Valon used to draw out the fights, make his opponents believe they had a chance at beating him, but with the thought of Elena waiting back for him in his room, he was eager to get this over with.

With a kick to the sternum, he sent the unfortunate man who was in the ring with him to the ground, walking over him without looking back. The crowd wasn’t as keen on him leaving the way he was, especially since he hadn’t drawn as much blood as he normally did. They didn’t care that the man was unconscious on the ground; it was about the show for him.

Over his last few fights, Bastian had shown his displeasure with the way Valon was fighting, but he had never vocalized it. Tonight, however, Bastian was back to his usual self, though there was a calculated gleam in his eye that bothered him, but instead of paying it any mind, Valon waited for his nod of approval before leaving the ring.

Walking the short distance back to the house, Valon swiped a hand over his shaved head, his muscles aching at the movement. As he got closer, he frowned seeing Loki sitting outside, his ears perking up as he noticed Valon’s approach. Even during the rare times that Loki was waiting for him, his tail always thumped wildly, but tonight he whined and even when Valon rubbed his head, he still made the noise.

“Let’s go.”

Entering the house, Valon couldn’t help but notice the startling odor that permeated the air. Everything was quite the same day in and day out in this place, so whenever there was something different, no matter how small that change was, he noticed it.

The house was quiet, a little too quiet, but this was usually the case when he had a big fight. Most came out to watch or bet on him. Surprisingly, however, Strom wasn’t sitting at the table watching television as he usually did.

Putting it out of his mind, Valon turned the corner and ran into Fatos. He was one of the few who never seemed bothered by the sight of the blood covering him. Sometimes he wondered if they shared the same sickness for brutality.

With a chin nod in his direction, Valon moved to walk around him but came up short when Fatos blocked his path.

“What do you want?”

“Have you no time for me anymore?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together as he regarded Valon.

An emotion was in his eyes that Valon couldn’t quite read. Maybe on another day, he would have cared to find out what it was, but tonight he was busy.

“I’m busy, Fatos.”

Just over his shoulder, he could see men walking out of his room, and when they caught sight of him at the end of the hall, they paled and hurried off, but not before he noticed the sheets and towels they carried, one stained red.

“Where’s Elena?” Valon asked Fatos, and his tone was anything but playful despite the fact that Fatos was now smiling at him, an expression that did nothing to quell the anxiety Valon felt.

“Don’t worry,” he said placing a hand on his shoulder. “I made sure she understood.”

Valon didn’t think before he had his hand around Fatos’ throat and shoved him back against the wall with enough force that his head bounced against it. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She was trying to distract you from what’s important. I—”

His heart beat just a little faster as he looked from Fatos to his door, and then squeezed his eyes shut as his hand tightened reflexively. “Fatos, what did you do?”

As he waited for the answer that he knew he wouldn’t like, Valon was suddenly struck with a memory from grade school, of a time when Fatos hadn’t gotten what he wanted. They were different then, just two boys smaller than the others. As it had always been, Valon was usually picked on by the older boys, not just because of who his father wasn’t, but because of who his mother was.

Fatos, in his blind loyalty, had never taken well to anyone bullying Valon, especially if he could do something about it.

One night, Fatos had two of his father’s men kidnap the worst of Valon’s bullies and had them tie him to a pole in the middle of town. Fatos had dragged Valon out with him on this night to this place, and seeing the boy, whose name was Esteban—a name that Valon would never forget—he had promptly asked what was going on.

Fatos had merely smiled, then began picking up rocks on the side of the road and started pelting the boy with them with no explanation.

Oh, Esteban had begged, promised to never say anything against them ever again, but Fatos never stopped, never stopped throwing those rocks until the boy was bloody and unresponsive. At one point, he had asked Valon to join in, to hurt the boy the way he had hurt Valon. But Valon, who was too shocked to do anything more than stand there, never lifted a finger.

He should have known what Fatos was capable of, and he should have warned Elena about it, but he had been too arrogant, believed too much in his own strength that he’d never thought the one closest to him would hurt him.

Not like this.

Shoving away from him before he could answer, Valon hurried to his room, Loki at his heels, ignoring Fatos calling him back.

Fear choked him for the first time in years as he stood at the mouth of the door, too afraid to face what he knew was awaiting him. But whatever Fatos had done, Valon would fix it.

She was on her side, her back to him, but it was obvious that she was in tremendous pain from the way she trembled. Soft moans passed her lips, but a cloth that was stuffed in her mouth muffled them.

“Elena…”

He kept his voice low, but even so, she flinched, making him feel worse than he already did. Slowly walking toward the bed, he tried to prepare himself for what he might find when he got to her. He wouldn’t put it past Fatos to rape her, and while he might not have been able to fix that, he could be there for her to help her heal.

“Elena,” he called her name again, laying his hand gently on her shoulder as he turned her over.

She didn’t resist, didn’t fight back, but as her face came into view, he realized why. He might not have known what Fatos had used, but he saw the grisly result of it.

Nearly half of her face was burned, from her forehead to her chin, and even spots on her neck as well.

Valon didn’t realize his hands were trembling until he took the cloth out of her mouth.

“Hurts…it hurts.”

Slipping out of the bed, careful not to jostle her, he went to the bathroom, wetting a rag, and grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the sink.

He bandaged her wounds as best he could, gingerly cleaning off the blood, applying the only ointment he had available to him before applying the bandage and taping it into place. Whether from fatigue or pain, she remained silent through most of it.

Valon had grown used to others staring up at him with sad, pleading eyes as they tried to find any way they could for them to avoid death. And yet, as Valon moved to sit across from her, regret heavy in his heart, he didn’t see any of that from her.

No, she looked resigned, as though she didn’t care whether she lived or died.

Something, a piece of him that he had thought had long since died inside of him clicked back on. For once, he felt remorse for his actions.

“What can I do to fix this?” he asked though he knew, despite everything he was capable of at this point, there was nothing he could do to give back what she had lost.

There was a void in her eyes as she faced him. She didn’t even seem to notice him gently stroking her hair.

“Kill me,” she whispered.

Her words could have been yelled and they would have had the same effect on him. Valon pulled his hand away. Every part of his being rebelled at the idea of ending her life.

“I—”

“Please…I can’t…please.”

She had never begged for anything since she had arrived, not even her freedom, which only told him of the strength of her desire to die.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. And that was the only thing he could say because there were no other words he could offer.

Reaching into the bedside table, he pulled out some of the pills Gjarper had given him, ones that were meant to numb the pain he felt after his brawls. Instead, he helped Elena sit up, placing both on her tongue, then pouring just enough water in her mouth to wash them down. She didn’t resist for a second.

It took a few minutes, but they finally began to kick in as her body relaxed in his arms, and no sooner than that, she finally passed out.

Valon left her there, alone on the bed as he sat in the corner, the same place she had occupied for the better part of six weeks. So quickly had her walls worn down, had she opened herself to him, becoming the one thing he’d needed to escape the darkness he had fallen under after years under Bastian’s care.

He had failed her.

He was meant to protect her from this, from what being with him would cause.

She had trusted him with so much of herself…and what had he done.

Gotten her hurt. Disfigured.

And undoubtedly, she would suffer more the longer she remained with him because this was only a warning. Fatos was capable of much worse and could have done much worse.

Once, he had considered helping her but banished the idea.

Now?

Now he had no choice.