“Zrael? Zrae–” “Beau…tiful. So beau...t…iful…Mate.” His voice is still broken and coarse but sounds less pained with his breathing steadier. Wait. Did he call me ‘Mate’? He couldn’t mean that kind of mate, right? I mean, we hadn’t even seen each other so how would he even know? I had heard that different supernaturals had distinctive ways of knowing if they were fated mates. Some involved scent or blood, but even then, it was so rare.
