Page 80 of In The Dark
“Do a lot of Fae have them?” I ask as my fingers graze his wounds again, drawing a low groan from him.
“It’s not uncommon,” he gets out between clenched teeth. “Most spend their lives trying to find their connected soul, oftentimes marrying when they do.”
I nod, thinking. “And if someone has one of these… marks. Who’s to say it’s not just a birthmark?”
He chuckles softly. “That would make life easier, wouldn’t it?” he mutters almost to himself. “To believe it was only a birthmark. No need to wonder if there’s a mate somewhere in the realm only meant for you.”
My fingers slow their movement. “So you’re saying it’s not possible for something like that to only be a birthmark?”
“No, I’ve never heard that before,” he mumbles. “If you have a streak in your hair—of any color—it’s a mark. And it means you have a mate in Aurelia that’s bound to you.”
I have to pull my hand back to hide the trembling in my fingers. All my life I believed the color in my hair was a birthmark, and if what he says is true, why don’t I recall getting it? Unless King Elion wiped that part of my memories, but if he did, why?
“So, what makes you worthy of a mate mark in Aurelia?” My finger dips into the tin again as he shifts his shoulder forward for me to reach. His eyes graze mine, a small grin tugging at his lips before shifting his attention to my hands.
“I’m not sure, but I know that the Fates don’t make mistakes with their marks. Some Fae wait a lifetime for theirs to arrive, while others don’t receive one. Some even believe it’s because their mates aren’t born yet, or perhaps they just don’t have one. But if youdoget one, it can be a… lonely life.”
“Lonely?” I frown. “How so?”
“If a mark appears, they spend a lot of time searching for their mate, often turning down future partners in hopes of connecting with their mate at some point. But it’s never guaranteed,” he murmurs.
“How would they know who their mates are?”
“By the color and the location. They align in the same spot,and then there’s… that feeling. The connection, they say, and a couple other details like claiming them during a ritual,” he says.
Interesting.I already know about the mate-claiming rituals, but his words force me to pause, turning them over in my head. The color and location? Would that mean it has to match mine? Truthfully, I’m not sure how I feel about being connected to someone else, but his words leave me curious.
After dipping my finger in the tin one last time, I pivot to rub the salve on the rest of his shoulder when he catches my hand right below the scar on my wrist. My eyes narrow, meeting his gaze, but he shakes his head.
“There’s not enough in there for my shoulder but there’s enough in there for you,” he murmurs, grazing his thumb over the top of my hand, then gives me a lopsided grin. “It’s your turn. Take off your pants.”
I find myself chuckling with a shake of my head, his eyes gleaming with amusement as I wipe the remaining salve back into the tin. “I’m not taking my pants off. Nice try, Your Majesty.”
He chuckles. “Fine, leave your pants on, but you’re getting the rest of it.”
He guides me to sit on his left, pivoting me so that my legs drape over his lap, giving him access to my calf. I put weight into my palms when he takes out one of his daggers. I attempt to sit up, but he pushes his hand against my ribs with lowered brows, halting the movement.
“Relax. I’m just going to just cut the fabric at the knee. It needs to breathe.” He throws me a sideways glance, and I catch the way his mouth quirks as if he’s fighting a grin.
“I like these pants.”
“Well, they’re useless now.”
I groan as he cuts and rips the fabric off with a rough tear, exposing the torn flesh, leaving me to wince as it brushes against the wound.
“Sorry,” he murmurs and then falls silent as he rubs the salve over the back of my calf in soothing but gentle strokes.
The fire flickers, lighting up his face, leaving me to notice how his auburn hair falls to his forehead while he leans forward.
My eyes snake down the left side of his neck, landing on his bare chest, where swirls of dark ink stop right above his nipple. My gaze travels farther down, noticing the hard lines of his stomach. I suddenly find myself wanting to lick the area right above his pant line.Dammit.
My face flushes at the filthy thoughts bouncing around in my head, suddenly feeling too hot even though it’s cold enough for ice to form. A soft breath escapes me, and I quickly close my eyes. I drop my head back, forcing myself to focus on savoring the gentle touch of his callused fingers instead of how he looks while putting it on me.
The salve is cool on my skin, then warms almost instantly. I sit for a few breaths, losing count as I listen to the sounds of the crackling fire, my neck rolling to the side as the earthy smoke fills my nostrils. My body relaxes, an involuntary quiet sigh slipping free.
“There… all done,” he murmurs, and I slowly open my eyes to find him staring at me. I blink, my lips parting as he holds my gaze, then gives me a slow, lazy smirk. “Are you going to remove your leg from my lap?”
I glance down to find his hand has stopped moving without realizing, and my face heats, leaving me to suddenly yank it off. He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty as he tosses the empty tin near my bag on the ground with a clink. But I can’t help but notice that the throbbing in my leg has gone away.