"The scars..."
"Some were from the original binding," he confirmed. "Others from reinforcements when I fought too hard against their control. Some were punishments, others experiments, attempts to enhance certain abilities or suppress others. A few..." his voice hardened, "a few were simply because they could. Because I belonged to them, and they wanted to remind me of that fact."
My hand moved to a particularly deep scar that ran from his collarbone down beneath the waistband of his pants.
"This one?" I asked softly.
"That was from the night I escaped," he said, something like grim satisfaction entering his voice for the first time. "I had spent all my free time studying their magic, looking for weaknesses in the binding. Magic requires concentration and accuracy or it's not as effective. One night, one of the younger warlocks made a mistake when reinforcing a few sigils." His finger traced the shape in question on my back. "Enough of a flaw that I could finally break through."
I could feel the tension in his body as he recalled the moment. "They tried to stop me," he continued. "That particular scar wasfrom the family blade, supposedly enchanted to kill demons. Clearly, it failed."
The dry humor in his voice made me look up at his face. His expression was distant, a strength there of survival that had been hard-won.
"After I freed myself, I spent decades hunting down every copy of the binding ritual they had created," he said. "Destroying the knowledge so it couldn't be used again, at least not in that exact form. Eventually, I realized I could use what I'd learned to help others, demons and magical creatures who'd been bound or trapped against their will."
I couldn't stop the tears once they started. They spilled hot and fast down my cheeks, dropping onto Magnur's chest, my throat closed up as I tried to swallow past the knot of rage and grief forming there.
"I'm sorry," I managed, my voice breaking as I tried to wipe the wetness from my face. "I shouldn't be the one crying."
"Why not?" Magnur asked softly.
"Because it didn't happen to me," I said, hiccuping slightly as I fought to regain control. "You're the one who lived through it."
"Every mark is something I lived through," he said, gesturing to the landscape of scars that covered his body. "Every time they tried to break me and failed. I'm still here. They're not."
"They were monsters." I said, trying to swallow done the rage building inside me.
His expression softened as he reached up to cup my face between his hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the moisture on my cheeks.
"It was a long time ago," he said. "I survived. I built a life. I found ways to make meaning from what happened."
"It shouldn't have happened at all," I insisted, leaning into his touch. "No one deserves that."
He nodded. "When choice has been taken from you, you understand its value more than most."
Fresh tears threatened as I imagined him bound and helpless, forced to act against his will. I pressed my palm flat against his chest, directly over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath my hand.
"I'm sorry I made you tell me about the scars," I whispered, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers.
"I'm not," he replied, turning his head to press a kiss against my palm. "You should know who you've tied yourself to. What I've survived. What I'm capable of."
"And what are you capable of?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Anything," he said. "To keep you safe."
I shifted in his lap, pressing my ear against his chest where I could hear the steady thump of his heart. His arms wrapped around me, secure and warm, creating a cocoon of safety I hadn't known I was searching for until I found it.
"Tell me about how you help others now," I requested softly, needing to hear how he'd transformed his pain into purpose. "The ones in situations like yours."
As he began to speak, his deep voice rumbling through his chest and into my ear, I listened with heavy eyelids, my body melting further into his with each passing minute. The intensity of everything over the past few days had drained me completely. I tried to follow the story he was telling, but exhaustion tugged at me with insistent hands.
"You're falling asleep."
"Mm-hmm," I admitted, not bothering to open my eyes. "Your fault."
His chest rumbled with a soft laugh. "How so?"
"Made me cry. Emotional hangover." I nestled closer against him. "Plus, demon sex club marathon. Very tiring."
