"The Fever Mark"
The dream was vivid. Too vivid.
She was in the woods, barefoot, moonlight turning her skin to silk. The wind whispered her name, and trees bent toward her like they knew her scent.
And he was there.
In the shadows.
Watching.
Then moving.
His hands pinned her against a tree, mouth at her neck, breath scorching.
"Mine," he growled.
And she arched into him, whimpering, wanting—
Lyra woke with a gasp, sweat slick on her thighs, her core pulsing with a need that hadn't faded in sleep. Her sheets were twisted around her body like ropes, and the room felt five degrees too hot.
She threw off the covers, heart racing.
What the actual hell?
This wasn't normal.
Not just the dream—the ache. The bond. The fire he left inside her.
She stumbled into the bathroom, flicking on the light, avoiding her reflection until her vision cleared.
And then she saw it.
On her neck. Right where his mouth had hovered.
A mark.
Not a bruise. Not a hickey.
But a faint crescent-shaped imprint, like a bite that never broke skin. It shimmered under the light, a faint silver glow buried just beneath her skin.
She touched it. A shiver ripped through her.
She remembered his words: You're mine.
"No," she whispered, staring at the mirror. "No, you are not doing this. This is not happening."
But the mark said otherwise.
So did her body, still trembling, still throbbing. Still burning.
She jumped when her phone buzzed again. A message from Kayla.
KAYLA:
Did you make it home? I had to leave early. That whole thing last night was freaky af.
KAYLA:
Also, pls tell me that insane hot guy wasn't real. Because if he was? You're cursed. That stare was not human 😳
Lyra swallowed hard. Kayla wasn't wrong.
There was nothing human about that man.
His voice still echoed in her bones. That scent. That stare.
And the worst part? Even now, after sleep, after a shower, after trying everything to forget him—
She still wanted him.
Desperately. Shamefully.
Fantasies kept flashing in her head — his mouth on her, his hands pushing her open, the feel of his growl against her throat as he took her—
She shoved the thought down with a whimper and buried her face in a towel.
She needed answers.
And only one person might know what the hell was happening to her.
Meanwhile, in the woods beyond Brimridge, Riven Blackthorn stood shirtless by a glacial river, breathing hard, fists clenched.
He'd marked her.
Not intentionally. Not physically.
But the bond had slipped through. It left a trace.
And now she would feel it.
She would burn.
And he couldn't stay away much longer.
His Beta, Elias, appeared behind him.
"You said this was a ghost town job. One rogue. In. Out. Now you're panting in the woods like a dog in heat."
Riven didn't look at him. Just growled.
"She's mine."
Elias froze. "What?"
"It happened."
"You imprinted again?" Elias' voice dropped. "Riven, that's—impossible."
"I know." His voice was jagged. "But it happened."
And gods help him—
He wanted her.
Even now, he could smell her scent on the wind, taste the heat of her skin, remember the pulse in her throat.
And if he went back?
He wouldn't leave without claiming her.