Page 25 of Hunted Ink by Trisha Linde

Did he remember his parents?

He remained silent for so long that I wondered if he would ever answer me. At last, he took a long deep breath, turning his gaze to stare into the trees surrounding the property. “I don’t remember much,” he said, nodding absently, “but I remember that my name was Ravi.”

I held my hand out to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Ravi. My name is Conroy.”

His smile was warm and genuine as he reached out and clasped my hand in his in a strong grip, and for a moment as we gazed into each other’s eyes, neither of us fully human, I felt like it was our beasts being introduced too.

A current of energy passed between us before he released my hand, then he bent over to pry the whetstone from where it had been wedged into the ground. As I watched Brahm—Ravi—pluck another arrow from the stack and begin to sharpen the blades, I was struck by the otherworldliness of him, of how he moved, and I looked down at my thumb where the cut had already healed over, no sign of the injury. How had I ever believed any of the hunters were human? But then again, we hadn’t always been like this. We’d been living in a fog, so easily caged by our masters, brainwashed into believed the lies we were told. But something had changed among the Order recently. For whatever reason, the chains that had held us for so long had begun to come loose. Our strength and agility had improved. We were healing faster, our senses honed.

And if I’d noticed these changes, then how soon before the elders did too? And what would they do about it? How far would they go to retain their power over us?

My introspection was interrupted by a bellowing roar, and my head snapped up to find the source. “That was Seth,” I gasped, standing in a rush. It came from inside the house. Brahm and I bolted across the lawn and through the back door, down the narrow hall in the direction of the shouting.

“Stand down!” a voice yelled, as if being loud could cover up the quiver of fear.

“Make me,” Seth seethed in reply.

The shadows in the hallway were broken by light spilling from an open door at the end. Even before I got there, I knew what I would find. The scent of blood was overwhelming, and I braced myself for the worst.

I came to a dead standstill in the doorway, surveying the scene. Elder Grant stood on one side of the bedroom with a short whip in hand, the leather straps dripping blood onto the wood floor. Crouched beside the narrow cot was one of the trainees—young mischievous Loki, I realized—his entire body shaking from fear and pain, lashes crisscrossing his narrow back. And between the two figures stood Seth, face set in a mask of defiance, teeth bared. He was protecting the boy, and fierce pride filled me.

“What’s going on here?” Pater shouted, storming down the hall behind me. I forced myself to step back and lower my head in respect, but I peeked up at them, wondering what outcome to hope for.

“The boy was talking back to me,” Elder Grant said. “I was just teaching him a little respect, but Seth interrupted the punishment.”

“Did he now?” Pater sneered, turning his scrutiny to Seth, no doubt taking in the way the hunter refused to bow.

I knew this would not end well for Seth. The calculating look that crossed Pater’s face told me that he was measuring his options. He would do what was needed to regain control. “Remove your shirt and get on your knees,” he said, taking the whip from Elder Grant.

Seth did neither. His lip curled in disgust, eyes hardening. “You will not lay a hand on me,” he said darkly, a growl so low in decibel that it wasn’t detectible by human ears. He fisted his hands at his sides, the tendons in his neck straining. I could feel everything I’d been working toward falling apart. Pater would kill Seth if he felt threatened by him, and if Pater had reason to suspect him, then the suspicion could too easily fall on me next, and on my mate. He might decide we were more trouble than we were worth and just wipe us all out and start from scratch with a fresh batch of trainees.

The vision was so clear in my mind, and a desperate panic flared inside me, drowning my senses until all I saw, heard, tasted was red.

“Enough!” I roared before I could suppress the urge, and everyone froze, heads instinctively bowing, all but Pater, who turned to glare at me with suspicion. There was only one way for all of us to survive the next hour. I needed to offer Pater a way of saving face, a way to bolster his pride. I kept my voice steady, even as my stomach threatened to empty itself right here on the floor at my feet. “I will be the one to dole out his punishment,” I said, holding out my hand for the whip.

Pater’s face turned thoughtful, debating the added disgrace Seth would feel to have an equal put him in his place, not to mention the fact that I was stronger and could inflict more damage. He glanced between Elder Grant and Seth to see if either of them would dispute me. Grant nodded once, followed by Seth. “Yes, I believe that sounds like a fair outcome.” Fair, I scoffed in my mind. Nothing about this was fair. He passed me the whip, but paused before letting go, capturing my gaze. “You do not stop until he’s ready to show obedience.”

I nodded sharply, teeth gritted, and he released the whip. I turned and walked down the hall, Seth following with a heavy gait.

When we’d stepped outside into the yard, the sun beating down on us, he finally spoke, his voice low. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch,” he murmured, sounding as wrecked as I was. “I’m sorry.” His apology hit hard.

“I’m sorry too,” I said as I came to a stop before the whipping post beside the barn, and turned to face him. “I’m proud of what you did, standing up for Loki. He didn’t deserve a beating, and neither do you, but if I don’t do it, someone else will.”

Seth stared down at the ground. “I know. I would rather it be you who does it. At least you won't get off on it.” Without another word, he lifted his chin high and walked proudly over to the post and pulled his shirt off, showing a back full of scars, a lifetime’s worth, a mirror of my own.

As brave as he was, we all had our limit, and Pater would make sure Seth was pushed past his—with or without my help.

I squeezed the whip’s braided leather handle, trying to steady my shaking hands, preparing myself for what I was about to do. “Do I need to bind your hands?” I asked.

“No. I won’t fight you on it,” he said, his voice steady as he braced his palms on the wooden crossbeam. “If I could take all the trainees’ punishments, I would do it gladly.”

I was surprised by the soft spot he had for kids. Seth had always been the ruthless hunter to me, rude and violent, cold and closed off, but at this moment, I realized there was far more to him than met the eye. Maybe I wasn’t the only one pretending to be something I wasn’t.

Just as I had to pretend right now…

With a firm grip, I brought the whip down across his back, and he let out a brief gasp before locking down his reaction. The first hit was always a shock, no matter how prepared you thought you were. Pink welts immediately rose in stripes across his back. He barely flinched at the second hit. Or the third. It wasn’t until the tenth hit that his skin split open, blood spilling down his broad back in a steady stream. Before my eyes, the edges of the wound began to heal. If I’d had any doubts about Seth’s genetics, it was quickly put to rest. I just had to hope we were far enough from the house that the blood would hide the evidence.

I refused to put my full strength behind the lashes, but I had to make it look good. There were always eyes on us, and I refused to give them any reason to doubt me. And in the end, it didn’t matter how gentle I was. There was no way to protect Seth from the pain.