The next morning was an exercise in humiliation.
I woke up alone, Liam having left before dawn again. My body ached, a pleasant, heavy soreness that spoke of the night before. But when I looked in the mirror, I groaned.
The bite mark on my neck—the anchor he had placed there to settle the bond—was angry, red, and impossible to hide. Even with a high-collared flannel shirt buttoned to my chin, the bruise peeked out like a neon sign saying CLAIMED.
I walked down to the dining hall, keeping my head down.
The chatter stopped the moment I entered. Fifty wolves fell silent. Eyes darted to my neck, then quickly away.
I grabbed a piece of toast and sat next to Jack.
"Don't say a word," I warned.
Jack took one look at my neck, his face turning a brilliant, tomato red. He choked on his coffee
