Viktor is coming for me and I am sitting on the back of Knox’s motorcycle with my thighs wrapped around him. His hand on my inner thigh instead of the handlebar, but it is a safety violation that I’m choosing not to address because that hand is partially shifted.
His fingertips are harder than they should be, the nails darker at the tips, pressing into the denim of my jeans with a pressure that hovers between human and not – and the bond is broadcasting a signal that translates roughly to MINE MINE MINE on a loop so loud I can feel it vibrating behind my teeth.
He parks on campus and walks me to the humanities building and kisses me in the hallway in front of forty students and a professor I don’t recognize, and the kiss is not subtle – it’s the kind of kiss that makes people stop walkin
