His face, which was normally set in a carefree mask, now showed fractured edges of emotion that I’d never seen before. Thirty seconds passed before he finally spoke. The words came out in a deep rasp, as if it took all of his will to pull them from the place that he'd gone. “My mate.” Shock stole my breath for a moment, followed by the closest thing to joy that I could muster. I couldn’t feel it, not really, but I could feel something. To find one's mate was no small thing. It often took years, decades, even centuries. Adrian was young for a fae; only eighty years old.
