His head swam. That had to be relief. Or disbelief. Or something to do with the way his back felt flayed.

"You got strangled," he bit out, easing himself away from the wall; his skin stuck, tacky with something he almost hoped was blood rather than anything worse. He peeled himself away, staggered to his feet, and took stock.

Bruises everywhere, made especially visible by the fact that he was naked. Thick lines of pain throbbed across his back, left hip, right cheekbone, and the backs of his thighs. He decided to be grateful they hadn't cracked him across the ass. His right wrist felt exactly like someone had stamped on it; his head definitely felt like someone had kicked it--repeatedly. The stitched, well-scabbed sword wound down his left flank had escaped mostly unscathed.

And there was the naked thing.

He braced himself on the wall, glanced back at Tsume, and found her very determinedly staring at the ceiling. Ringed around her slim throat, bruises writhed like a black snake. Deep claw marks gouged down through pale and damaged flesh alike, making her neck look like a parody of a sutured wound.

"Thought I was heading home without a partner," he said finally. "S'the kind of thing inclined to knock a man down. But if you call me 'pup' one more time, darlin', I'm going to re-name you flower-cake."