Chapter 7
Lock clicked behind me.
I stood alone inside dressing suite. Air smelled like cedar and perfume. One tall window, frosted glass, latch painted shut. One mirrored vanity, lights dark. Marble foyer chandelier glow bled under door crack. Footsteps of guards passed outside. Door didn't budge when I tried handle.
My nightgown hung torn at left shoulder. White lace edge frayed where his grip had pulled. Bandage underneath showed small spot of dried blood. I breathed. My shoulder throbbed dull, then sharp when I moved wrong.
I sat on velvet bench before mirror. My reflection looked pale, hair tangled. Left hand shook. I reached for bandage tape with right hand.
First pull stung. Adhesive tugged skin. I peeled slow. Layer by layer, gauze loosened. Underneath, claw pattern emerged.
Four lines. Parallel, diagonal, from collarbone toward shoulder blade. Not knife cuts. Deeper at top, shallow at tail. Claw width uneven, like hand not blade. Skin around edges red, swollen. Center still wept clear fluid. I counted again. Four. Same count I'd felt during flash in dusk, when bare-chested man held me outside. Same shape I'd seen in quick bloody image before golden light.
I leaned closer to mirror, turned shoulder to light from under door.
Faint gold showed under skin.
Not on surface. Under. Thin branching lines, like frost or river veins, spread inch below wound edge. Barely visible until I angled shoulder. When I held breath, glow pulsed once, very dim. Color matched memory of joined hands — that golden branching light that had spread across wrist during flash. Now same light nested near my wound.
I touched edge of pattern with fingertip. Skin warm there, warmer than surrounding skin. Pulse under fingertip quickened. Then wrist on opposite arm tingled. Right wrist, where his mark had mirrored.
Pain shifted.
I closed eyes. Thought of young man in car. Dark wavy hair, brown suede coat, striped shirt, hand rubbing wrist, face confused. I pictured him clearly. Thought of his pain matching mine.
Shoulder throb eased.
Not gone. Lowered from sharp to ache. Breath came easier. Golden branching under skin brightened hair, then dimmed again when I lost image.
I tested again.
Looked away, thought of gray-bearded man, dark suit, pocket chain, forceful grip. Thought of foyer drag, his hand on my arm. Pain spiked. Gold faded.
Thought of dark-haired man again — dusk exterior, his arms holding me, eyes closed. Pain eased. Gold returned faint.
Distance didn't matter. Thought did. Bond responded to where my mind went.
I understood then. Mark wasn't just wound decoration. Mark linked. Sympathetic pain I'd seen in car — his wrist rubbing while my shoulder bled — worked both ways. Thinking of him soothed. Thinking of captor worsened.
Floorboards creaked outside. Guard's shadow blocked light under door. Handle jiggled. Voice muffled: "Check in five."
My stomach dropped. I had maybe minutes before door opened and someone saw.
I moved fast. Pressed gauze back over wound, careful not to smear gold pattern with pressure. Gold still faint beneath, but covered now. Wrapped bandage tighter than before, smoothed tape, tucked torn lace of nightgown over edge so tear looked same as before. Hid branching light under white.
Checked mirror. Bandage looked untouched, same as when older woman had last seen it. No gold showed through.
I swept small blood spot from bench with palm, wiped on inside of nightgown hem where none would see. Sat straight, hands folded, breathing slow.
Light under door widened. Lock turned.
May you like
I stared at my left shoulder in mirror and felt ache settle low. Locked suite still locked. But I wasn't alone inside my skin anymore. I held proof under gauze — bond real, not imagined, and he could feel me too.
Door began to open.
