Page 166 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“So…” I swallowed hard. “How does it work?”

His hands stilled for a moment. “Traditionally, we mark our mate’s neck.” His voice dropped to a rumble that sent my stomach aflutter. “With our teeth.”

My hand flew instinctively to the spot where Kit had bruised my skin, fingertips finding the faint marks that had long since faded.

“And… that makes it official? Seals the bond, or whatever?”

Kit’s eyes searched my face, thoughtful. “I… I actually think it’s deeper than that. More than just marking.” His thumb brushed across my collarbone. “I think all we need to do is choose it. Choose each other.”

I bit my lip, worry creeping in despite the want coursing through me. What if it didn’t work? What if we discovered that Kit had been wrong all along? That his attraction to me had been a glitch, nothing more.

Kit responded by lifting me from the sofa in one fluid motion, carrying me the few steps to the massive rug spread before the fire. He laid me down as if I were made of crystal, then stretched out above me.

The luxurious rug was impossibly soft beneath my back—thick, plush fibres that seemed to cradle every curve of my body. Kit hovered over me, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

Without thinking, I reached up and brushed the strands back, then let my palm settle against his jaw, fingertips stroking through the coarse hair of his beard.

“Can I?” His hands found the hem of my hoodie again.

I nodded, and he peeled the fabric away, tossing it aside before doing the same with my T-shirt. The firelight painted golden shadows across my exposed skin. Kit shrugged out of his own shirt, and then we were bare from the waist up, the heat of his chest pressing against mine.

I moved to shimmy out of my jeans, but his hand caught my hip.

“Wait,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Not yet.”

Kit settled more of his weight on me, skin to skin, the solid warmth of him pinning me to the rug. His forearms bracketed my head, and I was completely surrounded by him—his scent, his heat, the careful control in every line of his body.

The intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. Like he was memorising every detail of this moment, searing it into his memory. His pupils were blown wide, his eyes more black than stormy grey, and my reflection stared back—flushed and wanting and completely his.

Something tugged inside my chest. Not physical exactly, but deeper. That invisible thread being pulled taut again.

“Breathe with me,” Kit whispered, his mouth inches from mine.

In.

His chest rose beneath my palm, ribs expanding against my touch. My own lungs followed without thought, drawing air deep.

Out.

The exhale shuddered between us, warm breath mingling in the narrow space. Kit’s eyes never left mine, watching as my breathing faltered, then steadied.

In.

This time we moved together. His inhale pulled mine along with it, some invisible current connecting us chest to chest, breath to breath.

Out.

The rhythm settled between us—natural now, inevitable. Like we’d been breathing as one for years instead of moments.

Then I heard it—the steady rhythm of Kit’s heartbeat. Which should have been impossible over the crackling fire and howling wind, but there it was, strong and sure beneath my palm. And somehow, impossibly, it was matching mine. Beat for beat, like we shared the same pulse.

“How are you doing this?” I breathed.

Kit’s lips curved in a small smile. “I’m not. We are.”

Our breathing shifted, becoming opposites without any direction from either of us. As I inhaled, Kit exhaled. As he drew breath, I released it. Back and forth in perfect counterpoint, like some cosmic dance we’d always known the steps to.

The tugging in my chest deepened with each breath, becoming a pull I couldn’t ignore. I found myself drawing in deeper and deeper lungfuls of air, greedy for something I couldn’t name.