Page 60 of Savagely Mated

I left with something of a dramatic exit several years ago, not planning on returning. I had become entirely devoted to the Blood, and I think they knew that, though they would never havesaid it out loud. Calling one of the academy’s most prominent scholars a terrorist would be absolutely scandalous. People want to believe the best of me, and it is my job to let them believe.

I have to keep my wits about me. I am surrounded by enemies. Another way to think of it is Iamthe enemy, infiltrating the heart of the mainstream tyranny. Another way to think of it is…

“Move, Darcy!” I snap the words with some urgency because Darcy just got hit, and not for the first time.

I’m combat training Darcy’s cohort, and they’re sparring. She’s half the size of a lot of the young men she’s training with, and it is very clear they give her no quarter. They’re not using real swords, and that is a good thing, because she’d be missing an arm and damn near a head by now.

Something is off with Darcy. She’s slower than usual, and her form is wrong. Not in the sense that she doesn’t know what she’s doing; I’ve seen her fight for real, and I know she has near impeccable form. It looks like she’s compensating for something. She’s fighting the way someone who has been previously wounded fights, favoring one leg, and not moving with nearly as much energy or alacrity.

“Alright! That’s it. Go get cleaned up and head to your next sessions,” I call out. “Not you, Darcy.”

She’s turned away from me, but I see her shoulders slump.

She is my mate. I feel a near constant attraction to her, and a care that goes beyond mere carnal interest. I want her to be happy when she sees me. I don’t want her to cower like a beaten dog. The contrast between what I want for her and what I know I have to do to her is brutal.

“C’mere,” I say, crooking my finger at her as she turns around. The guys are filing out of the arena; they’ll be hitting the showers and heading off to their next classes. I don’t have to worry about them. I have to worry about the young woman in front of me.

She gives me a sulky look, but she does as she is told, walking up to me and making the effort to try to look normal as she does. I can see the limp she’s trying to hide. It is clear as day to me. She doesn’t know that her gait is as known to me as every other part of her.

“What have you done to yourself?”

Her eyes dart from side to side. She’s not good at hiding guilt. I will have to work with her on that. When she lies to the king, she will have to be absolutely convincing. “Nothing.”

“Don’t hide injuries from me, Darcy.”

She looks instantly guilty. Another thing she is going to need to learn to not do. I hope she’s more convincing at lying to people who are not me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies. I resist the urge to call her out for the shitty dishonesty. It’s not about that right now. I just keep looking at her, holding her gaze, until she works out that I have no intention of letting the matter drop.

“You’re going to be mad at me,” she says. “So I’m fine.”

That tells me she got hurt doing something she shouldn’t. Not a simple accident. I wonder if the others know about it. They should have told me if they did, but our loyalty has taken many different forms of late. Things are getting complicated.

“I caned you yesterday, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” She acknowledges that fact with some concern, but not a lot of formality.

“Do you think lying to me today is a good idea?”

“No.”

This has gone on long enough. There’s clearly some kind of physical injury that she is hiding, and I need to know what it is.

“Stand still,” I order her. I lift up the side of her shirt and immediately see abrasions and bruising that definitely weren’t there yesterday. Somehow between doing her homework and now, this girl has managed to get herself black and blue.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says, still lying terribly. I am sure that fighting in this state must have been hell for her. There could be underlying damage too, with bruising like that. Internal bleeding, even. She’d rather die than admit she’s not well.

“Come with me,” I say. “I need to inspect you properly.”

She follows me sheepishly out of the training arena, back to the privacy of the female changing room. It’s little more than a closet, due to the very low numbers of women in the academy.

“Strip. Everything.”

She hesitates for a moment, then gives in, pulling off her top slowly and removing her pants even more carefully. She really is a beautiful creature, but there’s road rash all the way up her left side, not to mention a lot of bruising. That more than explains the reduction in her movements. She looks like she’s been hit by something—or hit something herself.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to make me guess?”

Darcy shrugs, her eyes on the floor. She looks like she’s sorry, and it’s possible that she is. I can guess what happened.

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