Bite Me

Waking up next to Mason was something I'd love to get used to. Especially when I was waking to a shower of kisses on my forehead, nose, and cheeks. My eyes fluttered open and met his.

Mason Kane's eyes intrigued me. I was fascinated by the gold specs in his bright blue irises. Even more, I loved the way that those specs overcame his eyes entirely whenever he felt a strong emotion; anger, happiness, even lust. I'd gotten used to the change now, from blue to gold, but it amazed me no less.

"Good morning, Tiger," I smiled warmly at probably the only person, except for maybe Cella, who could disturb my sleep and not get punched in the nose; just because I don't need rest doesn't mean I don't love it.

"Morning," Mason said, running a large hand through my hair. "We overslept—breakfast starts in like fifteen minutes.

"So? Let's just skip it," I suggested with a shrug.

Mason shook his head. "Can't. You might not have to eat, but I do."

I pouted, but nodded in understanding. "Alright, well I'm not going. No point in getting up just to sit at a table and pretend I hate you."

     My eyes darted to his neck, and I spotted the two small punctures I'd left on his skin; bite marks. Werewolves healed fast, and yet the marks were still there, faded but still visible. I wondered if they'd ever fully disappear. I let my fingers glide over them, and felt a strange sense of possessiveness knowing that I'd left my mark on Mason. He was mine. "You'll have to cover this up," I told him.

Mason's hand went to his neck and he wrapped his fingers around mine. "I don't know, I kind of like it. I'll just call it a mosquito bite or something." He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. "Activities start right after breakfast, so if you don't go, you might not be able to participate."

I scoffed. "You make that sound so tragic. I'd honestly rather drop a leech down my pants than play flag football with your fuckboy buddies."

Mason snorted and shook his head amusedly—it wasn't as if he hadn't heard the term before. He knew I didn't like his friends very much. "I'm pretty sure that's not on the schedule," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Besides, I heard that your partner for the activities is your tent buddy," he added, smirking when I raised my eyebrows—the cocky bastard knew he'd gotten my attention. "Think about it—you and me tearing down my fuckboy buddies all day long."

The idea did sound appealing, even I had to admit. I sat up in the sleeping bag and said, "Pass me my stuff. Gotta get ready for breakfast."

Mason just laughed, shaking his head and reaching over to where my bag sat.

***

     The "activities" planned for the day turned out to be very outdoorsy and athletic as I'd expected, but—thank god—there was no flag football.

     Nonetheless, I had to spend my day outside in the cold with bugs and grass and small animals that popped out of literally nowhere. Not my idea of a good time, but Mason had been right about us tearing down his friends. That certainly made my day better. I was no athlete, but I was naturally strong and agile, and so was Mason.

     In other words, the opposing teams didn't stand a chance. Mason and I won in nearly everything, from relays to canoe races. Even the bulkiest football players fell behind us.