Page 70 of Coveted

“There.” His voice is low and taut. “It’s done. Now everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” I ask.

I raise my hand to wipe off the blood, but Lucan stops me.

“Not yet,” he says.

The urge to clean the blood is almost overwhelming, but I’m afraid he’ll just put more on me, so I stop trying.

“What was that?” I ask in a harsh whisper. “What did you do?”

He closes the knife, returning it to his jacket. “Marked you.”

“Yeah, no shit! Why?”

“Ask your friends. They seem to know.”

He goes to the table and wraps a napkin around his bleeding hand.

With his departure from the altar, the other guests talk among themselves, their eyes darting between Lucan and me. Stepping down from the platform, I make a beeline for Juliette and Clara.

“Are you okay?” asks Juliette. “I didn’t know what he was doing at first.”

“I still don’t,” I say, looking to Clara. “What gives?”

Clara’s eyes drift to my forehead. “Darkbloom seniors can choose another student to mark as theirs.”

“Theirs?”

“Under their protection, by punishment of violence. Reeve told me about it.” Clara snickers. “My brother’s never marked anyone, because that would involve caring about somebody other than himself. Not many seniors do it, because once they claim someone, they’re bound to that person forever.”

My shoulders stiffen. “Bound? Forever?”

“Our lives continue beyond college, you know? Darkbloom students stick together after we graduate. That’s even more true of seniors who claim someone.” Clara sips her wine. “Lucan publicly chose you. Now everybody will know that if they mess with you, they answer to him.”

“And no one wants to answer to Lucan Hale,” says Juliette with a shudder.

“It’s another layer of protection for you,” says Clara.

Protection or suffocation?

I sigh. “He could’ve asked me first.”

Lucan comes over to us, looming in the darkness like a handsome nightmare.

Clara raises her eyebrows at me, checking whether I want to be left alone with him.

I give a subtle nod.

She puts her arm through Juliette’s and they melt into the party.

God, how can I speak to him normally now, knowing he just staked his claim over me for all to see?

“You’re an asshole for that,” I say.

“Right, I know,” he drawls. “I’m the worst. Come to the roof.”

“Why? Want to put more bodily fluids on me?”