“He’s a force of nature,” Tohr said, tilting back his beer. “And he’s deadly, no mistaking that. But there’s no one who will take better care of you, assuming he chooses to do so. Which he has with you.” “How do you know?” she whispered, wondering what Wrath had told him. Tohr cleared his throat, a flush hitting his cheeks. “He’s marked you.” She frowned, looking down at herself. “I can smell it,” Tohr said. “The warning’s all over you.” “Warning?” “As if you were his shellan.” “His what?” “His mate. That scent on your skin sends a powerful message to other males.” So she’d been right. About
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