So I just grunt noncommittally and reset my stance, raising the practice blade for another round.
We train until my muscles burn and sweat drips into my eyes, but the distraction doesn't help. Her scent lingers in my memory long after she's gone, haunting me through every strike and parry. Her laugh from two nights ago—surprised and genuine when I told some ridiculous story about Kaelen falling into a livestock pen—echoes through my skull until I can barely hear Kaelen's instructions.
I'm losing my fucking mind.
That becomes abundantly clear when we break for water and she walks past again, returning from the healing chambers. This time she does glance over, catching my eye for just a moment. Her expression is neutral but there's something underneath—recognition, maybe. Acknowledgment that we exist in each other's orbits now, whether she planned it or not.
Then she's gone and I'm standing there like an idiot, water skin forgotten in my hand, entire body thrumming with awareness.
"You've got it so bad," Kaelen observes, deeply amused.
I want to argue. Can't. Because he's right and we both know it.
And I gave him so much shit about Lola for years that I know he's going to be insufferable.
Instead I shove him hard enough to make him stumble. "Shut up."
His laughter follows me off the training grounds.
Dad corners me that afternoon.
I'm heading toward my dwelling, planning to wash off training sweat and maybe check if Serah's at the river early tonight, when his massive frame blocks the path. Dad fills space like a natural disaster—all height and muscle and authority that's impossible to ignore or circumvent.
"We need to talk," he says. Not a request.
Irritation sparks through my chest. "About what?"
"About the fact that you're still avoiding the issue of taking a mate." His obsidian eyes pin me in place. "The clan is noticing, Rakk. Wondering why the Chieftain's son refuses to settle down. Why you turn away every female who shows interest."
"Maybe I'm just particular."
"Particular is fine. This..." He gestures vaguely. "This is becoming a problem. The Stone Fang delegation arrives in three weeks for the Harvest Goddess festival. Their Chieftain's daughter will be among them. I need you to at least consider?—"
"No."
The word comes out harder than intended. Sharper. I see Dad's jaw tighten in response, that familiar tension building between us like storm pressure.
"You can't keep waiting for perfect," he says, voice dropping to warning levels. "Leadership requires sacrifice. Requires making choices for the clan's benefit instead of personal preference."
"I'm aware of my responsibilities."
"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone avoiding adulthood." He steps closer, looming in that way only he can manage. "I've been patient, Rakk. Let you have time, let you find your own path. But that patience is running out. The clan needs stability. Needs to know their future leadership is secure."
Heat flares through my chest—anger mixed with frustration mixed with something that might be guilt. Because he's not wrong. I am avoiding this. Am refusing to engage with expectations that should matter more than personal desire.
But how do I explain that touching people is dangerous for me? That forming intimate bonds risks drowning in someone else's emotions until I can't distinguish their pain from mine? That I've spent years learning to suppress magic I should have outgrown, and taking a mate might shatter those carefully constructed walls?
Can't. Not without revealing secrets that would destroy whatever respect Dad still has for me.
So I just meet his gaze steadily. "I'll handle it."
"When?"
"When I'm ready."
"And when will that be?" His voice carries frustration now, patience visibly fraying. "Because I'm starting to think you'll never be ready. That you'll keep making excuses until?—"
"I said I'll handle it." The words come out harder than intended, edged with power I immediately regret showing. "Just... give me more time."
