Four dark letters marked his skin: MINE. Below this cursive script was a detailed open jaw of a wolf, fangs visible as if it lunged for an attack. The word and wolf’s jaw were angled in a way that followed the curve of his thumb to his pointer finger. In my fascinated confusion, I’d failed to notice Hunter sliding his hand up and around my throat, fingers flexing against the sides as he collared me. Using that hold, he drew me toward a mirror on the entrance wall, to show me exactly what he’d done. That MINE, while backwards in the mirror, would be clear to everyone else when his hand collared
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