Chapter 8: Thorn Mark

The moon-fire burned in a ring of black stones at the top of the valley, and the whole clan came to watch.

Hesper had taken Tuck, and he went with her gladly, looking back twice.

That left me alone in the firelight with a man who hadn't touched me since the cliff.

Darek stood opposite me across the flames.

His face was unreadable, and the firelight made his eyes look gold.

"You don't have to do this," he said, low. "I can say it's my doing. That I wouldn't let you."

"Is that what you want to say?"

"No."

"Then why offer?"

His jaw tightened.

"Because I think it will hurt you," he said. "And I would rather it hurt me."

It was the most he had said to me in one breath.

I didn't know what to do with it.

Brannoch stepped into the circle with the clan at his back.

"The bond mark," he said. "Show it."

I held out my left wrist.

The mark on my skin was a thorn-shaped scar, pale as a fingernail, and as dull as it had been the first morning.

Darek turned his own wrist up.

His was a dark, crisp thorn, black as ink, and it caught the firelight.

A whisper ran through the crowd.

His mark was strong.

Mine was dead.

"Touch," Brannoch said, and his voice was almost kind. "Let us see."

I stepped around the fire.

Darek held out his arm, and I put my wrist against his.

Nothing happened.

I felt his skin, hot and dry, the pulse thudding under my fingers, and my own pulse jumping to meet it.

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