“I am Thane Athayel.” His resonant voice felt like a fingernail gliding lightly down the skin of her back. It too was recognizable, as if it haunted her dreams. But his voice did something the others did not, brought goosebumps to her skin. Layala licked her dry lips, as a connection between the itching rune mark and his closeness struck her. “The Prince of Palenor.” She laughed humorlessly. “My mate.”
