ChapterNineteen
The cup tumbledfrom her nerveless fingers. Cool water splashed on the tile between them as it rolled away. Josephine’s knees buckled.
The shifter’s reflexes were much faster than her own. In a blink, his chained wrists were looped over her head to wrap his arms around her back, pulling her into his scarred chest.
Josephine dug her fingers into the dense muscle of his back. She pressed her nose into the dip between his collar bones, heedless of the rough metal collar that scraped against her forehead, and breathed so deeply that her lungs could not contain all the air.
The excess escaped her in a shuddering, heaving exhale — not quite a sob but close. Without conscious thought, that exhale blended seamlessly into a frantic, high-pitched purr.
The shifter rested his chin on top of her head. His voice rumbled through her when he asked, “Do you know what it means when a shifter feels called to bite another?”
Josephine shook her head.
“It means that they have met their mate.” His arms tightened around her, but she felt no fear, no worry that he would press and press until her fragile spine snapped. She felt only the shelter of his embrace and the warmth of his skin. “It means that they wish to bind their souls together, to form a pack, to breed and know the joy of watching cubs grow together. The bite — it is a blessed thing, mykone.”
“I am not a shifter,” she cried, plaintive and heartbroken. “I am a werewolf, and if I bite you, I would steal your soul. It is acursedthing for me.”
“Ah yes, you have told me this,” he replied, his tone even. Infuriatingly reasonable. “You believe this is true, and I trust you, so I must accept that it is even though a lifetime of experience has taught me otherwise. I must also accept that you are something I have never seen before, and that your needs, your urges might be different from my own.”
A heavy hand cupped the nape of her neck. It was so large that he could press the pad of his thumb under the corner of her jaw even from that position. Lifting his head, he did so, urging her to look up.
It was habit to keep her eyes on his collar. When he continued to press, gently insisting, Josephine was startled to realize shecouldmove her gaze up over the bearded chin, the full mouth, the crooked nose, the broad plains of his cheekbones, the winding scar that bisected a brow and cheek, to stare directly into eyes alive with the shifter glow.
“Oh.” Her breath hitched. “You have freckles.”
“And you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he replied, expression pinched as if in pain.
A tangle of pride, pleasure, and shame twisted her up inside. “They’re proof that I’m right. My eyes were both hazel before. After I was infected, they changed. They always change. It’s the sign that lyssa is— that there is no hope.” She tried to swallow, but it was like a lump of iron had wedged itself in her throat. “In a shifter, it means their animal has died.”
The skin around the shifter’s eyes and mouth pulled taut. “If it is as you say, then so be it,kone.”
“You are mad,” she breathed, at once heartsick and aglow with warmth. “That is yoursoul.I would never allow—”
“If I must surrender it to have your bite, then I will.” The shifter’s eyes gleamed with a feverish light. “Do you know why,kone?”
Josephine licked her lips. His eyes tracked the movement with rapt focus. “Because— because you do not want me to take the needle again?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but not only that.” The shifter lowered his head and, using the hand on her nape, tilted hers to one side. Her blouse was a hand-me-down from her mother, so the collar was quite loose. He nudged it aside with the tip of his nose.
Josephine held her breath as he pressed his mouth, slightly parted, against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She expected to feel the mind-wiping terror she normally experienced whenever someone came too near to her vulnerable throat, but it didn’t come.
Instead, her insides went molten.
A soft exhalation escaped her. It was a sound of wonder and need.
His lips moved over her skin, dragging slowly back and forth, as his breath puffed in great, hot gusts. Something warm and wet darted out — his tongue, she realized with a tiny, nearly inaudible whimper.
“I want to wear your bite proudly,” he grated. “I want you to dig your wee fangs in deep and draw blood from me,kone.I want you to savage me. I want you to mark me so all who see it will know I am yours.”
“M-Mine?”
“As you are mine.” Teeth, sharp but careful, scraped her tender flesh, sending a frisson of pleasure down her spine. Josephine was so shocked by it, she dug her nails into his skin, desperate to hold on.
A groan rumbled from deep within his chest. “You say that your bite will kill my animal. If this is true, then it will die with no regrets, because it chose you the moment you stepped into this cell.”
Her ears rang. Surely she didn’t hear him correctly. “What do you mean?”
“When we escape from here,kone,”he explained, voice dropping progressively deeper, “I will build you a beautiful den. You will cover it in your pretty paintings. Every day, we will eat together at our table, and every night, I will kiss your soft skin until you beg for me.”
