36

The lust heating her gaze fled as curiosity returned. “By getting naked?”

My shirt fluttered to the ground, and before I could direct her gaze to my mark, she gasped.

“A tattoo?”

I shook my head. “A brand.”

She moved closer, her hand hovering just above the mark seared into my skin. It had taken days for my uncle Lucas to etch the silver into my flesh. And twice as many more for it to heal enough for me to wear anything over it.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered, glancing from the angry red skin and back up to my face.

“Yes. But it’s supposed to. It’s the mark of a traitor.”

“What? Why would you have that?”

“Because, my little wolf,” I said, lifting my hand to cup her cheek. “I chose you.”

Her brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”