Saoirse
The moment my fingers graze the sore, burning patch on my neck, something inside me shatters.
No.
No, no, no.
I stumble back from him, clutching the sheets to my chest like they could protect me from the betrayal pulsing through my veins. My throat burns—not just from the mark he left, but from the scream caught in it.
“Y-You—” My voice cracks. “You marked me.”
His golden eyes are already on me, shimmering with that dangerous mix of lust and pride. His lips are still wet from where his fangs dug into me.
And he has the audacity to smirk.
“I never wanted him to,” I whisper, like that makes it any less horrifying.
“Of course you didn’t.” He takes a step toward me, his voice low, almost tender. But underneath it? A threat. “Princess, let’s not pretend. You didn’t want Cain. Y
