Marked

The Women

Chapter 20: The Women

The crisp white duvet - along with the majority of their clothes - lay in a heap on the floor. Theo's head rested comfortably against the smooth expanse of Daphne's stomach and he had his eyes closed, enjoying what he knew would be as little as five minutes of comfort before his mind once again became foggy with the ongoing torment that was his oppressive, disjointed life.

"Theo," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "Something happened again, didn't it?"

Fine. Less than five minutes, it seemed.

"Yes," he said, dragging his tongue roughly across his swollen lips.

Her fingers paused their gentle path against his scalp. "Should I ask?"

He twisted around to face her, pulling himself up and kissing the spot between her breasts. "No," he replied firmly, looking her in the eye.

She lifted her head to stare at him for a moment, her hazel eyes intently searching his face, before relaxing back against the pillow. "Just as well," she remarked easily, giving him a half-hearted shrug. "The less I know, the better, I suppose."

He slid further up along her body, kissing her neck. "Believe me," he sighed. "You have no idea how true that is."

She turned her head, her mouth next to his ear. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Fine, now," he said, grimacing. "For the time being, at least."

She patted his shoulder, beginning to trace lines down his spine. She was always moving, and her movements were always restless. Perhaps that was the one quality they shared.

"How is it around here?" he asked casually, trying to imagine a life in which he might have openly shared her world.

"Ugh." She wiggled underneath him and he readjusted, laying on his side and tugging her towards him by the waist. "Boring. You'd think that - I don't know - considering everything that's happening, my mother might have the decency not to force me into these archaic pureblood mating rituals, but - "

"Are you engaged yet?" Theo interrupted, sliding his hand over her hip. He felt a slight pang at the words, but they'd both always understood this was a possibility.

"My parents were devastated to lose Draco as an option," she said flatly, her tone bored. "They're a bit uninspired at the moment, though I think they've moved on to Marcus Flint."

Theo made a face. "That fucking arsehole's not already married?" he asked skeptically. "You should tell your parents that that probably means there's something wrong with - I don't know," he said, nudging her chin up with his nose and nipping at her neck. "His equipment."

She giggled. "You can't blame him for not being married yet," she pointed out, stretching herself out against Theo's narrow frame. "Or need I remind you how many families have been waiting impatiently for me to come of age?"

"No," Theo admitted. "It . . . sounds familiar."

Daphne and Astoria were easily the most desirable pureblood witches available in Britain; Theo's own father had said so on numerous occasions. Pansy was up there as well, but based on looks and pedigree alone, Daphne had the slightest edge. Besides, Pansy's mother was notoriously conniving and unpleasant; it surely pained every Sacred Twenty-Eight patriarch to have to face the possibility of negotiating with her.

"It's unfortunate that you took yourself out of the running," Daphne noted regretfully, not meeting his eye.

Theo propped his head up on his elbow, looking at her. They could both clearly see the damaged Mark on his wrist, though neither chose to acknowledge it.