The Beast’s Mark (1)

Charlotte woke up the next morning feeling sore in places she didn't even know could ache.

Blinking against the soft morning light, she pushed the blanket aside and let out a sigh of relief 

Damon must have taken care of her after she'd passed out—she didn't even remember falling asleep, let alone cleaning herself up. Yet, her skin felt fresh, and the sheets beneath her were clean.

Then, something else caught her attention.

What was she wearing?

She definitely hadn't brought a change of clothes, yet here she was, dressed in an oversized white shirt that practically swallowed her whole. The sleeves hung past her fingertips, and the fabric draped loosely over her body, brushing against her bare thighs.

Instinctively, she lowered her head, pressing her nose to the fabric.

Damon.