Page 85 of Love & Heart Braking

Bile rose in my throat, and I forced it back. “So when you get angry, this cuts in because your berserker form is larger?”

“Yes. That’s the idea. But my type usually presses the spike in before we reach that point.”

I’d seen him do that. My chest tightened. “Why?”

His tone was wooden. “Because if we lose control completely, then that’s us done. There’s a lot of fear to being a berserker. We fear what we feel, and yet our power is what we feel. It’s a constant battle to keep ourselves in balance.”

I did my best to absorb that, tracing over the neat rows of circle scars that were like a stack of bracelets.

“This is nothing compared to some berserker’s arms,” he said quietly. “I only have four rows. Some of my type have scars up both arms. There are some perks to having spent most of my teenage years in berserked form.”

Don’t cry. I’d told him I could handle this. “Most berserkers wear these cuffs then?”

“All, yes. Except when we’re in each other’s company. Then, displaying your scars—or lack thereof—is considered a status thing.”

“Because with fewer scars, your control is greater?”

His focus hadn’t budged from my face this entire time. “Assumed to be, correct.”

I found the resolve to look at him.

Devereaux’s face softened, and he lifted his scarred arm to grip my chin. “Sweetheart, your pain is in your eyes. You can’t hide it.”

I sniffed. “I wish you didn’t have to hurt yourself is all.”

“As do I. But the thought of what happens is worse than the reality. In times of struggle, I’m grateful for the cuff’s aid in sharpening my logic.”

A lump rose in my throat, lending my voice a hoarse quality. “Thank you for showing me.”

He nodded and replaced the leather cuff again.

The air felt heavy, and I really didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle the harsh truths of what he was.

I nudged him. “You put the cuff back on. That means you have to take your pants off instead.”

Devereaux chuckled after a beat. “I knew it the moment I saw you.”

I smirked, settling back for the show. “What’s that?”

“That when it came to you, I was in well over my head.”

19

I looked out the carriage window at the cypress tree tunnel and shivered. Just like the first time, the Cinereses’ driveway was giving me the heebie-jeebies.

Tonight was my first day. From now until whenever this nightmare ended, I’d work for the twelve on Thursday and Monday evenings.

Yay.

The cypress tunnel ended, and I caught sight of the foreboding stone towers and open walkways—or rather, flyways—of the phoenixes’ abode.

The carriage door was opened by the same butler. He hadn’t died in the interim, which surprised me more than anyone.

“Miss Concordia.”

He sure wasn’t this polite last time.

“Hey.” I beamed and descended the few steps. “Nice evening for it.”

---