Nana is in her bedroom, in front of the tiny cracked mirror, clutching her scarf across her neck. Her reflection looks tired—puffy eyes, circles under them, glistening forehead. The indentation of his bite still evident beneath her dress seems to sear her skin, painfully reminding her of the Lycan Prince who had claimed her.
“He may have gone far after the last time we saw but I’m tormented by his traces every f*****g day” she mutters.
She anxiously pats the scarf down her arms and fixes it on for the third time. She runs her fingers over the boldly visible line and jerks her hand away as it tingles, sending strikes of pleasure through her. “Get it together,” she whispers in protest to herself.
In fact, for weeks, she has been putting anything she could lay her hands on to cover the sme
