I wake several times during the night.
My neck aches, the marks tender and throbbing. Julian wakes immediately. He gets water, ibuprofen, helps me sit up to take them. "Better?" he murmurs.
"Better."
He settles back beside me, hand finding mine.
I sleep.
I wake again to Tyler carefully adjusting my position, making sure I'm not putting pressure on the marks. His hands are gentle. "Sleep, love," he whispers.
I do.
The third time I wake, it's to find Calder watching me in the dim light. Storm-gray eyes soft, expression unguarded. "Okay?" he asks.
"Perfect."
His thumb brushes my cheek. Through the bond: overwhelming protectiveness, fierce love, quiet wonder. "Thank you," he says. "For choosing us."
"Thank you for choosing me back."
"Always," he promises. "Every day. Forever."
Sleep takes me again, safe and marked and pack.
Morning comes slowly, like it's unsure whether to disturb us.
The light through Calder's blinds is pale and diluted, caressing skin and sheets and the quiet tangle of limbs. I wake before the others, not fully, enough to notice the difference in my body.
The marks are warm.
Not surface warmth. Not soreness.
Heat.
It pulses beneath my skin like a second heartbeat, subtle but unmistakable. When I swallow, I feel the stretch of healing flesh. When I breathe, something low in my abdomen tightens in response.
Carefully, I slide from the bed. Calder shifts, half-waking, but doesn't stop me. I feel his sleepy reassurance—go—and Tyler's contentment pressed warm against my back. Julian stirs, mind already brushing against mine in quiet curiosity.
In the bathroom, I face the mirror.
The marks have darkened overnight.
They are no longer raw red. They've settled into deeper shades, bruised plum and wine, edges already knitting, teeth impressions clear and intentional.
Behind me, the door opens quietly.
Calder's reflection appears first, tall, bare-chested, storm-gray eyes darkened with something deeper than worry. Tyler slips in behind him, warm hazel gaze luminous even in the morning light. Julian follows last, analytical even now, but there's nothing detached in the way he studies my reflection.
I meet their eyes in the mirror.
Calder leans down first, close enough that his breath warms the fresh bite on the left side of my neck.
The skin reacts instantly. Heat flares under the surface, sharp and electric, a pulse so strong my knees almost buckle.
His jaw tightens.
I feel it before I see it, the instinct. The alpha surge. The need to reaffirm what he just did. To press his teeth back into the mark and deepen it. To make it undeniable.
