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“Belinda—”

“I’m talking to my fingers.”

“Oh.”

I glare at my hand.

“Knock it off.”

Another spark pops. Clarissa makes a squeaky little sound.

I point at her. “Don't.”

Her lips clamp together. I finally manage the bra, then grab the first shirt I see and yank it over my head.

Everything is fine.

Last night was sex.

Fantastic, mind-blowing, possibly ruined-me-for-other-men sex, but still sex.

Damian was very clear before anything happened.

I can't promise you anything, Sweet.

I agreed.

Two adults. One night. No promises. No expectations. No ancient supernatural binding rituals.

“We’ll undo it. it was a mistake. He didn't mean it!”

I shout the last.

Clarissa blinks. “What?”

“The bite.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“How?”

“Because he told me he has nothing to offer me.”

Clarissa's face softens. Fuck. I don't want that either.

“No.” I shake my head and grab a pair of leggings. “Absolutely not. Do not look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you're about to say something profound and emotionally insightful. I haven't had coffee.”

“I was just going to say⁠—”

“Nope.”

I step into my leggings. My foot misses. I hop sideways. Clarissa reaches for me.