Reputation's Bloom

Chapter 69. Mermaid

Chapter 69

As the morning light poured in through the small window in the tent, Wendy yawned, reached for the hem of her shirt, the fabric soft against her fingers as she pulled it over her head. She could hear the everyone's voice outside as they prepared for breakfast and a day of hiking. Not wanting to keep them waiting, she quickly tossed her dirty shirt back in her bag and grabbed a clean tank top. But the moment she looked down, something caught her eye.

Faint, blooming red marks trailing down her collarbone, her ribs, her chest, and lower still.

Wendy froze.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she straightened back up, her breath catching in her throat. The morning light filtering through her tent cast a warm glow over her skin, illuminating every single mark Mason had left behind.

Heat flooded her cheeks as the memories of the night before came rushing back—his hands on her waist, his mouth on hers, the way their bodies fit together beneath the water. And now, in the stark clarity of daylight, the marks were dark, unmistakable, scattered like little pieces of him left behind on her body.

Wendy's lips parted, a sharp inhale breaking the silence of her tent before a surge of frustration overtook her.

Mason.

That absolute menace.

Wendy swallowed hard, pressing her fingers against one particularly deep bruise just below her ribs, as if she could erase it. But she couldn't. He had claimed her in ways she hadn't even realized, and now, in the silence of morning, it was all over her skin. Wendy's stomach twisted, a mix of emotions clashing inside her—embarrassment, frustration, something dangerously close to longing.

That cocky bastard.

Jaw clenched, she grabbed a different shirt and yanked it over her head. Wendy didn't even bother checking her reflection—she already knew she probably looked like a storm brewing. Shoving her feet into her shoes, she barreled out of the tent, her fists clenched at her sides as she scanned the campsite.

He had to be nearby. He had to be.

The moment she spotted him—lazily leaning against a tree, sipping from a water bottle like he hadn't turned her into a living canvas overnight—her rage ignited.

"You," she seethed, stomping toward him. Mason barely had time to lower his bottle before she grabbed his arm and pulled him behind the tree.

"Care to explain this?" Wendy asked, lifting up her shirt to show him the hikies on her chest.

Mason's lips twitched as his gaze flickered over her skin. He exhaled, slow and measured, before looking up at her with that infuriatingly amused expression.

"I was feeling poetic," he said, utterly unapologetic.

Wendy gaped at him. "Poetic? Poetic? You—" She pointed accusingly at her hip, where another red and purple hikie lay just beneath the hem of her shorts. "How am I going to go swimming or wear tank tops or sunbathe?"

"You're so adorable when you're mad," Mason supplied smoothly, tilting his head.

Wendy let out a sound that was somewhere between a frustrated scream and a strangled groan.

"I hate you," she hissed, but even as she said it, her pulse betrayed her, racing under his steady gaze.

Mason grinned, lazy and smug. "I feel very passionate about you too, Wendy Darling," he murmured, stepping closer. "And I know you don't hate me."

"Oh, yeah?" Wendy scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah." Mason nodded, his eyes locked on hers as he reached for her waist, his fingers curling just enough to keep her from pulling away. "You want to know how I know?"