“This will be more comfortable,” he told her in the Creole. In his own language, he added, “For you, anyway. For me, it will be bloody torture. Tomorrow I need to rip my mark off the mantle before I lose all sense and beg you to seal the bond with me.” She listened to his rambling with a smile. “Your voice is beautiful,” she said. She’d paid him the same compliment, back in the humans’ prison, but it hit differently now. Her praise and admiration wrapped around him, squeezing his chest, his heart.
