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It was literally his job to dispel the tension.
“I’ve got it.” He snapped his fingers. “A clanless Raeth stole your homemade chocolate chip cookie recipe, sold it to Keeblers, and made millions of dollars on your brilliance.” He tsked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Those damn elves.”
The wry smile that chipped away at her anger was worth every penny.
“Damn elves.”
Closing the door behind the blonde she-wolf minutes later, Remmus settled his back against the heavy wood and glared at the bloodied blade. The apology had been second nature when he’d seen her in the trap—and then again when he jostled her following the teleport. A slip of the tongue he’d thought he’d trained himself out of.
It’d been two marks against him, and payment had to be made. If he’d had any sense of self-preservation, he’d have teleported the blade into a less public spot. If he’d been smart, he wouldn’t have let the gorgeous Ava into his quarters in the first place.
But that was a lie: Remmus was growing more and more intrigued with the woman, and he’d been blindsided when she appeared at his door.
Crossing the room, he picked up the blade that’d belonged to his mother. Shaped in a traditional talon curve, it’d drawn his blood many times over. Remmus knew exactly how deeply to cut skin to make it bleed and quench the blade’s thirst.
The coercion his long-dead mother had woven around his mind required punishment when he failed. It had only become more ingrained as the centuries passed. The blade was the easiest method, and every time he broke one of the rules the coercion enforced, it spilled his blood in penance.
It was impossible to cure. He’d tried Raeth mind healers centuries ago, but it’d failed to take. Both Nina and Kaien had tried innumerable times to rid him of the compulsions, to no avail or progress. Despite everyone’s efforts, the compulsion rooted deeper and deeper in the very essence of his being—and Remmus had finally accepted it would always be there, an incurable darkness.
He ran the threadbare cloth over the silver metal to make it glisten. Now free of his blood, the blade was teleported back into his armory. Like most Raeths, he’d been trained since birth to utilize his personal arsenal for whatever he might need. His belongings were organized in a precise order—and all of it was available at a moment’s notice.
The thought of home made him yearn for clan and clansmen. He rarely sought loneliness, far preferring the companionship of others to his own thoughts.
Kaien, his ever-vigilant sparring partner, had shifted priorities when he’d mated Blair and had been drafted as Nina’s on-call healer after the Heat. Both those things were understandable and necessary, but it often left Remmus without his best friend.
The unexpected pang of home sickness flipped his stomach. While he could teleport back to clan lands, there was little point. He needed to be at the den often to confer with his fluffy new friends, and honestly, he needed time away from Celeste to clear the air between them.
While his body only required four hours of sleep, he climbed into bed. Perhaps after a good night’s rest, he’d be able to clear the pulse in his temples. The dull ache had arisen following his impromptu blade cleaning, and it was already growing tiresome.
***
Today was a good day to have a good day.
Waking to a morning devoid of nightmares automatically made it so. Grinning like the fool his cohorts believed him to be, Remmus immediately set off in search of the gym.
Pulling on his customary sweatpants and a white tank top, he confirmed that transfiguration was still covering his skin. Wouldn’t want to scare the ladies—or worse, have people ask questions.
One of two things happened once a person noticed his scars. One, they’d instantly pretend to be blind, adopting rose-colored glasses and denying everything that pertained to the tracks; or two, it became immediate fodder for conversation.
While the first bothered him to no end, it was the second that made him most uncomfortable. He loathed the fact that people assumed that visible scarring meant respect and civility were no longer necessary. He couldn’t count the number of times that people expected him to bare himself open to their prying.
Remmus would rather portray the perfect façade than admit the reality of his broken body. It was just easier that way.
The gym was packed. For an immortal species that maintained themselves at the peak of physical condition, purposefully chasing exercise was unnecessary and nearly unheard of in Raeth circles. Remmus and Kaien, along with the rest of the lieutenants and their sovereigns, were the exception. He had never been content to let his body purely exist.
Remmus set upon a treadmill with a vengeance. A run always helped clear his head, and he watched as several she-wolves began to gather nearby. Though they remained a studied distance away to appear ‘aloof’, it was clear they were admiring him.
Ever the charmer, he slapped on a flirtatious grin and reveled in their attention. Eager to add fuel to the clearly escalating fire, he caught the edge of his tank and stripped it off, much to the delight of the she-wolves who rewarded him with actual yips.
Ten minutes later, the ladies had remained attentive. He continued playing to his audience, adding a bit of panache to his jog in anticipation of his big move. With an instant teleport to the punching bags, he left the excited chatter flowing in his wake.
Chapter Nine
Ava rolled her eyes even before she knew what the she-wolves were giggling about. More than likely, one of the eligible pack bachelors had taken up residence in the gym and was playing to their affections.
Her wolf snarled when she found her Raeth was the one at center stage. As she drew closer, her internal monologue suddenly became silent.
Shirtless, the Raeth was shredding a reinforced punching bag. Every bared muscle and defined line of his torso was on display like a museum exhibit devoted to masculine perfection. Ava drank up the sight of him like a parched woman who’d just discovered water.
