Chapter 18: The Mark

Rhea's POV

I waited until Ewan was asleep in Sinead's room, with her singing off-key to him, and the house was quiet.

Then I went to find Bram.

He was on the lodge porch in his shirtsleeves, in the freezing dark, watching the road.

"Come inside," I said.

"I'm on watch."

"Garrick's on watch. He's the one with the bad feet and the guilty conscience. Let him earn something."

His mouth tugged.

"Rhea."

"I said ask me when we've won. I meant it. This isn't the answer."

"Then what is it?"

"It's mine," I said. "In three days a judge decides whether my son counts in the eyes of the law."

"And?"

"I don't know how that ends. I'm not going into that hall with a thing I wanted and never took."

His breath fogged between us.

"Say what you want," he said.

"I want your mark."

His whole body went still.

"You said no marks."

"I said no marks until I had my son's grave open and knew what was in it. I've opened it. I know."

"Rhea, if I mark you, that's for life. A rejection can't undo this one."

"I know what a mark is."

"Do you know what mine would do to you?"

"Tell me."

"Every wolf in two packs would smell me on you." His voice went low and rough.

"And I'd feel everything you feel. Every hour. Every time you cried over him."

"Good," I said. "Then you'll know I'm not lying when I say I'm choosing it."

I took his hand, and I led him up the stairs.

His room was warm, and the lamp was low.

I turned and faced him with my back to the bed.

"I'm not drugged," I said. "I'm not cold, or ashamed, or desperate. I want you. Eyes open."

"Then open yours," he said, "and don't close them."

He kissed me.

It was slow and deep, and he held my face in both hands, and I wanted to scream at him to stop being careful.

I pulled his shirt over his head.

I put my mouth on the scar below his collarbone, then on the next, and he groaned and pushed his fingers into my hair.