“Three.”
Konstantin’s fist cracked against my jaw.Stars exploded across my vision, bright and sharp.My wolf raged, straining against my control with feral fury.
Let me out.Let me fight.
No.This ends if we endure.Fighting ends with her unprotected.
Hate this.Hate him.Hate all of them.
“Four.”
Max held up a hand, and Konstantin stepped back.For a moment I thought the punishment was over, that four blows had satisfied whatever debt he believed I owed.Then I saw the knife.
It was a hunting blade, curved and cruel, the edge catching the fluorescent light as Max drew it from the sheath at his hip.Old.Well-used.The kind of blade that had opened flesh before and would again.
“Blows heal too quickly for wolves,” Max said, turning the knife so I could see the dark stains worked into the handle’s grain.“Scars remember.”
Konstantin grabbed my arms from behind, wrenching them back until my shoulders screamed.I didn’t fight.Fighting meant death.Fighting meant leaving Lena unprotected.
Max stepped closer, pressing the tip of the blade to my chest, just below my collarbone.“You will wear my mark,” he said softly.“So every time you look in a mirror, you remember who you belong to.Who she belongs to.”
The first cut was precise.A vertical line, maybe three inches, carved deep enough to scar.I clenched my jaw against the sound that wanted to escape, focused on breathing, on staying still, on not giving him the satisfaction.Blood welled hot and immediate, running down my chest in a thin stream.
Through the bond, fear crystallized.Not fear of my pain, not the echo of what I was feeling.This was different, sharper, directed somewhere else entirely.Lena’s confusion had shifted into alarm, and underneath it lay a wrongness I couldn’t identify.
Max made the second cut.Diagonal, intersecting the first.Carving his initial into my flesh like a brand.
I frowned, trying to focus through the fire in my chest.She was afraid.Why was she afraid?
“Hold still,” Max murmured, almost gentle.“We’re not finished.”
But she was safe.She was in the hotel.Petrov was watching.
Wasn’t she?
