I want to reassure her. Want to promise I'll be fine. Want to tell her that even dying is worth it if she's safe.
But the darkness is rising fast. Pulling me under despite how I fight to remain present for just a few more moments.
The last thing I register before unconsciousness claims me completely is Serah's hand tightening around mine and her broken whisper: "Don't you dare leave me now. Not when I finally understand."
Then nothing.
18
SERAH
Our home feels too quiet.
I've been sitting beside Rakk for hours now—curled on the edge of the furs with my hand wrapped around his—and the silence presses against my ears like physical weight. Outside, the clan continues existing. Voices drift through the canyon. Footsteps echo. Life moves forward despite everything that just shattered and reformed in the span of a single racing accident.
But in here, there's just the steady rhythm of Rakk's breathing and the occasional pop from the brazier in the corner.
Zurkar left an hour ago after checking on Rakk for the third time since he was moved here. His violet eyes were grave but not panicked when he turned to me. "His strength will see him through. The magic I used to knit the worst of the internal damage, combined with Lola's salves and the tonics... he'll recover. His magic makes him more resilient than most."
His magic. Those two words have been circling through my mind like predatory birds ever since Rakk's confession on the canyon floor.
I tied my life to yours during the mating ceremony.
All your pain comes to me instead.
Even if it kills me, you'll never have to bear it.
I study his face in the firelight—sharp features softened by unconsciousness, dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger than his years. The tusks that used to terrify me now just seem like part of him. Part of the orc who somehow decided a broken human woman was worth dying for.
Purple bruises mottle his olive-green skin. His chest is wrapped in clean bandages that cover the worst of the damage—ribs that shattered when I hit the ground during the race. Bones that broke in his body to spare mine.
Guilt churns through my stomach like sickness.
I've spent so much time pushing him away. Refusing to look at him. Jerking from his touch like he was poison instead of safety. Convinced he'd manipulated me, used me, reduced me to breeding stock.
And the entire time, he was destroying himself to protect me.
The door opens quietly. I glance up to find Kaelen and Lola entering with food and fresh water. Lola's silver-blonde hair is pulled back from her face, and her bright blue eyes are red-rimmed like she's been crying. Kaelen looks exhausted—the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from carrying your best friend's bleeding body through a terrified clan.
"Has he woken at all?" Lola asks softly, setting the tray down on the table near the brazier.
I shake my head. My voice comes out rough from disuse. "Not yet."
She moves to check Rakk's bandages with practiced efficiency. After a moment, she hums in satisfaction. "Healing well. Faster than a human would. The magic helps."
"The magic." I taste the words. They feel strange on my tongue. "I didn't know he had magic. Real magic, not just... I know orcs have it but I didn't know you could do that kind of thing."
"Most can't." Kaelen settles into a crouch beside the bed, his golden-amber eyes grave. "Rakk is different. Always has been. His magical ability manifested when he was young, and it terrified his father."
Lola sits on my other side. She takes my free hand—the one not clutching Rakk's—and squeezes gently. "Thorne values warrior strength above everything else. When Rakk started showing signs of power that had nothing to do with physical combat... Thorne made him hide it. Made him promise never to use it publicly."
"Why?" The question comes sharp with confusion. "If he's that powerful?—"
"Because it makes him vulnerable," Kaelen interrupts. "Or at least, that's what Thorne believes. A warrior who relies on magic instead of strength can be seen as weak. Unreliable. Wrong."
The injustice of it hits me like a slap. "So Rakk has spent his entire life pretending to be less than he is?"
"Yes." Lola's voice carries infinite sadness. "He's had to keep secrets his whole life. Hide parts of himself that made his father uncomfortable. And orcs..." She glances at Kaelen with something like apology. "Orcs aren't exactly good at talking about feelings or complicated things. Everything is action and honor and proving yourself through deeds rather than words."
