EMILI
Amelia was the first to see it.
We were in the kitchen reviewing the day’s orders when her gaze stopped at my neck. She didn’t say anything for several seconds. She simply stared at the mark with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Then she took my hands and led me to a secluded corner, away from the staff.
“Do you know what that means?” she asked quietly.
I touched my neck instinctively. The mark throbbed beneath my fingers, warm, alive, as if it had its own pulse. Two crescent shapes where his fangs had pierced my skin, right at the junction of neck and shoulder. Visible. Undeniable.
“Yes,” I answered, though I wasn’t sure that was true.
“No,” Amelia said, squeezing my hands. “You don’t. Not completely.”
She made sure no one was listening and lowered her voice even further.
