Her golden brown hair hung past her shoulders, her blue eyes fastened on me, assessing, not placid nor appeased by my presence, as I wished her to be.
The long, flowing material of the gown, while not overly revealing or s****l, revealed every one of her lush curves. She looked refreshed, her eyes bright, the exhaustion I’d seen on her face as she slept, gone as well.
I’d waited for Ronan to sleep, then turned, watching her face at rest for long hours, wondering at this completely unexpected turn my life had taken. I was not young. I was older than most of the warriors still fighting. I’d seen more than twenty years of battle, more than forty years of life. Everyone I’d known or loved, dead or long gone. Even Ronan, or so I’d believed, until yesterday.
A mate. Gods help me. What the f**
