Imani
He didn’t say what I think he said…did he? Please, Goddess, tell me he didn’t say that he marked me.
“I-I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“I marked you,” he responded plainly.
“Without my consent? We talked about this.”
“It was in the heat of the moment,” he tried explaining.
“But what about the ramifications?” I asked, trying to break through to him.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “How is anyone going to know?”
His fingers trailed beneath the water and wrapped around my thigh. He propped my leg up, giving me a view of his mark. It was raised against my flesh, resembling a fang.
“What do you think?” he asked hesitantly as I traced the mark with a finger. I could hear the uncertainty in his voice—a subtle fear that I would disapprove of his mark.
“It’s unique,” I whispered. He snorted, and I relaxed against his chest. “It’s a good thing,” I insisted.
“You’re unique,” he said, reminding me that we still needed to get to the bottom of what I was.