The flicker of moonlight had broken through the shutters, washing soft silver over her back. What he’d at first thought were shadows of the bare branches outside?—
—were not.
Jagged lines. Some pale silver, nearly lost against her skin. Others, more recent, subtly raised. Whip scars, dozens of them. Some long, branching in parallel. Others short, crossed over each other like punishment layered on punishment.
His throat locked. Shame and fury rose at the living history carved into her flesh. Not a battlefield scar or a mark of war. It was cruelty—systematic, controlled, inflicted by someone who knew exactly how much pain a body could take before breaking.
His hand hovered over her back but didn’t dare touch, eyes tracing her skin from her nape down to her feet. Not even her soles were spared, bearing a mark burned into her flesh.
Gods, what had she endured?
The proof was etched there, as if she were nothing more than a canvas for someone else’s wrath. Her every defence made terrible, perfect sense.
Her stillness when voices rose. Conditioned.
The lowered eyes. A learned reflex.
The careful steps hiding her limp—the gait of someone who knew pain could come from any direction.
Each precise word, chosen by someone who knew the price of a lash.
Alexander’s jaw clenched. He gathered her again, shielding that ruined back with his chest, his arms curling tighter than before, as if he could blot out the memory of whatever hands had done this.
Later, he washed her gently, then himself. Still, she didn’t stir. At some point, he must’ve dozed off with her tucked in his arms, until a sharp knock jolted him upright, far too brisk for this hour.
The second knock was louder, not the kind one could sleep through. He swore under his breath and eased out of the bed, tucking the blanket over JingYi’s bare shoulders. Her brow furrowed, lips parting in soft protest, but she didn’t wake.
Alexander closed the curtains around the Nest, pulled on his tunic and breeches in three fast, angry movements, and crossed the chamber.
He eased the door open. “What in Solthar’s name?—?”
Conrad stood there, flushed, breathless. “I wouldn’t disturb you unless it was urgent, my lord. Especially when you’re with your Omega.”
Alexander’s jaw clenched. “This better not be about patrol rotations again.”
The boy’s words rushed out. “Wulfbane’s limyerite cave collapsed.”
He froze.
“One of the night guards heard the rumbling before it went down,” Conrad continued. “He sent a rider. The tunnel’s partially buried. Two men inside doing repairs on the support beams are trapped.”
A cold sweat prickled across Alexander’s neck. His heart hammered against his ribs. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, fingers twisting into the strands. Wordless, he turned and strode back into his room to finish dressing.
The air in the chamber still carried the scent of heat and sweat, of her. Inside the nest, JingYi lay nestled into the furs they’d tangled in for two nights, her back rising and falling in steady rhythm. Her hair was half-spilled across the pillow, her lips slightly parted in the heaviness of dreamless sleep.
For a long moment, he stood paralyzed, torn between the warm, sleeping woman who smelled of his protection and her own peace, and the brutal fact of the cave. The part of him that had just become hers screamed to stay. The Wulfbane in him was already walking out the door.
Still, it took longer than it should have to tear his gaze away.
At the writing desk, he picked up a quill and dragged it across parchment with clipped precision.
Once finished, hefolded the letter, set it beside her pillow, and gave her a final glance.
CHAPTER 35
JINGYI
When she awakened, the bed was empty beside her. The furs were still warm, but barely. The imprint of his body lingered faintly in the bedding, and the scent of spruce and smoke clung to the pillow where he’d rested his head.
