"Will she?" Kaelen blocks my next strike. "Or will you just keep brutalizing her until she breaks?"
The word hits like a physical blow. "I'm not?—"
"Everyone sees it, Rakk." His voice drops lower. Dangerous. "The way you handle her. How rough you are. I know things are strained, but that's no excuse to treat her like?—"
"You don't understand." Desperation claws up my throat.
"Then make me understand why my best friend who was falling in love with a human woman only weeks ago is now manhandling her like she's livestock."
Because if I don't, someone else will do worse. Because the clan expects dominance and I'm walking a razor's edge betweenprotecting her and losing everything. Because I bound myself to her in ways no one has done in a thousand years and now I'm paying the price in blood and broken bones while she thinks I'm a monster.
I can't say any of it.
"We're done here." I sheathe my blade and turn away.
His hand catches my arm—lands directly on the bruise from yesterday. I barely suppress the flinch but can't completely hide the wince.
Kaelen's grip tightens. "What was that?"
"Nothing. Training injury."
He yanks my arm closer, pushing up the leather bracer I wrapped carefully this morning. Purple-black bruising spreads across my forearm in the unmistakable pattern of finger marks. Not from combat. From gripping too hard.
From gripping Serah too hard yesterday when I pulled her away from the mess hall.
Understanding floods his expression. Then confusion. "Why do you have bruises shaped like your own hand?"
I jerk away. "It's complicated."
"Explain it."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
Both. Neither. I don't have words for this nightmare I'm living.
My father summonsme that afternoon. His dwelling sits at the highest point of the settlement, overlooking everything with the same authority he wields over the clan. I drag myself up the canyon path, every step requiring conscious effort not to limp.
Dad looks satisfied when I enter. That should worry me.
"Sit."
I lower myself onto the bench across from him, keeping my movements controlled despite how my ribs protest.
"The clan is settling after the mating ceremony chaos." He pours two cups of zhisk. "Good. I was concerned about your choice, but you've handled the human well. Establishing dominance early was wise."
My stomach turns. If he only knew what that "dominance" actually costs.
"She's adjusting," I manage.
"Adjust her faster." He slides one cup toward me. "It's time to focus on your future as Chieftain. Stop wasting energy on a difficult mate and start preparing for leadership. The Stone Fang alliance is damaged but not destroyed. We'll need to negotiate carefully over the next season."
I stare into the amber liquid. "Understood."
"And Rakk?" His obsidian eyes bore into me. "Get her pregnant. Soon. The clan needs to see proof of the union's strength. Proof that human mates can produce viable heirs. Your brother's birth and subsequent... difficulties make this even more important."
The mention of Tarak—my younger brother who died in infancy—makes something tighten in my chest. Dad rarely speaks of him. The grief runs too deep, carved into his bones from losing both his mate and their second son within months of each other.
