Page 62 of In Her Own Rite

“Takka.”

“You’re welcome. Now eat. You need protein after a workout.”

“I shouldn’t, I’m going on a run before dinner.”

I bristle. “Agaayu, I can’t watch you do this.”

“Then close your eyes,” she says spitefully.

“No, Em—treating yourself like this. You’re up every morning before the sun to run. You’re training all day with Seb, then coming home and doing God knows what kind of exercises with Quinn in your room. And I saw you with Gabe last night, trying to build your healing power. You need torest.”

“I need totrain.”

I feel frustration roil in my gut. I’m angry—angry at her, I realize, for doing this to herself and putting herself in harm’s way.

“Recovery is half of training,” I say. “If you keep going like this, you’re going to die from exhaustion before you make your way up to the ring.”

She pulls her knees up and I see her wince. My mind registers immediately: sore hamstrings, maybe glutes. And I can see from the way she’s holding her neck that she has some tension in her shoulders.

“Is Seb having you do ice baths?” I ask.

She furrows her brow and shakes her head.

“Is someone massaging the sore muscles at the end of the day?”

She shakes her head again.

“How much are you sleeping?”

“I don’t know. Six hours? Sometimes I’m too tired to fall asleep.”

I curse. “Uikbaane, what are thesenagaayitdoing to you out there?”

She ticks off her fingers. “Stretches, foam rolling, running, a little bit of boxing, basic FMA combinations, and I just started shifting practice today. Oh, and Seb wants to start me on mental coaching later this week.”

“That’s insane. That’s way too much.”

“Well, as you pointed out to me, I guess I’m in terrible shape,” she says bitterly.

“Em, baby.” I put my hand on her arm. “You need to slow down.”

“Don’tbabyme.” She pulls her shoulder back, and I see her wince with the movement.

“Come here,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Let me rub your back.”

“No. We’re not like that. Not anymore.”

“Not for sex,” I say, irritated. God, I’m so bad at this. “For your recovery. I can see from the way you’re holding your neck that your lats are sore, and if you keep overcompensating in your posture, you’re gonna run yourself into an injury.”

She sets her jaw. God, she’s so stubborn. The wolf in me respects it—likes the challenge—and I tell him to mind his own goddamn business.

“Come on, you’re a healer,” I say, trying to make my voice softer. “You know the whole body’s a system. If you overcompensate for muscle soreness in one area, you’ll fuck up another.”

She sighs. “The salts and salves haven’t been working.”

“You don’t need healing magic for muscle soreness,” I say, and I can’t help but smile. “This stuff is a little more manual. Here. Turn around for me.”

Reluctantly, she turns her back to me, changing her legs to sit pretzel-style on the couch.

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