"WILL IT HURT?"
Grayson hesitated, his thumb brushing the hollow of Mailah's collarbone where the ritual mark would soon bloom—silver, unmistakable, an announcement to the supernatural world that she belonged to him and he to her.
"It won't hurt," he said finally, his voice low. "But you'll feel it. Like stepping into cold water… and then heat spreading through your skin. Like being seen in a way no one has ever seen you."
Her breath hitched. "Seen?"
He leaned in, his lips hovering just above her shoulder. "The bond allows me to feel your pulse through the mark. Feel when you're near. Feel when you want me." His voice dropped to a murmur that made her toes curl. "And you'll feel me the same way."
She swallowed. Hard. "So basically… magical mutual pining."
His mouth twitched. "Violently so."
They were too close. Too warm. Too everything. The wine, the dim lamplight, the gravity of what she'd agreed to—it pulsed between them, thick as a heartbeat.
