“Your heart is racing,” she whispers, placing a hand over my chest as if to steady the thrumming in my chest. I laugh, pieces of my damp hair falling in front of my face. “No one told you? I don’t have one.” She smiles, bright and blinding. All Lyra and all mine. Her lips kiss the hickeys on my neck, and she preens beneath me, so proud of her claim on me, admiring the dried bloody hearts still staining my skin. My chest aches uncomfortably when she speaks again. “You can take mine.”
