Drogo stiffens above me as his gaze lands on my neck. I feel the same tension as yesterday. The way his eyes change, the way his muscles struggle to relax.
His lips part gently, canines growing as he slowly leans close.
I shoot my hands to his chest, stopping him from coming closer. He snaps back to his senses, whispering a ‘Sorry.’
Why does he still want to mark me? Is it because his chosen mate is gone and the full moon is today? Perhaps.
The day goes by, peaceful and quiet. I find myself talking more than usual, asking him about the orphanage and the rogues he protected and saved. Honestly, I'm still shocked he is actually the opposite of what the rumors say about him.
I turn ghostly pale after he admits he is over two centuries old.
Only Lycans can live this long, and they are n
