The heat had passed. Everything felt as though it had changed in a way she couldn't quite explain. It reminded her of the first time she had shifted—familiar, yet entirely different.
She reached across the bed to where Peirceton lay sleeping quietly beside her. It seemed that marking a mate took just as much out of the one giving the mark as it did the one receiving it. He had marked her, just as she had marked him, though the process had been different. Sorcerers, it seemed, bonded with their mates in their own way.
She lifted her hand and gently brushed her fingers over the mark he had left on her neck. A soft smile spread across her lips.
Lowering her hand, she slipped her fingers into his. Even something as simple as holding his hand sent a pleasant warmth coursing through her body.
