Mark couldn't sleep. He sat in Clarisse's dark living room, staring at the wall. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lyvana. To him, the night they had shared was perfect — the proof he needed that they belonged together.
He felt a surge of love for her, deeper than anything he'd ever known. But beneath the love was a sharp, biting anger. He knew another man was trying to move in on her while he wasn't looking. He felt like he'd been careless, and now he was losing the only thing that mattered.
"She's mine," he whispered to the empty room. "She just needs to remember that."
"Who are you talking to?" Clarisse's voice drifted from the hallway. She stepped into the living room, completely naked, her skin was pale in the dim light. She leaned against the doorframe with a lazy smirk. "Want a quickie?"
"No," Mark said flatly, not even turning his head to look at her.
