"Ash?"
I don't answer. Just lower my head to his neck, to the spot where it meets his shoulder, and press my lips there. He shivers.
"Can I?" I ask against his skin.
"Can you what?"
"Mark you. Properly."
His breath catches. "You mean—"
"I mean I want to bite you. Right here." I scrape my teeth lightly over the spot, feeling his pulse jump under my mouth. "Soeveryone knows you're mine. So you know you're mine. Is that—do shifters—"
"Yes." The word comes out rough, almost desperate. "God, yes. Ash, please."
I bite down.
Not gentle. Not tentative. I bite him hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark, hard enough that he'll carry this for the rest of his life. He arches up against me with a sound that's almost a sob, his hands grabbing at my back, pulling me closer. I hold the bite until I taste copper, until I know it's going to scar.
When I pull back, the mark is already darkening on his skin. My mark. My claim. My teeth in his flesh, my ownership written on his body where everyone can see.
"Mine," I say.
"Yours." His eyes are wet, his voice wrecked. "Always yours."
I kiss the bite, gentle now, soothing. "Did I hurt you?"
"Yes." He's smiling, though. Glowing. "It was perfect."
I settle back down beside him, pulling him against me, and he tucks his face into my neck like he's trying to crawl inside me.
"That's permanent," he says quietly. "For shifters. A bite like that, it's... it means something."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you can't take it back. Even if we—even if this doesn't—"
"Jason." I tip his chin up so he has to look at me. "I'm not taking it back. I don't want to take it back. You're mine. That's not changing."
He stares at me for a long moment, searching my face. Whatever he finds there makes him relax, melting against me like he's finally letting himself believe it.
"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."
He settles against me, and I wait for sleep to come.
It doesn't.
My brain won't stop running scenarios. Jason at the bar—what if someone starts trouble? Jason on his bike—what if a truck doesn't see him?
I've been doing this since I was a teen and our dad had just checked out, and suddenly I was the one who needed to know where Robin was at all times. The military didn't create this. It just gave me better tools. And then Brennan happened, and every worst-case scenario I'd ever imagined became real.
Now I've got Jason, and I've just marked him as mine, and my brain is screaming that I have something precious I could lose.
"What's going on? You're not sleeping," Jason murmurs against my neck.
"Sorry. Just thinking."
"About what?"
