Daemon
I had been sitting on the edge of the bed for a good ten minutes, staring blankly into space.
The mark.
I could feel it on me — hot, alive, as though something new was pulsing beneath my skin, something that was at once utterly unfamiliar and yet maddeningly right.
Catching my reflection in the wardrobe mirror, I turned sideways once again, trying to get a glimpse of the same pattern I had seen on Diana’s back that morning.
My mate.
The thought still felt almost unreal. I let out a short breath and rubbed a hand over my face, trying to work out how on earth I was going to dump everything Diana now needed to know on her without getting something heavy and extremely painful thrown at my head.
The beast was considerably less restrained. He was practically pacing beneath my skin,
