✧ Chapter 8: “Marked” ✧
579 Words
Anne didn’t speak to Matt that day.
He disappeared back into the trees the moment she turned her head. One second he was there—staring, storm-eyed and still—and the next, the forest had swallowed him whole.
But the feeling didn’t leave her.
All through the evening, she carried it like static under her skin. A strange hum that made her flinch at sounds and pace the length of her small room. Something in her blood had changed. She felt weird, watchful. Almost like…
Like she was being watched.
She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair, when she saw it.
A faint mark, just below her collarbone—curved, pale, almost like a crescent moon. She leaned closer, fingertips grazing the skin. It hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t a bruise. It didn’t hurt. But it pulsed faintly with warmth, like it knew something she didn’t.
She dropped the brush, heart hammering. Her mind raced. Could it be a dream?
Could it be from… him?
A knock at the door startled her.
She pulled on a sweater and opened it to find Antony leaning against the frame, his usual smirk dimmed by something more serious.
“You feel it too,” he said without preamble.
Anne stared at him. “The mark?”
He nodded, stepping inside. “You’ve been claimed.”
“Claimed?” she repeated, the word twisting strangely in her mouth.
“Not in the way you’re thinking,” he added quickly. It’s not… permanent. It’s a warning. A signal.”
“To who?”
“To anyone watching you.”
Anne backed up slightly, unease curling in her chest. “Are you saying Matt did this?”
“No.” Antony shook his head, stepping closer. “At least, not consciously. Alphas don’t always control their instincts. If you’ve been near him, if the bond is starting to form…”
“What bond?” she snapped, suddenly cold. I didn’t choose anything. I didn’t ask for this.
“I know,” he said softly. “But sometimes, the bond chooses first.”
She sat on the edge of her bed, breathing hard.
“I don’t want to be part of your politics,” she whispered. I came here to teach. To live a quiet life. Not get dragged into… whatever this is.
Antony crouched in front of her, his face open, pained.
“You still can, Anne,” he said gently. I’ll protect you. From all of it. Even him, if it comes to that.
She looked into his eyes, and for a second, the fear melted. Antony was real—warm, grounding. He reminded her of everything human in her, everything safe.
But then she remembered Matt’s eyes in the trees.
And the way her heart had answered his silence.
“I don’t know who to trust,” she said.
“Then trust how you feel,” Antony said, placing his hand over her heart.
The mark beneath her sweater pulsed in response—like a second heartbeat.
Anne stood abruptly. “I need air.”
She slipped past him and walked out into the cold night. The moon hung low and full, painting everything in silver.
The mark tingled. The wind pulled at her hair. She didn’t know where she was going—just that the trees were calling again.
And somewhere out there, Matt was waiting.
Watching.
And perhaps wondering if she’d come willingly.
- Writer
