"You want a piece of Ark's cock too?"
Cecilia sneered.
It wasn't the sharp, guarded expression of the Saintess. It was wider, crueler, a blade finally drawn from its sheath after seven years of being sheathed in patience and compromise. She deliberately stepped half a pace from Arkai's shadow, no longer hiding the state of her dress.
The tear at the bodice gaped, revealing not just fabric rent by clawed hands, but skin beneath. Skin marked with the vivid and possessive evidence of what they'd been doing.
A faint scratch along her collarbone. The bloom of a fresh bruise at her throat, still darkening. Older, fainter marks, silvered lines and faded blooms from a different kind of claiming.
She let Elara see it all.
