KAIA

The water feels like silk sliding over my skin.

I float on my back in the spring, staring up through the canopy. Sunlight filters through the leaves in shifting patterns—gold and green dancing across my vision. Steam rises around me in lazy curls.

My fingers drift to my neck. The mark is still tender—a perfect crescent of raised skin where Vincent's teeth claimed me. I trace the shape slowly, and warmth blooms in my chest.

Mine. The word echoes through me, carried on the bond that hums ...