Yoa's palm lingered on the faint purples and blues along Nova's skin, his thumb grazing gently as if he could erase them with the tenderness of his touch. His brows knitted, a low growl humming in his chest before he steadied himself. She had proven her strength today, but the sight of her battered form twisted something inside him.
It was tradition, and only now that he had a mate, he realised how much he disliked it. When he was younger he didn't think much about it. He was proud of Nova but to see her like this now, her muscles sore and covered in bruises, it made his beast hungry for a fight. He wouldn't do that to Veyra, she was only playing her part as the only female, besides his mother, to put Nova through that rite.
'How are your arms now?' Yoa asked, his fingers traced over her bicep like she was made of silk.
