She’d fallen back asleep. When I was sure I wouldn’t wake her, I pulled away. I chased sleep folded in the corner of the tent. If I slept next to Mary, neither of us would rest. She was too tempting. Whether she realized it or not she had been begging for a bite. Mary’s body reacted like a shewolf’s, demanding to be claimed. Where I would place her matemark had sparked under my mouth. Our chemistry was palpable and saliva flooded my canines at the thought of sinking my teeth into her skin. I was done questioning it. I pushed every doubt away. In the morning I would give my little witch a history lesson. She needed to know what a matemark meant. Then we had to discuss how to turn her. I couldn’t watch her grow old. I couldn’t watch her die. I needed this little witch by my side. I needed her to stand strong beside me. As my neck pain woke me, even I had to admit the risks for turning Mary were probably low. She was my mate. There was no reason that her body shouldn’t accept my blood.
