Lysa's POV
"Werewolves don't exist!"
I said it again, more firmly this time, as if repetition alone could make the idea more ridiculous.
Mia sat cross-legged on my bed, watching me like she was trying to peel something off my face.
"You don't have to get defensive," she said.
"I'm not defensive."
"You are."
I sighed and rubbed my neck unconsciously.
Her eyes followed the movement immediately.
"That mark really looks like—"
"It was just a kiss. It's a hickey," I added quickly. "Some guys are… rough."
Jason's face flashed through my mind.
Scumbag.
"He was just a total scumbag who deliberately left visible marks on my neck as some kind of twisted power play. Showing off his "abilities" without any consideration for my feelings or how I'd have to explai
