Yesterday had been a mistake. A weakness that I'd given into, and were anyone else to know of it, my father would have the girl killed. He'd likely disown me after forcing me to watch it happen, too. I'd spoken hardly a word to her since last night, and it was well into the afternoon, now. Amaya didn't any keener to instigate anything either, but her antsy, edgy behavior was starting to put me on the edge, as well. I noticed every glance she aimed at me, the way she wrung her hands, the way she would cover the scar on her neck.

I clenched my jaw. That, too, had been a moment of weakness that cost me. I was far from infallible, despite my years of trying to prove otherwise, she'd wrenched parts of me out that I didn't know still existed. I wasn't meant to be anything other than a weapon, a tool. I was good at what I did, be it on the battlefield or streets or a political negotiation. I was trained and sharpened; for anyone to attempt to soften that was…it was futile. Surely even Amaya, as stubborn as she was, saw that.

If she did, why did she continue trying to reach out? And why (when) did I stop slapping her hand away each time she did? Was it the mark? I'd never scarred anyone—I didn't fully understand the consequences that were still unveiling. My mother bore a brand from my father, though he didn't feed from her. It was intended as a bonding scar that connected two people for the rest of their lives, unless a party chose to break it. I wasn't sure how to break such a permanent bond. I could have asked my mother about it, if not for my sake than for Amaya's, who had even less of an idea what was happening to her. But, bringing up one of the weakest moments of my life? I wanted to forget it'd happened.

I could have killed her. I'd forced myself into starvation mode, like some sort of wild animal. After the shit I'd given Amaya for her bloodline, I was the one who let my instincts override my head. My mind had gotten so fogged with hunger, and the scent of her blood had been driving me crazy for hours. I don't remember losing control, but I remember trying to fight, to cling to it. Amaya's voice alone had snapped me out of the most carnal state of my mind. Her words were still ingrained in my head, echoing every time I looked at her.

I had almost killed her, and she still believed I wasn't a monster. Even I had come to trust that fact. Ever since then, I'd been torn between proving her wrong, or…perhaps I was allowing her to prove me wrong. Our conversations were tentative but growing easier, and she no longer appeared afraid. She appeared determined, but determined to do what, I was still figuring out, like I was trying to figure out every other god damn thing about her.

I huffed out in frustration, my head starting to throb with the threat of a headache. I had to leave, being around her inhibited my ability to think with any semblance of clarity. What she and I were doing, what we'd already done, was risky to us both. Putting her life in danger wasn't something I was willing to do. When I'd agreed to this, I had anticipated a job, something brief, I'd never worried I would grow attached. I never worried that someone like Amaya would come and dig her claws into me, and refuse to let go.

I stood abruptly from my desk, causing the chair to tip back and clatter to the ground. Amaya's ears pinned back, startled, and she looked up from her book towards me. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment, but I tore my gaze away. I couldn't do this. It had gone on long enough. Before I left the room, I saw Amaya hang her head, her palm covering her throat. My chest tightened, her sorrow injecting into my thoughts. My brother was right—I was foolish. I was only hurting her worse because of the mark, now, and I couldn't break it. I was supposed to protect her.

I was a fool, and she was damned.

"Asshole," I grumbled to myself, well after the door had shut behind Sasuke. After everything I'd put into trying to get him to open up, to trying to build a shakily amicable relationship with him, were we back at square one? Where he ignored me at best? I wasn't about to let him unravel all the progress we'd both made. Although, if last night wasn't unraveling it, I don't know what else would… I'd not brought it up, nor had Sasuke, but I was pretty sure our blatant avoidance was sort of "bringing it up" and all.

What was I supposed to do about it, now? Was Sasuke trying to pretend it didn't happen? Because that was a downer to the self-esteem. I groaned and set the book down. I couldn't remember a single word I'd been trying to read for the past who knows how long, anyway, so what was the point? I leaned back in the bed, where the sheets rustled around me. I was getting a tad too comfortable, for someone whose stay had an expiration date. Was this the date? Had we overstepped something so monumental that now he was going to send me away, as to not let us further fuck up?

That thought made panic come to a boil inside me, and it wasn't for any of the right reasons.

Luckily for me, before a full-blown panic attack could come to fruition, a sound stole my attention. From the hallway came the sound of footsteps, then, making my ears prick up in suspicion. They weren't Sasuke's, they were too heavy and unhurried. I sat up just as the door opened. The sight made me want to bury myself beneath the blankets and hide for the rest of my life.

Fugaku didn't look at all surprised to see me, but there was a cold glint in his eyes that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end all the same. "I take it Sasuke is out doing business?" he asked. I could only nod in response, but that didn't seem to please him at all. I wished for him to leave; instead, he took his hand off the doorknob and walked further into the room, closer to me. I recoiled some, fervently praying that Sasuke would choose the right moment to come back. Where the hell had he gone?

"What made you think a filthy animal has any right to lie on a bed?" Fugaku pressed on.

I tucked my legs beneath me as I straightened up, a swell of rage rising forward. "I'm not an animal," I snarled, perhaps more animal-like than I'd wanted, "I have permission, and I don't need it from you." I'd dealt with enough of that. My nerves and head were both a hurricane right then, and his added censure was only making everything worse. I just wanted to be left alone, was that too much of a fucking privilege?

Fugaku stilled, as did my heart. At that moment, I didn't want either of them to move again. When I spoke out, Sasuke's eyes hardened, they turned to steel; Fugaku's did not. His lit up, brightening with something akin to excitement. The cruel eagerness in his eyes made my stomach lurch inside me, threatening to vomit anything it had inside. Before I could even attempt backing away, or to form a weak apology, Fugaku was approaching the bed. The steps were too calm, too familiar with what he planned to do. He already knew what he was going to do—and I didn't want to find out.

His hand closed around my hair and yanked me off the bed, drawing a pained cry from me. "You have quite the insolent, rude mouth," he claimed, his voice not even wavering despite my kicking and struggling. He dragged me out of the room and down the hall, heading for the stairs. Not once did his grip even falter, for all that I was lashing out at him. My nails clawed at his hands in desperate bids to pry his fingers open.

"You are nothing but a slave, an animal we bought. We could kill you with a snap of our fingers and buy another, Sasuke would never look back." Fugaku's lips were pulled back in a gelid smirk, I didn't need to see it. I heard it. "You are worth nothing, and I'll show you what happens to worthless nothings when they disrespect."

"Let go of me!" I snapped, panic crawling up my throat and into my voice. "You can't do this!"

"And do you think Sasuke would stop me?" Fugaku asked, and there was genuine curiosity in his tone. I bit down on my lip. "Have you fooled yourself into thinking Sasuke cares, that he'd dare to defy me to save you?"

A choked sound bubbled up my throat, both in pain and protest. Fugaku yanked me into a dark room, one that looked unfinished. The walls were gray and the ground was hard, cold stone. He dropped me to the floor as he shut the door behind us, and in catching myself, I scuffed up my palms. "Please," I pleaded, terrified that Fugaku was going to kill me. I couldn't leave Alex—not like this. "I'm—"

Fugaku's hands closed around both my wrists and jerked me up, and my voice leaped into a yelp, cutting off my words. "I don't care to hear pitiful apologies." Fugaku's voice was frightening, it was so cool and calm, as if nothing about this fazed him. Had I not seen the gleam in his eyes, I would think he felt nothing at all; that would have been better than the repulsive excitement. Furiously, I screamed, even while Fugaku clamped cold metal cuffs around my wrists. The chains rattled as I struggled and yanked against them, frantic to break metal with sheer will. The stone walls and floor began to come together in a puzzle; this was a dungeon room, and I was a prisoner.

"It's a shame I have to discipline my son's whore," Fugaku said from behind me, his words dripping with proof that he wasn't sorry at all. I heard a leathery sound as he uncoiled something, his footsteps echoing off the walls as he went to stand behind me. Dread hardened in my stomach like a block of ice; I couldn't see him, I couldn't even see what was coming. "Hopefully after this, you'll learn how to behave like a true pet, and he'll learn how to keep you in line."

"You're crazy!" I shouted, hoping that by some miracle, someone would hear my screaming or the clanging of the chains. Fugaku didn't answer me, and I considered it a relief, but that was brief. The leathery sound came again, and soon followed the noise of something whistling through the air. I didn't register the sound to any object until it sliced into my skin, lighting a pathway of fire in its wake. A scream launched from my throat, the searing pain cutting deep into my flesh even when the whip had fallen away.

Before I'd even stopped screaming, the whip sliced into my back again, cutting open my flesh with as much ease as it did my shirt. My shoulders throbbed in protest as I yanked on my arms, prepared to either yank the chains off the wall or my arms out of their sockets to escape the flames licking at my back. No respite came, Fugaku delivered lash after lash to my vulnerable flesh without so much as a hesitation. He was coldly silent throughout the duration of the torture—or, perhaps I was only deafened by the sound of my own voice screaming.

Blood had begun dripping from the ugly, deep marks on my back, where my flesh had broken from the multiple lashes. Welts had opened and each time the whip struck the same place, they opened deeper, into jagged crevasses. My chest heaved in hysteric sobs, my lungs no longer able to take in any air. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe, it hurt so much. He was going to kill me. My feet slipped beneath me in the pool of blood, and I couldn't even scream at the added pressure to my aching shoulders when I went limp, too dizzy and delirious to hold myself up. The whip came once more, and from somewhere deep inside of me came a single word, the only one that my panicked mind could think of. It was louder than any of my prior screams, even when that first hit had landed. With as much power as I could muster, my desperate cry launched forth.

"Sasuke!"

I gasped in a breath, no strike landed after my final scream. I was shaking with such violence that my teeth clacked together. The sharp taste of salt covered my tongue. Behind me, Fugaku chuckled, a dark and horrible sound. I flinched harshly, my eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of the whipping continuing.

"Pathetic," Fugaku commented, sounding far from disappointed. If I could see him, I was sure his fangs would be bared in hunger. "You've deceived yourself into believing he cares. I should leave you here to bleed out," Fugaku slipped into my vision, in front of me. I jerked back with a shriek, both of terror and agony. His hand was cold when he reached and grabbed my face, pinching my jaw in his fingers. "You'll do well to remember this. You dare to disrespect me again, and I'll make this look like child's play."

I nodded my head up and down viciously, my hair sticking to my face, damp with sweat and tears. With a scoff, Fugaku dropped my face and left me hanging. I listened as he left, but I was unable to feel anything past the agony. My nerves were all aflame, screaming, and the thought of moving was nauseating. All I wanted was for it to all stop, but the means for it to stop didn't matter to me anymore.

The door flew open then, slamming against the wall and wrenching another scream from me, so horrified was I at the prospect of Fugaku returning. I couldn't take it anymore, I wanted to say, I wanted to beg. The air fell still and silent for a moment, as if my entire world had come to a halt, like even it was too shocked to continue. I sobbed against my arm, too exhausted to try and look over my shoulder, my breathing still frantic and starving. That seemed enough to break the spell that had frozen time. A shadow blocked the light from the hallway and darted into the room. I ducked away from slim hands when they reached for me. A quiet, deep hush soothed me. I latched onto the comforting tone as it sunk into my battered senses.

The chains rattled before the manacles loosened, dropping from my wrists. They were raw and bloody when they dropped, and I started to collapse to the floor, helpless to support myself. The ground looked almost inviting, anything to relieve my over-stressed body. A pair of strong arms around my waist held me up, and soon they lifted me up entirely, taking away the effort of trying to hold myself up. I groaned in pain at the rocking motion of getting carried out of the room, leaning my head against a warm chest. I blearily opened my eyes and blinked up at my rescuer. Sasuke's tight expression made a weak pulse of relief and gratitude override the agony. He came for me.

Consciousness was an elusive creature that drifted in and out of my reach. I was only vaguely aware of what was happening around me. The change of room, the sound of voices, the chill of tile against my bare skin. I was content to lean my shoulder and head against the wall to my left, though I missed the familiar warmth of Sasuke's arms. A choked whimper rose in my throat when, albeit gently, water began to rinse my skin free of blood. The wounds were raw and open, bleeding fresh and turning the water pink. I flinched away when hands touched my back, and distantly heard a curse. I couldn't make out any words, but I listened as Sasuke stood and ran out of the bathroom, leaving me beneath the cool water. It soothed and irritated my wounds in a painful contradiction, but I was too tired to lean either away or towards it.

Footsteps hurried into the bathroom again, but opening my eyes was too much work. I was losing my battle with staying awake by the second, and that might've been something to be grateful for when I felt hands return to my torn back. They were gentler and felt like they were more familiar with what they wanted to do. My tears mingled with the shower water as they cleansed my wounds. Once the water was turned off, I hoped I could finally sleep, but even that wish was too much to ask for. The slender hands, now cool with a slick substance, began to rub the cold medicine over the expanse of shredded flesh that was my back. I grit my teeth hard the entire time, shaking with sobs even as I blocked any screams from escaping me. My head ached as I kept my teeth clenched together.

It felt like it took ages before the hands left me alone, my entire back now covered in the medicine. Each of my hands got picked up, and the medicine gently rubbed into each of the raw marks on my wrists. I murmured weakly, hardly even aware of what I was saying. A feminine voice whispered comfort to me, and I realized it was Mikoto who was helping me. She pulled me away from the wall and coaxed me to hold my arms up, though even that expended a sickening amount of effort. I shook with exertion while bandages wrapped around me, a thick layer of protection that, along with the medicine, was soothing the immense pain of my wounds. My skin was turning numb, now. I let my arms drop from the air when prodded to do so, only weakly able to stand sitting upright while my wrists received the same careful treatment.

Somewhere a few feet away, I could hear a mix of masculine voices talking, but it was all complete nonsense to my ears. Strong hands took me by my upper arms and gently, but insistently, helped me as I stood. I wavered in place as a towel draped itself around me, soft and warm. I felt my legs already giving out in the seconds I'd stood, but I barely got the chance to feel weak before strong arms were enveloping me and providing the support I needed. I sighed in weary contentment as I was shifted into the arms. I was safe here. I knew that.

The voices spoke again, a muffled and fuzzy background static. Slowly, they faded away, and I realized that Sasuke was walking. Carefully, he sat down, the mattress of his bed sinking with both our weights to welcome us. Gentle fingers carded through my damp hair, pushing it out of my face. Panic made adrenaline fill my bloodstream again, too much and too fast after having just finally started to come down. Not the bed, not there, the bed meant trouble. I started to shake again, and I tried to sit up, to pull away from Sasuke and collapse on the floor to finally get the sleep I craved so. Sasuke's arms tightened around me and I felt his lips against my temple. I had to get up, I had to move or I'd get in trouble again. I had to be strong, I couldn't be weak.

I buried my face into his chest and burst into tears.

Amaya was shaking with so much force that I feared she'd shake herself apart. I hugged her closer to my chest, gently rocking as I tried to comfort her. It felt like such a vain attempt, but what else could I do? Her hands buried into my shirt as she clung, and it gave me the impression she was afraid I'd leave. I had never been a source of comfort, and certainly not now. I wished my mother had stayed, perhaps she'd at least have known how to get Amaya to stop crying. Instead, it was me, and all I could do was hold her and whisper empty words that I doubted she could even hear.

I was hesitant to touch her back, but I knew the medicine would have already numbed it. It was a powerful serum, infused with strong herbs that would hopefully provide relief and prevent infection. The wounds had been hideous, so raw and deep. The scent of blood had been almost overwhelming, but I'd had to fight not to allow the scent to overpower me. Amaya needed me, and I wasn't going to fail her. Not for the second time. It was my fault she had gotten hurt in the first place, if only I had stayed, if only I'd protected her…I didn't even know who had done such a thing to her.

Impatience burned at the tip of my tongue, but I allowed her to cry herself out before I dared to press for answers. She'd reduced to trembles and shaky breaths before I felt it was safe enough to venture into what I was certain would be difficult territory. Had Amaya even seen who'd done this? Had she gone with someone, or had they taken her? I'd never seen that room before; its sickly grey color mottled with red made my stomach turn. A dungeon hidden away.

"Amaya," I started, and I hoped my voice didn't contain the rage I felt boiling in my blood. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Immediately, I felt the tension coiling in her muscles. Amaya's ears flattened against her hair and she shook her head, refusing to answer me. "Amaya, please," I started, dredging up all the patience I could. "You need to tell me who hurt you. I won't let it happen again, I promise." I swore as much to myself as to her that whoever put their hands on her wouldn't get her a second time. I was going to make them pay for the crime they'd committed. It was torture—it was sadistic.

Somewhere in the recesses of logic, I feared I knew what had happened. Someone had taken it upon themselves to deliver a punishment, a real punishment by law of servitude. Amaya was, legally, under control of any noble, but that wasn't something I was going to stand for. She belonged to me, she was mine, and I'd be damned if anyone else touched her. "I can't help you if you won't let me," I whispered, a silent plea that she would just give me a fucking name.

Curling further in on herself, Amaya ducked her head to hide her face. "Let go," she murmured. I refused for a moment, until she began quaking against me and leaned away in a weak attempt to escape. "Please, just let me go!" she said again, her voice rising with insistency. I had no choice but to let her slip down, where she dropped from the bed and to the floor. Too stunned by the display, I watched as she curled into the towel and hid most of herself from view, like she wanted nothing more but to completely vanish.

"You don't have to sit on the floor," I told her, my voice thick with confusion. How long had she been sleeping on the bed, several days? I'd long since stopped with the unjust rules I'd enforced weeks ago. I was changing, I was trying. I didn't want to be my father. "Get back on the bed." It was less of a request and more of a command, but the sight of her shivering on the floor was sawing at the last thread of patience I had. She was still in shock, I was sure. She had to be, otherwise she'd never have acted so…so traumatized.

She didn't even raise her head up to look at me, so of course, she stayed right where she was. I didn't have it in me to force her back onto the bed, whether by picking her up or coaxing her to do it herself. If she felt safer on the floor, I wasn't going to add to her misery by taking it away from her. It was clear to me by then that I wouldn't be getting any answers, not from her, but I wasn't going to let it go. I stood from the bed—apparently too fast, as Amaya flinched below me—and reached for the comforter. Taking care to move a little slower, I pulled the comforter from the bed and draped it over Amaya, where she could make herself a little nest.

When I left, I was certain to shut the door this time. No one aside from me would dare to enter, this time. I'd snap their neck before they took a step inside.

I hoped to find solitude in the kitchen, but Itachi had lingered behind. My head and instincts were both hazy and clouded, and I found myself snarling, feeling caged despite Itachi's careful distance. His face remained neutral as he was mindful not to retaliate. Guilt followed immediately. He wasn't my enemy, he'd never been, and my hostility wasn't welcome.

"Is she asleep?" Itachi asked, his arms folding as he leaned against the counter. I noticed the obvious absence of Alex, who had been nothing short of hysteric when I'd carried his sister in earlier, bloody and half-conscious. Itachi must have calmed him down enough to pass out, himself.

I clenched my jaw. "I'm sure she is by now, but she refused to sleep on the bed. She laid on the floor, instead." I still regretted leaving her there, but I couldn't see her taking it well were I to drag her back up on the mattress. Itachi's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I couldn't get anything out of her. I don't even know who fucking did it to her."

"She's still in shock, most likely. Give her a little time, Sasuke," Itachi's calm voice was a far cry from the rage still edging into mine. He rested a hand on my shoulder, an anchor for me to latch onto. "Perhaps we can figure out who was in the house and go from there. She might be too afraid to confront the person responsible." Itachi's explanation was logical, but I'd never known Amaya to fear anyone, not for long. Who could have frightened her so terribly?

Distantly, I recalled Amaya confiding in me parts of her history, about her time growing up in a laboratory…a bad man who performed experiments. I had to confess the knowledge to Itachi. Even if it didn't mean anything, I wanted him to know. "I believe she knew Orochimaru," I told my brother. His shoulders tensed, but no evidence of that bled into his expression. "She didn't use his name, but she told me she and Alex both were taken in by a laboratory when they were younger, by a man who performed experiments on them and the other children."

Itachi took a slow breath. "That's…troubling," he sighed. "But, I doubt he had anything to do with this, it's been years since our family cut ties with him."

Even Itachi sounded dubious, as was I. Orochimaru never failed to get what he wanted, and I was certain he'd keep finding ways to creep into my life. I had a terrified girl who wouldn't talk, and a sociopath who continued popping up everywhere he didn't belong.

Itachi straightened suddenly, a severe look entering his eyes. "Where's Fugaku been?" he asked, the urgency in his voice startling me. I had no idea, I tried my best to avoid our father, Itachi knew that. My lack of answer was enough for him to press on, while I struggled to connect the dots. He had passed me on the stairs, hours earlier. My eyes widened in recognition—no, surely he wouldn't have.

Itachi's eyes were as hard as steel. "He took a liking to her, and you've seen the way he treats servants. He would abuse any reason he had to hurt them."

A snarl rumbled in my chest and up my throat. He'd put his hands on her—on what was mine. He'd left her a terrified, traumatized wreck, and it was because I had been foolish enough to leave her by herself. I should have known better, after seeing the way he had looked at her, the way he'd grabbed her. I'd let Amaya get hurt when it was my job to keep her safe.

I pressed my hand to my forehead, a familiar ache surging beneath my fingertips. "Why is this happening?" I mumbled, intending the words for only myself, but trust my brother to always offer his wisdom where he wasn't asked.

"You bonded with her," Itachi said, his smirk evident enough in his tone that I didn't have to look. "You're too afraid to admit you care about her, even after you left your mark on her. Sooner or later, you're going to have to stop running away from your feelings, little brother.

I clenched my hands on the counter, my knuckles turning white from the pressure. "It wouldn't matter if I did," I grit out, humoring his observation. "She's a pet, not an equal. We could never—"

"Sasuke," Itachi interjected, his sharp tone making me snap my mouth shut. However old I got, I would never outgrow getting startled by Itachi's sternness. "You are too focused on status. Are you going to allow everyone else to dictate all aspects of your life forever?"

Chagrined, I lowered my eyes. Itachi never failed to make everything sound easy, or at the least, possible. "You're going to take father's place as clan head," I reminded Itachi. "Do you truly believe you can avoid an arranged marriage? That you'll be allowed to continue what you're doing with Alex?" I'd noticed how they acted together, however discreet Itachi attempted to keep things. I grew up with him, did he genuinely think I wouldn't see his change? He never looked at anyone the way he looked at that ibrida. It was…frightening. I couldn't fathom Itachi having anything that made him happy torn away from him. Not after he'd lost so much already, but our father would sooner kill Alex than allow any relationship to burgeon.

Itachi's eyes were as hard as steel, even as a tight smirk spread across his lips. "It isn't a matter of who's going to let me, it's a matter of who's going to stop me."

I shuddered at the cold, resolute words, and I would never doubt for a second that Itachi meant them. But, I wasn't Itachi, and I wasn't sure I could do the same.

I was prepared to voice as much, but before I could, the telltale sound of someone approaching the kitchen interrupted us. Itachi was gone with nothing more than a tight nod towards me. The heady, undeniable scent of blood filled my head and made my lips curl in a feral sneer. I turned on my father as he walked into the kitchen; not a thing about him was out of place. He was clean and put together, the epitome of calm. There were no traces of blood on him, but I could smell her on him. My fingers twitched, aching to tear out his throat.

Fugaku glanced up at me and arched a brow. "Ah, Sasuke, there you are. I've been meaning to find you," he said, his voice as light as if were discussing weather.

Rage launched up my throat. "What did you do to her?" I demanded, my muscles bunching in fury.

My father only cocked his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, so—"

"Don't, don't you dare," I snapped, interrupting my father. He shut his mouth and raised both eyebrows, mocking surprise at my lack of formality. As if I had ever looked at him with even an ounce of respect since I was a child. "You had no right to lay a hand on that girl."

A gleam of recognition entered his eyes. "Ah, you mean your pet?" he asked, and waved his hand flippantly. "That thing needs to be muzzled, it's horribly behaved. You're lucky I got to it when I did, but you know how I hate having to deal with others' problems. Next time she demonstrates such petulance, I won't be half as generous." His eyes narrowed as he looked towards me, speaking down to me as if he believed he'd done me a favor.

Acid steamed in my veins, boiling my blood. The last shreds of my composure singed away. My hand lashed out and wrapped around the old man's throat. Using all the force in my body, I slammed my father back into the wall. He grunted in pain as the air in his lungs got crushed out of him. His eyes widened in shock, but he didn't dare to raise a hand back to me. He'd long aged past being able to challenge either myself or Itachi. Both of his sons had long since surpassed him, and for me to not crush his throat took every grain of willpower I had. "Don't ever touch her again," I seethed, inches from his face. "She belongs to me. If I ever see you so much as look at her, it will be the last mistake you make." I dropped my hand from my father's throat and left him standing in the kitchen, sucking in breath frantically.

He raised his hand in a placating gesture. "Fine, fine," he rasped. "I know how you like having things to yourself." He straightened then and offered me a coy, cool smile as he brushed past me, coming to a pause when we were shoulder to shoulder. "However, a bit of advice, if I may. She reeks of innocence, I suggest you do something about it. It's terribly tempting."

I was throwing my fist before I'd even registered the muscle movement. Something cracked beneath my knuckles as I drove them into his face, but even that meager satisfaction was a minute relief to the disgust surging in my gut. I had to get out of there, another word from him and I wasn't sure I could hold myself back. I was already crumbling; my throbbing hand was proof enough of that. Storming out of the kitchen before he could tempt my hand again, I headed for the stairs. I had to get to Amaya, to prove to her she was safe. Midway up, I froze to a standstill, Fugaku's words having finally sunk in. Reeked of innocence?

I swallowed dryly and thought on the few times I'd touched her with any semblance of intimacy. How had she held onto innocence in a life of servitude and captivity? And to think of what I'd said to her.

I shook my head to clear it. I had said a lot of things, as had she. They were in the past, and moving forward, I was no longer going to be the one who hurt her.

She was my bonded, and I would protect her. I would kill anyone who got in our way.

My best friend, the owner of Alex's character: I'm not gay

Also my best friend at every fictional male: …although