I turn anyway, because ignoring the Chieftain—even when he's your father—carries consequences.
He strides toward me with that commanding presence that makes warriors straighten their spines and drop their gazes. Obsidian eyes pin me in place, reading everything I'm trying to hide because he's had years of practice seeing through my bullshit.
"You're back early." Not a question. An observation that demands explanation.
"Northern border's quiet. No dark elf movement, no signs of raiding parties." I keep my voice level, professional. Warrior reporting to Chieftain rather than son addressing father. "Posted extra sentries at the narrow pass like you ordered."
"Good." He crosses massive arms over his chest, head tilted slightly in that way that means he's about to say something I won't like. "Walk with me."
It's not a request.
We move toward the western edge of camp where the dwellings cluster against the canyon wall, built for protection and privacy. The silence stretches between us, heavy with thingsunsaid. I know what's coming. Have known since I saw that look in his eyes.
"Kaelen's taken a mate," Dad starts, and there it is. The conversation I've been avoiding for weeks.
"I noticed."
"Don't be smart with me, boy." The rebuke carries no real heat. "Most warriors your age already have younglings underfoot."
"Most warriors my age aren't being groomed to lead." The words come sharper than I intend, edged with frustration that's been building like pressure behind a dam. "Kind of hard to focus on mating bonds when I'm spending every waking moment learning how to keep this clan alive."
Dad stops walking, turning to face me with an expression that's equal parts exasperation and concern. "A Chieftain needs a mate, Rakk. Someone to stand beside him, to provide counsel when the weight gets too heavy. Your mother?—"
"Died giving birth." I cut him off because I can't hear that story again, can't stomach the way his voice goes soft around the edges when he talks about her. "I know. You've told me."
"Then you understand why I push." His hand lands on my shoulder, grip firm enough to ground me. "I don't want you facing this role alone. The burden of leadership, it breaks men who don't have?—"
"Someone to share it with." I finish the speech because I've heard variations of it my entire life. "I understand, Dad. I do. But there's no female in this clan who?—"
"Then we arrange something with another clan." Dad's tone shifts into negotiation mode, practical and direct. "The Iron Fang has two eligible daughters. Strong bloodlines, good temperaments. I could open discussions?—"
"No."
The word comes out harder than stone, final as death. I pull away from his grip, needing space before the pressure in my chest cracks something important.
"Rakk—"
"I'm not mating some stranger because it's politically convenient." Heat builds under my skin, that familiar sensation that means I need to get away from this conversation before something worse than words slips free. "When I take a mate, it'll be because I choose her. Not because you arranged it like a trade agreement."
Dad's jaw works, tusks catching the dying light. For a moment I think he'll push harder, force the issue with that iron will that bent an entire clan to his leadership. But something in my expression must convince him to retreat because he nods once, sharp and short.
"We'll discuss this again after the winter preparations are complete." Not a question. A statement of fact. "But this conversation isn't over, Rakk. You need to start thinking about your future."
He walks away before I can respond, leaving me standing alone as darkness creeps across the canyon floor.
My dwelling waits in blessed silence, door shut tight against the world outside. I shoulder it open and step into the single room that serves as my entire living space. Small. Simple. Mine. A sleeping platform covered in furs dominates one wall, a low table and cushions occupy the center, and a weapons rack holds my personal arsenal near the door. No decorations, no personal touches beyond what's functional.
Exactly how I want it.
I strip off my armor piece by piece, leather and bone clattering onto the table with more force than necessary. The motion pulls at muscles that have been tensed for hours, and I roll my shoulders trying to work out the knots. My body achesin that good way that comes from physical exertion, but it's not enough to quiet the restlessness crawling under my skin.
The magic stirs in response to my mood, humming beneath flesh and bone like a second heartbeat. I press my palm flat against the table and breathe through it, focusing on the cool sensation of wood grain instead of the warmth building in my core.
Not now. Control it.
The power settles grudgingly, sinking back into whatever depths it lives in when I'm not actively wrestling with it. Most days I can ignore it, can pretend it's just another part of me like brown eyes or broad shoulders. Other days—days like this when emotions run hot and control feels slippery—it pushes against the boundaries I've built, testing for weaknesses.
The clan can never know. Only few do—Kaelen, Dad, Zurkar.
