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murmured. “But she needed ...”
He let his words hang unfinished as he
picked up the broken knife Aelin had
discarded in the moss nearby and sliced it
across his palm.
Kneeling before her, he extended his
bloodied hand. “Show me, Fireheart. Show me
again.” He tapped her ankle—the shackle
there.
Silently, her movements stiff, Aelin leaned
forward. She sniffed at the blood pooling in
his hand, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes lifted
to his, like the scent of his blood posed some
question.
“I am your mate,” Rowan whispered, as if
it was the answer she sought. And the love in
his eyes, in the way his voice broke, his
bloodied hand trembling ... Elide’s throat
tightened.
Aelin only looked at the blood pooling in