Page 33 of Marked
She’s mine.
I nip her lower lip with my teeth as I pull back to look into her eyes again. “Nothing will ever hurt you again, okay?” I pant, bracketing her face in my palms. “Not even yourself. I’ll make sure of it.”
Her amber eyes turn glassy as she blinks back at me, nodding.
“And these battle scars of yours?” I add, reaching for her left hand and raising it between us. “They’re beautiful.” I press a kiss to her inner wrist. “Just like you.”
She laughs through a sob, throwing her arms around my neck and burying her face in the crook of my neck. “How are you so perfect?” she whispers against my skin.
“You’reperfect,” I growl back, relishing in the way it feels to hold my mate in my arms. This is what I was built for. To comfort her, to protect her, toloveher.
“I’m glad you think my scars beautiful, because I don’t,” she sniffles, wiping at her cheek as she lifts her head to look up at me. “I hate looking in the mirror and seeing that mark.”
“We could replace it with mine,” I suggest, winking.
Her lips spread into a grin. “Iver Anderson, are you suggesting you want to be bound to me for the rest of your life?” she asks teasingly, cocking her head.
“You’re damn right I do,” I growl.
She giggles as I nuzzle into her neck, throwing back her head as I press kisses against her skin.
“Well, when you do it, I want it on this side,” she muses, bringing her fingertips to the junction of her neck and right shoulder. “I don’t want your mark anywhere near that other one.”
“Done,” I agree readily. “Any other requests? You want like a candlelit dinner beforehand, a dozen roses, that kinda thing? I could grand gesture the shit outta this, baby, just say the word.”
Chey barks a laugh, shaking her head. “Just shut up and kiss me, Iver.”
I lean in and crush my lips to hers, scooping her up by the backs of her thighs to straddle my waist. Her legs wind around me as I claim her mouth, and the two of us make the most of our day playing hooky, starting in the shower.
CHAPTER TWELVE
the double date
CHEYENNE
“We’ll start with the calamari and bruschetta,” Iver tells the waiter, snapping his menu closed.
The older gentleman nods, jotting the order down on his notepad and murmuring, “Good choices.” Then he turns to me, his brows lifting in surprise when he sees the empty wine glass sitting in front of my place setting. He only delivered the drinks a few minutes ago, but I wasted no time in draining mine. “Another Pinot?” he asks in an even tone, though I don’t miss the poorly concealed judgment in his gaze as his eyes flicker between me and my empty glass.
“Um, yes, please,” I reply quietly, fingering the stem of my glass and avoiding his eye contact. I mean, who the hell is this guy to judge me? He doesn’t know my life.
Iver picks up his own wine glass, bringing it to his lips and draining it in solidarity. Then he turns to the waiter with a ridiculously fake smile as he sets it down. “Another for me as well,” he says brightly. “Actually, we’ll just take a bottle.”
The waiter jerks a nod and hurries away, clearly not missing the silent warning lurking in Iver’s gaze or the protective alpha energy rolling off him in waves.
I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me, but I’m not exactly complaining about it, either. It’s nice to have someone in my corner. Though Javi’s always been there for me, having an actual mate hits different.
Truthfully, I was more than a little freaked out when the full moon confirmed me and Iver as fated mates. Since I was already marked, I didn’t think fate would give me a mate, and I’d come to terms with that. I’d let go of all the ridiculous childhood fantasies I had of finding my forever person and falling madly in love, but then Iver swept in and reminded me why I used to dream of those things– because our connection is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, and every minute I spend with him heals another piece of my battered soul. Whether he knows it or not, ever since the night of the full moon, he’s been slowly putting my broken pieces back together.
We’ve admittedly had our share of hurdles to face over the past couple weeks. Other than Javi, I never let men get too close to me, so I never fully realized what a visceral reaction I’d have to attempts at physical intimacy. The first time Iver hugged me, I damn near had a panic attack.It wasn’t cute.
He didn’t go running in the other direction, though. He stayed and helped me breathe through it, and he’s been nothing but patient with me ever since, slowly working to pull down the emotional barriers in my mind while finding his way in. The man has the patience of a saint, never pushing me to do anything I’m not comfortable with and allowing me to slowly open up to and accept him at my own pace.
As if he can sense he’s on my mind, Iver slides a hand onto the table between us, offering it to me with his palm up. This is the way he always initiates contact now- by offering it, but never forcing it upon me. And I appreciate the hell out of him for knowing what I need without my having to voice it. I place my hand in his without hesitation, and he curls his fingers aroundthe back of my palm, giving it a little squeeze of reassurance and meeting my eyes.
“You know what you’re gonna order?” he asks, gesturing to the menu in front of me with a dip of his chin as he strokes his thumb over the back of my hand.
“Javi keeps talking up the lasagna,” I say, darting a glance to my best friend seated across the table.
