"I am angry." He admitted.
Zarek's eyes traveled over her. He looked at every inch. He looked at the bites on her breasts. The bruising on her hips where Syris's hands had gripped her too tightly.
He looked at her stomach, which was slightly swollen, though Roxy hadn't noticed yet.
His jaw clenched so hard that Roxy thought his teeth might crack.
He reached out, his thumb brushing over a particularly dark bite mark on her shoulder.
"He marked you everywhere," Zarek whispered. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation. "There isn't an inch of you that doesn't taste like him."
"It's the Season, Z," Roxy said softly, shivering. "You also did the same when you were having yours."
"I know," Zarek snapped. "I know he is your mate. I know I have no right to be angry."
He began to wipe her arm, scrubbing at the skin with firm, almost rough strokes. He wasn't hurting her, but he was erasing the scent.
