The sterile scent of the healing balm did little to soothe the pain churning within Selene. Wrapped in a soft gown, she sat on the edge of the wide bed, her fingers tracing the still-tender skin of the crescent scar on her neck.
The memory of Zephyr's possessive claim, the raw, primal act of marking, sent another shiver down her spine.
Ever since she woke up, she had been bombarded with flashes from last night. His wet tongue against her skin, his breath fanning against her, the tingly sensation…..
She had also acknowledged a new wave of unfamiliar but peaceful emotions she was scared of paying attention to.
She had been cleaned, tended to by the usually silent, efficient Channe who offered no words, only swift, practiced movements and little assuring smiles.
Channe had averted her gaze even more than usual. Selene could tell it had to do with the scar she now bore.
