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Last night, when I begged him to take care of me, his throat was a thick column of unbroken skin.
That was last night.
This morning? It’s not unbroken any longer.
It’sscarred.
And I’m the one who gave him the marks he now has permanently etched on the side of his neck.
CHAPTER8
RIVER RUN
I’ve never been so Luna-damned grateful that Duke has the ability to sleep like the dead before now. He was so careful not to let the silver chains brush me, even after we collapsed in a heap of sweaty, sated limbs together, he angled his gorgeous body away so that I didn’t accidentally get burned.
That makes it easy for me to untangle myself from him. And I have to. Someone will be coming by to let Duke out of the chains soon, whether it’s Bobby or Grant or any of the other pack council members, and I have to be long gone before they do.
I’m glad I came to him. I’m glad that Duke and I mated. We went into the act knowing that it was just sex. Just a way to work out the need that was riding us both. If he said ‘yes’ to me, it didn’t matter that his erection was meant for anyone else. In that moment, it was mine.
Duke was mine.
But I wasn’t supposed tomarkhim.
I… can’t believe I did that.
Standing over him, I stare at the thin white lines that travel the length of his throat, horror building. No denying that the bloody marks from last night have faded to a stark scar. I don’t understand. They should be gone. Like, I know that I was out of my head with lust when I clawed him, butthey should be gone. There’s no good reason why the cuts have turned to a set of scars instead of healing. Enough time has passed that, with his regenerative properties, Duke should have healed completely while we curled up against each other, sleeping off the rest of the fever.
Should be gone.
Should have healed.
Isn’t.
Am I seeing things? I know I’m not, but I have to double-check anyway. It just doesn’t make any sense. Shifters don’t scar. Unless we use a silver compound to create a shifter tattoo, or we purposely keep the mark, it’ll disappear shortly after we’ve been injured. For those lines to linger on his thick throat, Duke must have wanted them to stay.
Why? I… I have no idea. I thought I made it very clear last night that this was just another way for him to take care of me. I needed him, and once he understood how desperate I was, he was more than willing to give me what I needed. And, sure, I told him he could do whatever he wanted to me as long as he didn’t mark me, I made no promises.
But that was because I was sure that he’d erase any marks I gave him. He’d have to. If he had a mate out there that he was drawn to but, for some reason, couldn’t have, then he wouldn’t want to wear evidence of our mating on his skin… right?
That’s what I thought. That’s what I expected.
So why are they still there? Because they are. They totally are. Four thin lines run jagged down the side of his neck. Duke is a big guy. A strong male. Anyone who sees those scars will know exactly how he got them. It wasn’t a challenge that left him marked, it was a female.
It was me.
Worse, I marked a male with anintendedmate.
That’s the reality come crashing down on me as I crawl away from him. Last night, I was so desperate, I didn’t care that the chains were evidence that he was meant for someone else. I might have decided that Duke was the perfect male to mate the first time, but that just meant we were two adults sharing one night together. He was suffering from the moon fever as much as I was, so it couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t a bonded male, and until I saw those chains, I didn’t think he had a mate of his own in mind.
He agreed, I tell myself. This isn’t Gem and Ryker all over again. He could’ve said no… but would I have pushed it if he did? I want to believe that I wouldn’t have, but when you take a look at my track record… I’m not so sure I would have.
It doesn’t matter that I was responding to the Luna’s pull on me. Every shifter knows that moon fever is real. For unmated shifters, it’s a nuisance more than anything. I’ve known packmates who get through it by exploring each others’ bodies, and those like me who just grin and bear it. It’s no picnic, I promise you, but it was manageable.
Last night was… not. I always heard that the needs get harder and harder to resist as soon as there’s some kind of bond between two shifters. Whether it was fated or chosen, it didn’t matter. He had a bond, I propositioned him anyway, and when he said ‘yes’, what did I do? I clawed him—
—but he kept them.
He called himself my male.
