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Summary
“I don’t care that you joust. I don’t care who wins. Your tournaments bore me and it’s cruel to the horses. But I do care when the wounds are deep, Junhee.” Donghun fits the edge of the blade into the wound, light, precise with attention, as if it were the first incision of one of their surgeries. Fresh blood blooms around the blade. Donghun bends down and blunt teeth dig into his neck; not the sweet, crisp pain of their usual love bite, but a warning in the crescent brand of Donghun’s jaw. “I’m the only man allowed to leave marks that stay.”
