Chapter 23: The Mark

The moon went dark on the third night, and the north tower was black except for the fire.

I stood in front of it in a plain white shift.

At my neck, tied in a neat bow, was Odessa's silk scarf.

Hattie had slipped it into my saddlebag at the cottage gate, with a note that said: In case you want to burn it.

Lucan sat on the edge of the bed behind me and did not speak.

He had told me three times in three days that I could stop at any moment.

I had told him three times to shut up.

I put my fingers on the knot.

In the cottage kitchen I had never been able to loosen it.

It slid open at the first touch.

The silk slithered down my collarbone into my palm.

I looked at it, pale and soft and bitterly familiar.

"Six years," I said.

I dropped it on the fire.

It caught at the edge, curled, and burned.

I did not watch it finish.

I turned to Lucan, and I lifted my hair off my neck with both hands.

"Come here," I said.

He stood and crossed the room.

He stopped a hand's breadth away.

"Tell me again," he said.

"I want your mark. All of it."

I held his eyes.

"I want your teeth in my neck and your name on me, and I want you to do it while you're inside me."

His eyes went silver.

"Say it once more."

"Fuck me, Lucan, and mark me."

He made a sound I had never heard from him, low and raw, and he picked me up.

He laid me on the bed and pulled the shift up and over my head.

His hands were rough and slow on my ribs.

He kissed my mouth, and my throat, and my breasts, taking his time.

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