Page 20 of Marked
She blows out a slow breath, letting go of her sleeve so it falls over the scar once more. “He wanted to mark me, but the only way he could get his canines down was by shifting. His claws…”
I suck in a startled breath, eyes popping wide. “But why didn’t it heal?”
She averts her gaze, shrugging faintly. “I don’t know if it’s because it happened at the same time I was marked, or if my body was just in shock at the time… my shifter healing wouldn’t touch it. Hence the scars.”
“Shit, Chey, I’m so sorry,” I grumble, reaching out to take her hand. I lace my fingers with hers, lifting it and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe,” I tell her, meaning it with every fiber of my being. I’ll stop at nothing to protect what’s mine.
The corners of her lips curl in a smile, a faint blush touching her cheeks.
Lowering our joined hands between us, I glance down at the cuff bracelet on her wrist, remembering the other scar she has that’s concealed beneath it. “Is that how you got this one, too?” I ask, eyes lifting to hers.
She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, her blush deepening. “That one’s a story for another day.”
“Ah, so that means you plan on seeing me again,” I drawl with a wink.
“Obviously,” Chey snorts. “You’re doing a hell of a job at sweeping me off my feet, Iver Anderson.” She leans in to smack another kiss against my lips, smirking as she pulls back. “Keep it up.”
“I plan on it,” I declare, grinning widely. “You wanna do something tomorrow?”
“Sure, like what?”
Shit, probably should’ve thought of that first.
“I dunno,” I mumble, racking my brain for ideas. “We could go out for dinner again, or a movie or something…”
“A movie sounds good,” she replies with a nod. “But could we do it here? I’m more of a low-key kinda girl. And then I can wear sweatpants instead of having to do laundry.”
I chuckle at her joke, but part of me is starting to wonder whether she’s kidding around when she says stuff like that. I’ve never wanted for anything, but Cheyenne grew up a lot differently. She was orphaned young; her pack was nomadic. Maybe she didn’t have much because money was tight.
“That sounds good to me,” I say, making a vow to myself to fill her closet full of more clothes than she could ever wear once I win her over. “But since you laughed at my charcuterie board, I’m ordering pizza.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
the freakout
CHEYENNE
Imay not have much experience to base this opinion on, but I’ve decided that every date should involve sweatpants. For one, they’re comfy as hell– absolutely perfect for curling up on the sofa while settling in to watch a movie. And for two, the sight of Iver in his heather grey sweats has been doing unspeakable things to me since I arrived at his packhouse tonight. From the time he answered the door with those pants riding low on his hips, the thin cotton leaving so little to the imagination, I knew I was in big,bigtrouble.
We greeted each other with a hug. Then, a kiss. And for the first time in over two years, I found myself aching formore.
Of course, Iver’s a consummate gentleman, so our greeting at the door didn’t devolve past that. Probably a good thing, considering I have no idea how I’d react if he tried. That’s the thing about trauma– it’s wildly unpredictable. I never know if or when it’s going to turn me into a raving lunatic.
What is it that this guy sees in me, again?
The mate bond strains in my chest as if in answer to that question, and I look up to see Iver returning from the kitchen with fresh drinks in hand for each of us. My pulse flutters as hedraws closer, his lips pulling into one of those criminally sexy grins.
Retaking his spot beside me on the couch, he hands me one of the glasses, raising the other to his lips and taking a sip. I wonder if he even likes vodka cranberry or if he’s just drinking them because he thinks they’re my favorite. It’s cute that he remembered what I ordered at the bar the first night we met, but to be honest, I’m not very particular about what I drink, so long as it’s strong.
He makes them strong.
I’ve found I don’t need as much liquid courage as I used to, though. I’ve quickly become comfortable around Iver, slowly building trust and getting to know more about him. Javi was right; he’s a good guy.Far too good for me.
I glance over at him as he settles in on the sofa next to me, the hem of his t-shirt riding up as he shifts his weight to get comfortable. My eyes zero in on the tan strip of skin at his waist as I catch a fleeting glimpse of his lower abs. My mouth runs dry and I quickly avert my gaze, distracting myself by leaning forward to grab another slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table.
Iver picked it up from some place called Dino’s in Stillwater. I’ve already had three slices, but it’s hard to resist going in for more when this is by far the best pizza I’ve ever tasted. Although it admittedly feels a little weird to be stuffing my face right now while Tom Hanks’ character is currently starving on screen.
In an adorably endearing effort to stay on-brand after watching Survivor together, Iver selected Castaway for our movie night. Turns out, it’s actually a solid choice for a date since there isn’t much dialogue– we can exchange all the commentary we want without missing anything important.
