Huffing out a laugh, I trace the line of his jaw with the tips of my fingers, following the slope of his neck, fingertips drifting over the flushed bite mark. "All that bleach and black, you're not gettin' back a whole lotta color," I tease, but to be honest, I get it, as much as I can. Eostre influenced him more than he probably realizes now that he's all split in two.

In her absence, he still wants to make stuff grow.

"I know, that's not what I meant. I'm just sayin', I'm yours. I've always been."