Page 76 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“So much better,” she says, and I have resist the urge to puff up my chest with stupid macho pride. Because fuck yeah and fuck you Bastion Babblebrook and Random Fae Stranger.

“So. When are you going to magically collar me?” I tease.

“Don’t say it like that,” she says, scowling up at me. “I’m not marking you as my territory.”

“You totally are. And I’m totally game for it.”

“Some Dom you are,” she says as she unwinds her arms from my middle.

I crush her against me, not letting her go, my hands braced around her ribcage. “You may mark me, sweetheart, but deep down you’ll still know that when it comes to our private moments, you’re entirely mine. Don’t you?”

Her face immediately goes scarlet, then she folds against me again. “Fuck, Damien.”

I laugh, scooping her hair from behind her over her shoulder, tugging on the end of it gently. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” I say. “I mean, you did provoke me.”

“I did,” she admits. “Can I put clothes on?”

“Mnnn, I suppose I can allow it,” I tease, kissing her forehead. “Where do you want to do your magic collaring? In the living room? The bed?”

“Living room,” she says as she leaves the bathroom. I watch her hips sway beneath her towel and feel desire warm up my chest all over again. Damn. I can’t believe I get to call her my girlfriend. This is the best thing that could possibly happen.

I make a point of improving our usual little palette of blankets and pillows on the floor, starting up a fire because it’s a little chilly tonight and I want my girl to be comfortable and cozy while she collars me. I smile to myself, amused by my own stupid jokes. I sit down and Gloam materializes from somewhere in the apartment, butting her head into my hand and demanding pets.

I pick her up and curl her into a little shrimp shape before nuzzling my forehead against hers. She purrs loudly, and I pepper her head with kisses that get her all wound up, her pupils going wide as saucers before she chirps and zooms off into the kitchen. I snort a laugh just as Lillith returns, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that goes down to about her mid-thigh. It’s tie-dyed black and gray with screen printing on the front and down the sleeves with a bunch of cute witchy designs—moons and moths and Tarot cards.

She carries a small cigar box that looks like it’s about fifty years old. She sits down across from me, her legs folded under her as she sets the box down between us. She’s piled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun that makes me just want to make it even more messy, but I stop myself.

She worries her lower lip with her teeth before she finally opens the box and starts taking out a collection of tools.

There’s an old silk handkerchief, yellowed with age. A selenite slab. A pocket knife. A piece of white ribbon. A small bowl inlaid with abalone shell and copper and some kind of black stone. She sets it all out in a neat little line, taking her time. I realize something. after she adjusts the ribbon for the third time.

“Are you stalling?” I ask.

“I—M-maybe,” she mumbles. “I’m just... not looking forward to...” she sighs. “You’re going to make so much fun of me.”

“Is it blood stuff?” I ask.

She groans, dropping her head back. “It’s totally blood stuff,” she whines.

I laugh warmly and shake my head. “So you do—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—have a blood kink.”

“It’s not sexual. It’s romantic,” she says. “Sort of.”

“Sort of. As romantic as vampires brainwashing their favorite meal tickets can be,” I tease. “Should I let you bite my neck, too?”

“I’m going to kill you,” she gripes. “If you keep this up, we’re not gonna go tomorrow.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Tell me what we’re going to do. I promise to behave.”

She exhales and nods. “So, this is sort of like a miniature version of a handfasting. When a vampire does it, they do actually drink the blood of their thrall and their thrall drinks theirs, but for our needs, this is a more energetic bond. It’s less about having each other’s blood in our systems and more about our essences being wound together. It’s not... uhm... as serious as a handfasting—”

“Handfasting?”

Her skin flushes scarlet, but she simply continues. “With this, anyone we encounter in The Buried City will see a little refraction in your aura that looks like mine—like a crystal catching the light in just the right way.”