Page 33 of Dark

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you. You’re always wearing it.”

“Ben,” he said shortly.

“How long have you had it?“

"What is this, twenty questions?” He gripped the edge of the sink, the sharp edge to his pulse slamming in my neck. “I don’t know. Since I was a kid, I guess.”

“Do the markings on the band mean anything?”

“Not that I know of.”

“It's just... I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it.”

He didn’t answer. When I reached for his wrist, he twisted away.

“Shit,” I breathed. “It has silver in it, doesn’t it?”

Flipping off the sink, he retreated into the bedroom. Arms crossed, I followed. Ethan scrubbed a hand over his face.

“It doesn’t. Not anymore. You have to let me explain.”

“Seems pretty self-explanatory to me.”

His throat bobbed. “I was going to tell you, I swear.”

“You never take it off.”

“I can’t. It covers the scarring.”

I raked a hand through my hair. “How—"

“It was Ben’s idea. I… had trouble controlling myself when I first came to live with him and Sofia. Most Borns shift for the first time between the ages of four and five. There are anomalies. Cal was two. But before I had a chance to change forms, my parents—my biological parents—died. And so I didn’t.

“When you try to suppress the wolf, well, you’ve seen the results. Between the shock of losing my parents and having social services separate me and August, I forced everything down deep inside, kind of walled myself off. Two years later I reached a boiling point. I ran away from my foster home, blacked out and shifted. I woke up miles away the next day.”

I covered my mouth. “Ethan—"

“The damage had been done. By the time Ben found me, I had no control, could barely keep my wolf in check—"

“And his answer was to put a torture device on a kid?”

Ethan frowned. “You don’t understand.”

This time when I grabbed for his wrist, he didn’t fight. Turning the leather cuff over, I examined the underside.

“I’m taking this off now.”

He swallowed. “Hayden.”

“Shut up.” I worked the leather straps loose.

The last buckle released and I sucked in a breath, shocked at the sight of what he’d done to himself. Sickeningly pale compared to the rest of his arm, the flesh beneath the cuff was scarred by row upon row of angry black hatch marks. Years upon years of silver burns scarred over and re-healed only to be seared fresh into his skin every time he moved.

And suddenly I wanted to throat-punch Ben Caldwell.

“It’s not that bad.”

Giving him death-eyes, I cradled his wrist. “Want to try that again?”