Chapter 55

Staring at my bloodied fingertips, I see the bruises around my wrists and my lips part when I notice the handcuffs hanging from the headboard.

“It was so we didn’t mark him,” Zyla says sleepily, coming forward.

“He doesn’t want us to mark him?” I ask her, my stomach sinking at the thought.

“What, of course, he does. He was worried you would hate him if we did it while in heat.”

“But that wouldn’t