Chapter EIGHTEEN-CASEY

Mind-blowing magical sex notwithstanding, waking up from my post-coital nap to a feeling of intense, searing pain on my chest isn’t exactly funsies.

Like, not at all.

“OW!” I shout, bolting upright in the bed like I’ve just been branded.

The pain is white-hot, blooming beneath my left collarbone and radiating outward like fire on my skin.

“Casey?” Zeke’s voice is immediate, panicked.

He’s up and next to me in an instant, crouching beside the bed like some kind of half-naked cowboy superhero. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Burns,” I groan, clutching my chest. “It burns! I feel like someone pressed a curling iron to my boob!”

He winces, visibly trying not to laugh, and then his expression changes.

Grows serious.

Reverent.

“Let me see, Petals,” he murmurs, gently peeling my trembling hand away.

And there it is.

On my skin, still glowing faintly, is a mark.

Not a bruise.

Not a rash.

A mark—etched in swirling lines of ember and ash, shaped like a rose unfurling in fire.