Clayton Blackridge
It feels surreal as she lay sleeping in my arms, her light snores and the odd whimper has me wrapping my arms tighter and pulling her to me. I really should think about running her a soothing bath, knowing she will be tender. I still can’t believe she gave herself to me fully.
I trace my finger over the scars that run all over her back and upper arms, the guilt at not being there to prevent them slams into me, but I shove it aside. The black veins are still spreading towards her heart from the bite on her neck; The thought has my wolf growling in my head, how dare he try to mark our Mate.
I can’t help studying her face from her full lips to her small nose and high cheekbones. She is perfect and she is mine. I wonder what my mother would have thought of my little mate
