Page 70
“My eyes are up here, De Lacy,” she said, before she straddled me and gripped my hair. She tugged, pulling my head back, exposing my neck. I felt like the luckiest prey, my eyes still on hers as she rubbed the berry along my bottom lip. “Open up, Alpha,” she said.
Alpha. I smirked and opened my mouth, intending to practically swallow her fingers the way she had mine, but she said, “Only a small nibble.”
I obliged, but before I could bite through it, she let go and leaned forward. She bit the other end of the berry, her lips brushing mine as her hand left my hair and trailed down to my neck. Her grip tightened as she stole the berry from my lips. As the tangy sweetness burst in my mouth while her tongue swiped across mine in a languid, sensual dance. She kissed me like I was the air she needed. Like I was more quenching than blood. All the while, her hand remained firmly around my neck. A reminder.
I was hers.
For now, I reminded myself. For now.
37
IS IT OVER?
AURA
The dying flame of a candle flickered with stubborn persistence as my eyes opened. I’d expected daylight, but no sun poured through the curtains. The intermingling of our scents wrapped me in an embrace as tangible as Sylvan’s arms around me. His heart beat a steady rhythm against my cheek, his breaths slow and serene, but something told me he wasn’t asleep.
The haze had parted from my mind, and for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel as if I was teetering on the edge of instability. There was a certain blissful exhaustion. One that wasn’t brought on by night sweats, unpleasant memories, or the illness holding me in its clutches.
“Is it over?” I asked, my voice soft and raspy as if stripped raw.
“Is what over?” asked Sylvan.
“Ah, so you are awake. Are you watching me sleep, De Lacy?”
His chest rippled beneath me. “Maybe.”
We settled into a comfortable silence for a while, then I clarified my earlier question. “My Heat. Is it over?”
His fingers stroked through my hair, catching in the messy waves. He smoothed it away from my nape, and the coolness in the room chilled my skin. I shivered slightly, and he reached down, fumbling for something. He pulled a blanket over us and pressed his chin lightly atop my head. “Yes, I believe it is,” he said. “How do you feel?”
“Tired. Satisfied.”
My hand pressed against his chest, my fingertips roaming over the soft hair, ridges, and bumps. I could make out the scars beneath my fingers as they moved down to his side. But among the slashes, something interrupted the even distribution of scars. It felt oddly familiar. My sudden shift made Sylvan draw in a sharp breath. I tugged on his side, and he rolled very slightly toward me, though bewilderment drifted from him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m trying to see something.”
“On my side? My scars?”
“Yes.”
Then I found one unlike the others: a semi-circle with small indentations. My heart nearly flew out of my chest. It pounded, adrenaline threading through me.
“Aura?” Sylvan sat up just as I did. “What’s the matter?”
I’m certain there was a frazzled look on my face as I gestured toward his side. “Is that from sparring or something?”
“Some of them, but—”
“No, Sylvan. The bite mark.”
“The what?” His hand flew down to the spot, and his body twisted as he tried to get a better look at it. His eyes flicked left and right as though his brain was trying to scramble for an explanation. The candlelight wavered a few more times then plunged the room into darkness.
There was a mild glow in Sylvan’s eyes, and I knew he was seeing every emotion that rushed into my face as clearly as I saw his. “Sylvan?” I whispered.
“I didn’t know I had that,” he admitted.
