“Mating.”
“Mating. What about it?”
I closed the page about the memoirs of Graham Aelfdene. Then wrote a few words on the search engine and when multiple websites link appeared on the screen, I turned the laptop to Val.
“Mating. It varies from population to population, but the main idea is the same. Two individuals become mates after they both carry a mating mark. It’s like… wearing a wedding ring in our culture,” I said.
Val acknowledged. “I’m afraid even to ask what the mark is.”
“It’s something you always bring with you, and you never lose it. It’s a scar. And the scent of the one who marked you,” I replied and fixed my eyes at the screen.
My best friend gave me a curious look. I didn’t look at him. I reached for the collar of my t-shirt, pulling it away and revealing the scar the
