Baxian peeled back the collar of his battle-suit, revealing brown, muscled flesh. And a tattoo scrawled over the angel’s heart in familiar handwriting. Through love, all is possible. She knew that handwriting. “Why,” she asked carefully, voice shaking, “do you have Danika’s handwriting tattooed on you?” Baxian’s dark eyes became pained. Empty. “Because Danika was my mate.”
