"I did." Blood drips from my split lip. "And now every brutal touch the clan expects? Every harsh grip? Every punishment I'm forced to perform? It all comes back to me while she remains unmarked."
Understanding floods his expression. Then horror. "Rakk, you're killing yourself."
"Better me than her."
"She doesn't even know! She thinks you're?—"
"I know what she thinks." My legs finally give out. I slide down the wall, cradling my broken wrist. "I know exactly what she thinks, and I can't tell her the truth without revealing magic that would destroy everything."
"Brother..." Kaelen's fury drains away, replaced by something that looks like grief.
Heavy footsteps announce Gorrak's arrival. My father's second-in-command takes one look at the scene—blood on stone, weapons scattered, both of us breathing hard—and his expression turns thunderous.
"To the healing chambers. Now. Both of you."
Zurkar'spale eyes narrow when we stumble through his door. Lola gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.
"What happened?" The shaman gestures us toward treatment benches.
"Disagreement," Gorrak grunts. "Handle it. And keep your mouths shut about this."
He leaves, probably to report to my father. Perfect. One more disappointment to add to the growing pile.
Lola immediately starts cleaning blood from Kaelen's knuckles while Zurkar approaches me. His weathered hands probe my injuries with practiced efficiency, but when he reaches my wrist, he goes very still.
"This needs setting." His violet eyes meet mine. "And it will hurt."
"Everything hurts."
"Not like this will." He glances at Kaelen and Lola. "Hold him."
Kaelen moves to my good side while Lola positions herself at my shoulders. Zurkar unwraps the leather bracer I've kept hidden for weeks, revealing not just the fresh break but layers of older bruising in various stages of healing. Purple. Yellow-green. Black.
Lola makes a choked sound. "Rakk..."
"The binding," Zurkar says quietly, "is taking more than you can sustain."
"I don't have a choice."
"There are always choices." He grips my wrist. "This will?—"
Pain whites out my vision as he sets the bone. I hear someone screaming—realize distantly that it's me. Kaelen's grip tightens. Lola's hands press against my shoulders, holding me down.
When consciousness returns, my wrist is splinted and wrapped. Zurkar is preparing a healing draught. And Kaelen is staring at me with devastation written across his features.
"How long?" My best friend's voice cracks. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Since the mating ceremony."
"God, Rakk. All this time—" He gestures helplessly at my revealed injuries. "You're destroying yourself."
"She doesn't know," Lola whispers. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "Serah doesn't know any of this."
"She can't know." I accept the draught from Zurkar and drink despite how it burns. "If word spreads about the magic?—"
"To the hells with the magic!" Kaelen explodes. "You're dying by inches while she thinks herself unloved! While the entire clan believes you're brutalizing her! This has to stop!"
"I can't stop. The clan expects?—"
