The rest of the pack has gone quiet, watching this spectacle with held breath. Perielle’s eyes twinkle with delight. Obviously none of them are going to intervene, and I don’t blame them.I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of this man’s wrath either; unfortunately, I seem to have been destined for it.
Stark ignores my demand, moving the hem of my shirt over to the hand that’s holding my arm. Then he prods my aching ribs.
I hiss and look down. The area that Perielle hit is a deep red, already purpling. Definitely bruised, possibly even broken. But it’s just one of many bruises mottling my torso. I have a veritable collection, built up day after day.
He pokes the bruise again, pain lancing through me. Fuck this guy.
I pull my head back and spit in his face.
Stark’s black eyes slowly drag up from my injuries and lock onto my own. I can see his thoughts as clearly as if he’s said them aloud.
He’s going to make me pay.
But instead of doing anything immediately, he wipes the spit off his cheek and turns to Anassa, pointing at my ribs. “You want to do anything about that?” he asks her, his voice calmer and more deferential than I’ve ever heard it.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink her eerie golden-yellow eyes, but he seems to understand her all the same.
No, she does not.
Stark finally lets go of my bicep, which now feels as bruised as my ribs, and I hurriedly yank my shirt back down, buckling the front of my leather jacket up so he can’t try that shit again. When I’m done, I look back up, and no surprise, Stark’s still glaring at me.
“Pathetic. You are weak,” he says cruelly, his voice carrying to everyone else. “And you are going to continue to be weak.”
I straighten my spine at the challenge in his voice. He doesn’t know me. I’ve never let difficult things break me and I’m not going to startnow.
“You pose a threat to all the packs like this,” he continues. “And they’re going to figure that out real soon unless you dobetter. Get back on your direwolf.” He turns around, scowling at how everyone has stopped still, watching us. “Everyone, again!”
Asshole.
“Again!” Stark orders, turning back to me. “Until you get it right or join Alix in the sand.”
Jerkily, I scramble for my sword in the dirt. When I do, Cratos snaps at me and I stumble. I push through the fear, the anger, the pain. I mount Anassa again.
I’ll keep fighting forever, if I have to.
The other Rawbonds circle us. I have the sense that none of them really want to land another blow against me after the way I’ve just been publicly humiliated, but they know that they have to obey.
None of them want to let my weakness drag them down, lest the target on my back jump to theirs.
Lifting the sword again, my mind narrows down.
I see red, fury coursing through my blood. It rises to the surface of me through my messy bruises, pouring out into the surrounding air. Something sharp and biting pierces through the iron wall in my mind. Anassa’s consciousness, honed into something darker.
Eager. It’s almostanticipation, disappearing again behind the wall just as quickly as it sparked.
By the end of the session, I’m ruined. My body’s a map of fresh injuries. My face. My ribs. My legs. My arms got the worst of it, sore from carrying and swinging the blade as well as from the blows they took when I couldn’t deflect properly. There are vicious blisters on my hands, bleeding in places.
I feel torn wide open.
And still that bitch won’t heal me.
But it’s Stark’s parting barb that cuts deeper than the wounds. “At this rate, princess, you won’t survive long enough to earn your first real kill mark.” A cold glare, a tilting up of his chin. “Pity. That neck tattoo looks lonely.”
His words reverberate in my aching head. I touch my fingertips to my tattoo, remembering the bite of the needle, the intensity of his stare.
The lewd heat of his tongue.
I limp my way to my private room, bypassing the now-familiar sounds of mingling bodies emanating from the common areas. I can’t spare my eyes entirely, though, catching glimpses of people tangled together on the floor, the beds, against the walls.
