Instead, she tilted her head deliberately, exposing the smooth curve of her neck. My stomach twisted. Dark hickeys bloomed across her skin—fresh, unmistakable. That space should have held my mate’s mark someday, but instead, it bore evidence of her nights with him. She wasn’t even trying to hide them. Each bruise felt like a deliberate insult, a silent reminder of what she had taken.
Xavier didn’t appear bothered in the slightest.
He focused entirely on Liam, carefully slicing the boy’s meat into smaller pieces. When Liam thanked him, Xavier smiled gently, his expression soft in a way I hadn’t seen directed at me in weeks. I watched that quiet moment, the tenderness of a father, the scene I once imagined sharing with him when we had our own pup.
Foolish.
Victoria’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Brielle, would you mind passing the juice? It’s closer to you.” Her tone was sugary sweet, but the innocence in it felt fake.
I glanced at the pitcher, then back at her. “You’re perfectly capable of reaching it yourself.” My words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t bother softening them.
The table fell silent.