(GILBERT'S POV)
"The mark," I said abruptly, and my voice came out sharp, cutting through the warm morning air like a knife. "On your neck."
Jasper's hand drifted unconsciously to the curve where my teeth had broken skin. The bite had healed overnight—supernatural healing, faster than anything I'd ever seen—but the scar remained. A dark, raised mark in the shape of my teeth. A likely permanent brand on his otherwise flawless skin.
His smile softened. "I know."
"You're not angry."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A desperate, confused statement that hung in the air between us like smoke.
"Angry?" Jasper turned to face me fully, his amber-gold eyes warm. "Gilbert, why would I be angry?"
"Because I—" I gestured vaguely, my face burning, my chest tightening with something that felt dangerously close to panic. "Because I attacked you. Because I marked you without permission. Because you may have a mate waiting for you out there. Because I—"
