4. Rakk #2
"You haven't looked." He cuts through my excuse like it's made of paper. "Every female we've brought here, you've ignored. Every ceremony, every feast, every opportunity—you sabotage through cold indifference. Explain why."
Because I can't touch them without feeling everything. Because proximity terrifies me. Because forming bonds means opening channels that could destroy me from the inside out.
But I can't say any of that. Dad knows about my magic—Zurkar had to tell him when I was young, when the incidents became impossible to hide—but he doesn't understand it. Doesn't want to understand it. To him, magic is a tool for shamans and healers, not warriors. Certainly not for his son.
"I won't choose a mate I don't want." The words come out harder than intended. "Not for politics. Not for appearances."
"Then what will you choose for?" Dad's voice drops into something dangerous. "Personal preference? Attraction? Love?" He spits the last word like it's obscene. "You're the Chieftain's son. Your choices affect the entire clan. Stop being selfish and think about duty for once."
Duty. Always duty. As if I haven't spent my entire life trying to balance what the clan needs against what I can actually survive.
"I'll attend the festival," I say carefully. "I'll meet whoever they send. But I won't promise anything beyond basic courtesy."
"Courtesy?" Dad's expression twists into something between frustration and disgust. "They're sending their best daughters. Warriors, healers, females who would strengthen our bloodlines and alliances. The least you can do is give them genuine consideration."
"I will consider them." The lie slides out smooth as polished stone. "But I won't force a bond that isn't there."
We stare at each other across the room, locked in a silent battle of wills that's played out dozens of times before. Eventually Dad breaks first, turning away with a sound that's half growl, half sigh.
"The Stone Fang daughters arrive in three days," he says to the wall. "They'll stay for a week, participate in the hunting feasts and fertility ceremonies. You will attend every event. You will interact with them like a potential mate instead of a stranger. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good." He doesn't turn back around. "Now get out. I have actual work to do."
I leave before he can see the relief on my face, before my carefully maintained mask can slip.
The path back to the healing chambers calls to me like gravity, but I force myself toward the barracks instead.
Kaelen will be there by now, probably sparring with younger warriors or checking weapon inventory.
I need to talk to someone who won't judge. Someone who might understand without requiring full explanations.
I find him in the armory, inspecting blade edges with the methodical focus he applies to everything. He glances up when I enter, reading my expression in a single look.
"That bad?"
"Worse." I drop onto a bench near the weapon racks. "More political unions. Stone Fang and Iron Ridge are sending daughters to the festival."
"And Thorne wants you to choose one."
"Wants me to at least pretend I'm considering it."
Kaelen sets down the blade he was examining and leans against the workbench, amber eyes studying me with uncomfortable perception. "What's really going on, Rakk? This isn't just about being picky or waiting for the right match."
"It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated." He crosses his arms. "Talk to me. We've been friends since we were children. You think I haven't noticed something's wrong?"
I want to tell him. Want to explain about the magic, about Zurkar's warnings, about how every touch feels like drowning in someone else's emotions. But the words stick in my throat, trapped behind years of practiced secrecy.
"I'm not ready," I say finally. "That's all."
"Most males our age have been mated for years, some have children already. What are you waiting for?"
Someone whose pain I can bear. Someone whose suffering won't break me. Someone who makes the risk feel worth it.
But I don't say any of that. Instead I shrug and reach for deflection. "Maybe I'm just enjoying my freedom while it lasts."
Kaelen doesn't buy it. His expression shifts into something that might be concern or frustration or both. "This is about the magic, isn't it? About what Zurkar told you when you were younger?"
How does he—
"I'm not blind," he continues before I can deflect again. "I've seen you avoid touch your entire life. Seen you pull away when people get too close. Lola noticed it too, asked me once if you'd been hurt as a child."
The assumption stings more than it should. "I wasn't hurt."
"Then what? Because this?" He gestures at me like my entire existence is evidence. "This isn't normal, Rakk. This is someone terrified of intimacy, and I don't understand why."
"You don't need to understand." The words come out sharper than intended. "You just need to trust that I have my reasons."
"I do trust you." His voice softens. "But watching you sabotage every potential bond, watching you pull away from anyone who gets close—it's painful. You deserve happiness. You deserve connection. Whatever you're afraid of, whatever Zurkar told you—it doesn't have to control your entire life."
But it does. Because Zurkar wasn't speculating when he warned me about emotional bonds. He was speaking from experience, from watching other magic users destroy themselves through connections they couldn't control.
You're stronger than most, Zurkar had said years ago. Your magic runs deeper, responds more intensely. That's both gift and curse. You could heal with a touch or break under the weight of someone else's suffering. Until you learn absolute control, physical distance is the only safety you have.
I've practiced control. Studied with Zurkar for years, learning to contain my magic, to keep it locked behind mental barriers that only crack during intense stress.
It's worked. Mostly. I can function in the clan, participate in training and hunts and daily life without constantly drowning in other people's emotions.
But touch remains dangerous. And deep emotional bonds—the kind that come with mating—would tear through every barrier I've built.
"I appreciate the concern," I tell Kaelen, standing up from the bench. "But I'm fine. I'll attend the festival, meet whoever they send, and deal with Dad's disappointment when nothing comes of it."
"And then what?" he challenges. "You spend the rest of your life alone because you're too afraid to risk connection?"
The question hits harder than any physical blow. Because yes, that's exactly the plan. Stay distant. Stay safe. Avoid the kind of bond that could shatter me from the inside out.
But before I can respond, before I can deflect or lie or change the subject, that pull in my chest flares with sudden intensity. Not painful, exactly. More like awareness sharpening into focus, like my magic reaching out toward something it recognizes.
Toward someone it recognizes.
"I need to go," I say abruptly.
Kaelen's expression shifts into exasperation. "Where?"
"Zurkar needed help with something."
"It seems like he's always needing your help." He doesn't hide the skepticism. "This is about the human woman, isn't it? The one you've been hovering around since I brought her in?"
I don't answer. Can't answer without confirming what he already suspects. Instead I head for the door, following that pull like a rope tied around my ribs.
The healing chamber draws me back the way it always does, inevitable as sunrise. I tell myself I'm just checking on supplies, just making sure Zurkar has what he needs for the incoming festival guests.
But the truth pulses beneath every excuse: I need to see her. Need to confirm she's still alive, still recovering, still—
Still what? Still mine to protect, even though she isn't mine at all? Still connected to my magic in ways I don't understand and probably shouldn't explore?
I push through the door without knocking. Zurkar glances up from his work with knowing violet eyes but says nothing. And there, on the sleeping platform beneath layers of furs, Serah watches me with those sharp amber-hazel eyes that see too much.
Our gazes lock across the room, and something in my chest settles.
Like finding home in the middle of chaos.
Like standing at the edge of something terrifying and inevitable.
Like falling.