Page 212 of Altius
I was the worst kind of hypocrite. A selfish liar who—
“Morgan, stop.” Wyatt’s alpha compulsion was just like him: thoughtful, unflinchingly devoted, and undeniable. “Whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong I can’t stand it.”
“I bit you!”
“Claimed me,” he said, holding me tight, stroking the back of my head and purring so hard it was almost a croon. “Bonded with me. Made me yours.”
“We were supposed to wait until my heat. Have talked it through and agreed. Made sure we both wanted this. Filed paperwork. Not like this, not likethis. Wyatt, I didn’t mean to, and I’m so—”
Firm lips silenced me, forcing my apology back into the churning chaos of my gullet. “No apologies. Ever.”
His eyes were so intensely blue that I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think.
Or maybe it was the hypnotic pull of the bond forming between us, transmitting a steady thrum of contentment and joy that overrode my panic, until I had no choice but to believe him.
“Y-you’re happy?” I stammered.
Wyatt kissed the center of my forehead and let out a massive purr, blanketing me in pure bliss. My tension melted away, leaving me limp and on the verge of sleep.
“Happiest moment of my life,” he whispered.
The invisible line sparkling between us left no room for doubt.
Our bond may have been an accident, but it wasn’t a mistake.
Fifty
Morgan
When I came to, it was almost ten-thirty the following morning—and I was nuzzling my mark on Wyatt’s skin.
“Don’t stop,” he mumbled, voice syrupy with sleep and satisfaction. “Needs tending.”
After giving the wound a few licks for good measure, I eased back, taking a good look at my bite for the first time.
It was on the right side of his chest, just beneath his collarbone. It was misplaced, as far as traditional mating bite locations were concerned, but thankfully easy to hide with a shirt.
Just like my tattoo.
No,exactlylike my tattoo.
I abruptly sat up, looking between the colorful rings inked into my skin and the location of Wyatt’s bond mark in disbelief. Not only were they in the same place, but they were also roughly the same size.
Wyatt rolled onto his back and gazed up at me with a boyish smile.
“Imighthave had something to do with the placement. Sensed you were about to bite and shifted at the last second.” Reaching up, his fingers traced an oval beneath my right breast—the location of his own Olympic ring tattoo. “I wanted us to match.”
My head throbbed, and not because I’d missed the designated time for my morning pills. “You thought that far ahead?”
“Of course. Haven’t you?” Wrapping an arm around my waist, Wyatt pulled me back down, urging me to resume tending to his bite. “I’m not saying that I have to bite you on the ribs. Given that you’re going to wind up with four bites, you’ll probably want a symmetrical—”
“Four?”
I tried pulling away again, earning a reproachful huff from Wyatt.
“You know how to count, Morgan. Don’t make me do it for you.”
“But we’re months, and I meanmonths, away from that. Your brother and I haven’t even kissed.”
