Marked

Gianna.

His lips… God, his lips were fire.

The moment Ivan’s mouth claimed mine again, everything inside me snapped. There was no ceiling, no walls, no logic — just heat and want and a maddening hunger that clawed up my chest like it wanted to devour me from the inside out.

His hand slid around my waist, pulling me against his bare torso, his skin burning like a brand. A whimper slipped out of me — humiliating, desperate — and his grip tightened as if he liked the sound.

I hated that he liked the sound.

I hated that I liked that he liked the sound.

But the heat didn’t care about hate.

I parted my lips before I could think, inviting him deeper and — moon above — he took full advantage. His tongue brushed mine, and my knees nearly gave out.

He growled, low and rough, catching me before I fell. The vibration of his chest against mine sparked through my veins, my wolf pressing forward like it wanted him to consume us whole.

I should have pushed him away.

I should have screamed at him.

I should have remembered that hours ago, he kissed another girl just to spite me.

But instead… I clutched his shoulders.

And he smirked against my mouth.

Arrogant jerk.

His lips tore from mine, trailing down my jaw, my throat, lower—until—

Pain. Pain like a blade.

A sharp shock sliced into the curve of my neck. I gasped — no, cried out — and dug my fingers into his arm, nails biting into his skin. My wolf howled, wild and furious.

It hurts—

Ivan, stop—

Why does it—

But the agony twisted into something dizzyingly sweet — pleasure rolling through the pain until I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. My breathing hitched, turning into soft, broken moans. The room spun. My heart thundered like a beast trying to escape my chest.

Then warmth flooded the bite.

A pulse.

Another pulse.

Like he was breathing something into me.

My mind struggled against it—

What is happening?

—before pleasure drowned the thought entirely.

I didn’t remember how we got to the bed.

Just heat and skin and the unbearable need to be closer—closer still—

I gave in.

*********

Hours later, I lay on my back, chest rising and falling like I’d run a marathon. The sheets twisted around my legs, the air thick with the aftermath of something I didn’t have words for.

Ivan lay beside me, one arm thrown behind his head, breathing uneven. His scent — pine and storm — clung to my skin, soaked into my bones. It filled every breath, every thought. Even the silence was heavy with him.

I turned my head slightly, studying his profile in the dim light. His jaw was tense, lips parted slightly as if he were lost in thought. I wondered what he was thinking. Regret? Triumph? Maybe nothing at all.

Because that was Ivan — impossible to read.

Silence stretched.

Heavy. Dangerous.

Louder than the thunderstorm inside my head.

Finally, he turned his head slightly, voice low and rough, “I don’t want you around Cole. I don’t like the idea of it.”

Seriously?

Out of all the things he could’ve said first… that?

I blinked at him, disbelief crawling up my spine. “That’s on you, Ivan. I told you already — you don’t get to decide who I talk to. Do you see me controlling you?”

His eyes shifted to meet mine. Dark, unreadable. “You decided not to,” he shot back immediately.

“That’s because I don’t care,” I lied, feeling my chest tighten.

His lips curved — not in humor. “Really? You didn’t look like you didn’t care earlier.”

Heat pricked my neck at the reminder — the girl he kissed just to hurt me. Just to prove something to himself. I could still see her. The way her lips touched his. The way he looked like it didn’t mean anything, but somehow it did.

I forced my voice steady. “Goodnight, Ivan.”

I rolled away before he could say anything more. My heart raced too fast for sleep. My body was still hyperaware of him — of his every breath, his every shift beside me. The warmth of his skin lingered on mine like an imprint I couldn’t wash off.

But exhaustion dragged me under anyway.

When I woke up again, the space beside me was cold.

Ivan was gone.

For a moment, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, disoriented. The sunlight filtering through the curtains painted the room in soft golds, but everything felt sharp — too bright, too quiet.

I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my pounding forehead. The sheets smelled like him. I hated that it comforted me.

My wolf was stretching lazily inside me, smug and satisfied.

He tasted good, she purred, a purr that rippled through my chest like warm smoke.

We could do that again.

“Shut up,” I muttered, heat rushing to my cheeks.

I slipped out of the bed, wincing at the delicious ache between my thighs — a painful reminder of how thoroughly he’d—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Absolutely not.

I grabbed a robe and padded into the bathroom. The mirror caught my reflection, and I quickly averted my gaze, unwilling to see the mess of my hair or the flush still painting my skin.

I turned on the shower. Cool water cascaded down my body, steam curling around me, fogging the glass. It eased the heat in my muscles, calmed the storm inside me, at least a little.

Then—

Ow.

My fingers brushed a tender spot at the base of my neck. A sting shot through me — not unbearable, but sharp enough to make me wince.

I frowned and tilted my head, trying to feel the area again. It was slightly swollen… but I shrugged it off.

Probably just his teeth.

A love bite.

God.

I finished showering, wrapped a towel around myself, and walked to the mirror again. As I used another towel to dry my hair, my gaze slid—and caught on a spot near my neck.

My heart stalled.

A mark.

Darkening into a deep purplish crescent.

Right where the pain had been.

I leaned closer, chest tightening.

I touched it again.

A bite.

Not just a hickey.

Not just a bruise.

A… claim.

The air left my lungs.

For a moment, all I could do was stare, the sound of the dripping shower fading into a dull hum. I blinked, once, twice, hoping it would vanish — that maybe I was imagining it. But no. The mark stayed.

And the longer I looked at it, the more I could feel it.

A faint pulse beneath my skin.

A warmth that didn’t belong to me.

A whisper that hummed softly, insistently — like his energy was inside me, linked to mine.

Rory’s voice rose, clear and undeniable, cutting through my panic like a blade:

He marked us.

The world tilted.

The ground beneath me vanished.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head violently as if I could undo reality. “No, no, no—he didn’t—he wouldn’t—”

But deep inside, I could feel it.

A new bond.

A pull.

A thread connecting me to him, humming under my skin like an unbreakable chain.

I stumbled back from the mirror, clutching the counter for balance. The world felt smaller, heavier. My heart beat too fast, too loud, like it was trying to escape my chest.

Marked.

The word itself made my stomach twist.

I’d heard stories — whispered warnings about how marks changed everything. How it bound two souls in ways neither could control. How it wasn’t something that could be undone.

And he did it without even asking me.

Without telling me.

My reflection stared back at me — wide eyes, trembling lips, the faint shimmer of tears that refused to fall. I lifted a hand to my neck again, fingertips tracing the edge of the mark, and the moment I touched it—

A spark.

A flash of warmth that traveled down my spine and settled deep in my stomach. My knees almost buckled.

I could feel him.

Not in the room. Not physically. But there.

Somewhere in the bond, in the quiet, his presence pulsed faintly like a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.

It was terrifying.

And somehow… intoxicating.

I hated it.

I hated him.

I hated that even now, with everything spinning out of control, my wolf wasn’t angry. She was content.

He claimed us, she whispered again, softer this time.

We’re his now.

“No,” I breathed, shaking my head again. “No, we’re not. We’re not his. We can’t be—”

But the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

And the ache blooming in my chest felt like the bond tightening in response.

I pressed a hand to my neck again, trying to convince myself that it wasn't real but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside me had shifted permanently.

That Ivan Wolfe — the boy I swore I’d never want — had just become inescapable.