14. Serah
SERAH
The dwelling they lead me to sits carved into the canyon wall—larger than most, I notice with dull detachment. Of course it is. He's the Chieftain's son. Everything about Rakk is privileged, powerful, chosen.
Everything except me.
Lola helps carry my few belongings inside.
The main room is spacious with leather furniture arranged around a stone hearth, shelves lined with clan records and strange carved figures.
Large windows cut into the rock allow sunlight to spill across woven rugs.
It's warm. Comfortable. The kind of home I might have dreamed about in another life.
Now it just feels like a prettier cage.
"The bedroom is through here." Lola guides me down a short hallway, her voice artificially bright. "And the washroom connects to it. There's heated water, and—"
"I don't care." My voice comes out flat. Empty.
She winces. "Serah, I know this isn't—"
"Please leave."
For a moment, I think she'll argue. Try to comfort me with more platitudes about how Rakk is a good male, how this will work out, how I'll see. But she just squeezes my hand gently and goes.
The door closes behind her with a soft thud that echoes through the silence.
I stand in the center of the main room, surrounded by his things, his life, his carefully constructed world.
Evidence of him is everywhere—books stacked on tables, weapons mounted on walls, furs draped over furniture.
The space smells like him. That warm, earthy scent that used to make my chest tighten with want.
Now it just makes me nauseous.
I force myself to move. Through the living area, down the hallway, into the bedroom. The bed is enormous—clearly built for an orc male's frame. Dark furs and woven blankets layer across it. A carved wooden frame. More windows overlooking the canyon.
There's a smaller room branching off to the side.
When I investigate, I find it set up like a separate sleeping space.
A modest bed, simple furniture, shelves for storage.
My few possessions have already been placed there—the spare clothing Lola gave me, the bone charm from my mother, nothing else because I own nothing else.
At least he gave me this. A space that's mine. Separate from him.
I almost laugh at the bitter irony. He takes away every choice and then pretends to offer me privacy like it's some grand gesture. Like it makes up for anything.
I sink onto the small bed and stare at the wall. No tears come. I'm too empty for crying, too hollowed out to feel much of anything except this numb ache spreading through my chest.
A week ago, I lay tangled in his arms by the river, tracing the marks I'd left on his shoulders and thinking foolish thoughts. Imagining what it might be like to share a home with him. To not have to sneak around for stolen moments in the dark. To wake up beside him and fall asleep in his warmth.
I'd wanted this. Gods help me, I'd wanted exactly this.
Just not like this. Never like this.
The first day passes in silence. Rakk returns after the reception I refused to attend. I hear him moving through the main room, his heavy footsteps pausing outside my door. He doesn't knock. Doesn't try to come in.
Good. I have nothing to say to him.
Later, I emerge to use the washroom and find food left on the kitchen table. Fresh bread, cheese, dried meat. A cup of water. All arranged carefully on a wooden plate.
I don't touch it. Just return to my room and close the door.
The second day is the same. He leaves early. I hear him go, the front door closing with careful softness like he's trying not to disturb me. More food appears on the table while I'm in the washroom. This time there's fruit too—fialon berries in a small bowl.
He remembered they're my favorite. The detail makes something crack inside my chest, but I shove it down hard.
The third day, I force myself to eat. Not because I want to. Not because I'm forgiving anything. But because my body needs fuel and starving myself won't change anything that's happened.
Rakk is sitting in the main room when I emerge. He looks up from the book he's reading, those amber eyes tracking my movements. I ignore him completely. Walk to the table, eat standing up with mechanical efficiency, then return to my room without a word.
"Serah." His voice is quiet. Careful. The same restrained tone he used when we first met, before I knew him, before everything fell apart.
I hate it. I hate that he's gone back to being that silent, cautious stranger. I hate that he's clearly trying not to upset me further. I hate that some small, treacherous part of me misses the loud, teasing male from the river who made me laugh despite everything.
I hate all of it.
I close the door without responding.
By the end of the first week, the entire clan knows. How could they not? We're supposed to be newly mated and can barely stand to be in the same room.
I feel their eyes on me whenever I venture out. The other females whisper behind their hands. Warriors watch with varying expressions—some amused, some disapproving, some simply curious. Speculation runs rampant through the settlement like wildfire.
The human won't submit. She refuses her mate. How long will the Chieftain's son tolerate such disrespect?
Lola tries to talk to me about it. "Serah, people are noticing. They're saying things. Maybe if you just—"
"Just what? Pretend everything is fine?" My voice sounds harsh even to my own ears. "Act grateful that he trapped me?"
"He was trying to protect you."
"He made a choice for me. Again." I wrap my arms around myself. "Everyone always makes choices for me. I'm so tired of it."
She doesn't have an answer to that.
Apparently, Rakk does have an answer to the whispers. Something I learned two days later.
There is a clan gathering in the central plaza, families sharing food and conversation. Rakk asked if I wanted to attend. I said no. He asked again, his voice still that careful, quiet thing. I said no again.
"The clan expects to see us together." He stood in the doorway of my room, not entering. Never entering without permission. "Just for a short time."
"I don't care what the clan expects."
His jaw tightened. "Serah, please."
That word—please—almost broke something in me. The vulnerability in it, the exhaustion. Like he's been carrying something heavy for too long.
But I'm tired too. Tired of being pushed and pulled and expected to simply accept whatever scraps of choice I'm offered.
"No."
He left without another word.
An hour later, Lola appeared at the door with a message from Thorne. The Chieftain wanted to see his son's mate at the communal meal. It wasn't a request.
So I went. Because apparently even my refusals have limits when the clan's leader gets involved.
The plaza is crowded with families eating, children playing, warriors exchanging stories. Conversation dims when I appear. Heads turn. Whispers ripple outward like stones dropped in still water.
Rakk is sitting with his father and Kaelen near the center. He spots me immediately, something flickering across his expression too quickly to identify. He rises smoothly and approaches.
"You came." Relief colors his voice.
I don't respond. Just stand there, rigid, while everyone watches.
He reaches for my arm—gently, always so carefully—to guide me toward where they're sitting. And something in me just snaps.
I jerk away from his touch. Hard. Violent enough that several people nearby notice. The whispers grow louder.
Rakk's hand falls to his side. "Serah—"
"Don't touch me."
The plaza goes silent. Thorne's expression darkens. Kaelen shifts uncomfortably. I can feel dozens of eyes on us, weighing, judging, speculating about the human who dares refuse the Chieftain's son publicly.
Rakk's amber eyes meet mine. Something passes between us in that moment—a question, maybe. Or a warning. His jaw clenches.
Then his hand shoots out and catches my upper arm. The grip is firm. Harsh. Nothing like the gentle way he usually touches me.
"Enough." His voice carries across the plaza, hard and commanding. "You will not disrespect me in front of the clan."
He drags me away from the crowd. Not toward our dwelling but toward one of the storage structures at the plaza's edge. His fingers dig into my arm—not painfully, but with clear intent. Making a statement for everyone watching.
The humiliation burns through me. Being handled like this, manhandled in front of the entire settlement, treated like property that needs correcting.
This is what I am now. What I've always been. Just another possession for males to control.
He pulls me inside the dim storage building and releases my arm. Spins to face me with an expression I can't read. Anger? Panic? Something else entirely?
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "I'm so sorry, but you can't—"
"Don't apologize." My voice shakes. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? A mate who submits? Who behaves?"
"No. Gods, no. But they're watching and I can't—" He rakes his hand through his hair. "If I don't establish some authority, they'll expect worse. From me or from Dad. This is damage control."
"Damage control." I laugh, but it sounds broken. "Is that what you call humiliating me?"
"I call it keeping you safe." His voice drops lower. "Please, Serah. I know you hate me. I know I destroyed everything between us. But you have to let me do this. Let me protect you the only way I know how right now."
Something in his tone makes me pause. Not the words themselves but the desperation underneath them. The exhaustion and barely concealed panic.
He steps closer. His hand rises toward my face, then stops midair like he's forcing himself not to complete the gesture. "I need you to trust me. Just for this. Just for the performance."
"I don't trust you." The words taste like ash.
"I know." Pain flickers across his features. "But trust me anyway."