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I dropped the empty laundry basket on my bed, gathering a few items I’d discarded on the floor and the bathroom towels for the wash.

For once, Cyn didn’t fight with me. He left the room every time I entered, which was fine—I didn’t need him. If not for the others, I’d have kicked him out a long time ago.

Frustrated, I smacked a pair of loose pajama pants into the hard plastic basket, hissing as my fingers hit the edge too hard.

Stupid infernal.

Hefting the full basket in my arms, I went downstairs. I’d let the laundry pile up and was down to my last pair of pajama shorts and oversized shirt for lounging comfortably.

I entered the room, ignoring the guys lazing on the sofa, and headed for the kitchen, where the washer and dryer hid behind bifold doors. After setting the basket on the counter, I returned to the living room to grab the cardigan I left beside my purse.

“What the fuck?”

I ignored Cyn’s outburst.

Returning to the kitchen, I tossed the cardigan with the rest of the dirty clothes. When I opened the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, hands yanked me away with a tight grip on my waist. “Hey!”

Cyn spun me around, his glare pinning me as my hands landed on his chest for balance.

Zeke rushed into the kitchen with Ash and Ezra on his heels. “What are you doing?”

Without a word, Cyn dropped to his knees in front of me, face level with my pelvis, and turned me by the hips.

Ash’s concerned voice stopped me from snapping at Cyn. “What the hell?”

I looked over my shoulder. “What? You’re freaking me out.”

Ezra’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Why do you have that tattoo on your leg?”

“What?” I froze. “Oh. That. It’s…” Sighing, I pushed Cyn’s hands off my hips and turned. “It’s a birthmark, not a tattoo.”

Cyn looked up at me. “Birthmark?” His scowl deepened. “You’re lying.”

I put my hands on my hips, glaring at him. “Why would I lie about something so stupid? I have plenty of tattoos.”

This was the exact reason I never wore shorts or short skirts without a pair of tights in front of others. As soon as someone realized my birthmark wasn’t a tattoo, they asked questions or gave strange looks.

Birthmarks should be simple shapes like strawberries or clouds, not something mysterious and occult-like.

I learned early on to keep the mark covered after my so-called friends accused me of cutting myself and practicing witchcraft. I still remember the rumors claiming I belonged to a cult that branded me.

Mom and Dad wanted to confront their parents, but I was so over it that I begged them not to.

I knew humans disliked things they didn’t understand, like strange markings, but infernals as well?

Cyn reached for me again, and I stepped back. I couldn’t handle his hands on me now—or ever again.

“You had to have seen the similarities to the book,” Ezra said, brows dipping as his eyes narrowed. “The mark on the cover is the same as the one on your leg.”

I glanced over at the book on the counter. The only difference between my mark and the book’s symbol was the dots. My symbol had one dot underneath; the book’s symbol had three beneath and one on either side.

How had Ash and Ezra not seen it when I was naked with the lights on? Every other time, the lighting had been low or off.

“The same as us,” Zeke said, stepping forward as he unbuckled his belt and tugged the side of his jeans down. He lifted his shirt, revealing a mark on his hip eerily like mine, except the dot sat on the bottom right instead of the center.

Cyn walked over and slammed the refrigerator door shut.

“You’ve seen mine,” Ash said, his face devoid of all emotion.