Page 293 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

The heat that rushes through my body makes me stop shivering.

Valek shirtless in the glow from the fire and the moon above is... a lot.

Every muscle of his body is visible and defined. A god carved from marble. And his scars…

There are so many scars.

A silvered stab wound between his ribs. The puckered starburst scar on his shoulder I've been afraid to ask about. The small, very old round burns scattered across his whole body like stars, the kind that could only come from something pressed deliberately against skin over and over.

Cigarette burns.

Everywhere.

I'm certain that's what they are. I've read one too many articles about "self-harm indicators" thanks to Wade's asshole lawyers. Except most of these are in places he couldn't have reached.

Someone did that to him.

Valek adds another branch to the fire and crouches beside it, feeding the flames patiently. Sparks spiral into the dark sky. The fire crackles and pops, and even tucked back in the shallow cave, it's warm enough that I stopped shivering a few minutes ago.

The firelight flickers across the sharp planes of his face.

He's beautiful.

"Are you certain," Valek says, his eyes flicking up to me, "that you don't want to fire the flare gun and have your feral mate and the three stooges here in a flash with blankets and hot chocolate with marshmallows?"

I snort. "No chance in hell," I tell him, pulling my thermal away from my skin in the one spot that's still wet where the fire hasn't dried it out. I'm pretty sure the flare gun is in the river anyway. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

He exhales through his nose and turns back to the fire, adds one more piece of wood that sends a shower of sparks up, and then he's on his feet, crossing the distance between us in three long strides.

The cave is more of a deep overhang, but Valek has to duck as he slips in to join me and settles at my side in the warm darkness. He sits close enough that his bare arm presses against mine. Even through my wet sleeve, I can feel the heat of his skin, and I lean against it.

He blinks sideways at me, his white lashes low.

"So," I say, looking up at him. "Are you too drowned to mark me tonight?"

His eyes darken. "I'm not drowned."

"You sure? Because you look a little⁠—"

He kisses me.

His hand catches the side of my face and his mouth presses harder against mine, desperate and hungry, and he still tastes like blood from his split lip.

I grab two fistfuls of his wet hair and pull him closer.

He growls against my lips as his other hand finds my waist. He hauls me into his lap easily, and I go willingly, my thighs straddling his hips, my back arching as his mouth moves from my lips to my jaw to the sensitive spot below my ear, nipping at the flesh there.

"Val—"

His teeth scrape my throat.

My fingers dig into his bare shoulders as I roll my hips against him and feel how hard he already is through his pants. My whimpers echo in the shallow cave.

"You're sure," he murmurs against my throat.

"I pepper-sprayed you in the face and tackled you into a river." I pull back just enough to look at him. "Do I seem like I wouldn't tell you if I wasn't sure?"

His lips twitch.