I looked at myself in the mirror cataloguing all the marks Byron left on my skin. There were bruises, bite marks and scratches everywhere. I turned to look at my back and winced. There was a particularly nasty looking imprint of teeth on my ass cheek, and a shiver ran down my spine as I remembered how I got it.
Why did I choose to stay in those cuffs? Am I tied to the psycho now?
Jesus, how hard did he grip me? Most of the bruises were shaped like Byron’s hands.
I’m an idiot. A stupid, fucking idiot. What the hell have I done?
I stared at my face again, hoping to see some sign of regret or fear or at leastsomethingthat told me what I’d done with Byron was a mistake. But there was nothing.
Every time I looked at a bruise or mark, I saw the moment I’d gotten it. The way Byron had taken what he wanted. The way he’d used me. I remembered the ragged breaths, the warmth, the desire and the way he looked at me when he was caught in the depths of chasing his own needs. I’d felt wanted. Hell, I’d feltseen.
There was a soft knock at my bathroom door.
“Are you alright in there?” Byron asked from the other side. “You’ve been in there a while.”
We’d come to my place early this morning because it was warded better than the Morozov Mansion. I also didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s Christmas if calling the Memory Wraith went horribly wrong. Which was a high possibility.
At least I wasn’t on my own.
That was…nice.
Urgh, there was that fucking word again. Nice. I needed to work on expanding my vocabulary.
“Wilder, I will break down the door if you don’t answer me.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. Just resigning myself to the fact I’ll have to wear turtlenecks for the rest of my life.”
“But then no one will see what I’ve done to you,” he said, sounding petulant and pouty.
“Just wait for me downstairs, Byron. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I heard his footsteps retreating out of my bedroom and down the stairs. There was a definite stomp to them as he walked away which had me smiling fondly.
With a resolute sigh I turned away from my reflection and threw some clothes on. I decided against the turtleneck, opting for a black slim fit V-neck jumper and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans instead.
When I got downstairs Byron was casually sprawled out on my sofa texting someone on his phone. He didn’t look happy. Well, he never really lookedhappy. I suppose he looked displeased. His mouth was pinched and his brows were drawn down sharply.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he grumbled. “Damyr wants me to hunt down a known associate of the guys from the drug den.”
“I thought you liked hunting people,” I said as I dropped into the spot next to him.
“I do, but I want to be here with you. You’re more important.” He put his phone back into his jacket pocket and finally looked at me, his eyes cataloguing all the marks he could see on my skin. “Fuck. You look good.”
My cock thickened at the predatory way Byron was staring at me. He swiped a finger along the dark purple bruise on my neck, and I shivered at the bite of pain that bloomed beneath his touch.
“I look ridiculous.”
Byron’s eyebrows dropped into a harsh scowl. “No, you look defiled.”
Jesus.
Byron’s bright blue eyes darkened as he leant closer and a soft purr came from somewhere deep in his chest.
“So,” I coughed. “The Memory Wraith?”
He smirked at my changing of the subject and pulled back. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”