"Please let people think this is a hickey and not a bruise."
Cherion leaned closer to the little vanity mirror, squinting at the spectacular mess of purple and red blooming all over his throat. He tilted his head, poking at one particularly dramatic mark right over his pulse point, which was currently beating like it had somewhere urgent to be.
Honestly, his neck looked like Zarius had gotten hungry and forgotten how moderation worked. And the worst part? Looking at it made his legs feel weak all over again. Fantastic. His reflection stared back at him, flushed cheeks, damp curls sticking out in every direction, and eyes way too glassy for someone insisting he was "totally fine."
