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His hand dropped to my collarbone, where I’d felt the scratch of the blade.

“Oh, fook, love, he did this? I’ll⁠—”

Too frantic to care about a paltry cut, I pushed at his chest, desperate to look at his wound.

“I screamed because he stabbed you, you great idiot! I felt it⁠—”

My voice cracked, and I realized I was trembling, even though he’d gone completely still. The pain had been so sharp, so sudden, that my body still protested, and as I stared up at him, I felt tears prick at my eyes.

Maardok’s grin was slow, dragging up the side of his face, pulling at the scar tissue there.

“Ah, love,” he murmured, his voice rough, “Of course ye felt it. I’m sorry.”

His hand slid down my back, pressing me closer as I pushed against him to sit up so I could fuss over his wound.

“It took you long enough to get to me!” I snapped, even knowing ‘twas that same stubborn defiance he adored. The wound on his arm wasn’t deep, but it bled freely, dark and vivid against his green skin. I swiped at it with my sleeve, only succeeding in smearing blood across his chest.

Maardok didn’t flinch, the delightful fool. But his grin didn’t fade either.

“So,” he drawled, watching me fuss—stupidly fuss—over him, “Ye can feel the Bond, love?”

“Of course I can feel it!” And then the realization of what I’d confessed flooded me, spoken aloud in front of not just him but the entire clan, watching from the tree line.

Words out, no taking them back. My face burned, even as I felt his triumph through the Bond, hot and bright and all-consuming. Well, I would give him something to remember, then.

Surging up, I caught his jaw in my hands.

“Mates.”

I poured into the Bond everything I felt; love, joy, relief, the stubborn determination to be his, and something deeper—the understanding that we were bound in a way no mere promise could touch.

“I love you, Maardok of the Battleborn. Our sons and I…we would very much like to build a future here. With you.”

My heart pounded in my chest so strongly I could scarcely feel my own breath.

Maardok went completely still, his dark eyes fixed on me, that green glow deepening as if he were a smoldering ember. Then, blooming with vigor, he let out a roar of joy, sending his own emotions flooding back through the Bond—happiness, love, a fierce possessiveness that made my toes curl.

Before I could even gasp, he surged to his feet, keeping me cradled in his arms as though I weighed nothing. I clung to his shoulders, my breathless protests lost to the wind as he spun in a circle.

“Maardok!” I shrieked half-gleefully, slapping his chest. “Put me down afore you pass out from blood loss!”

My protests just made him laugh harder, the sound so deep and rich and full of life that I couldn’t help my heart swelling in response. He spun once more, then twice, before lowering me carefully to my feet. But even then he didn’t release me.

Instead he cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks as he lowered his forehead to mine.

“Ye mean it?” His voice was raspy, rough with emotion. “‘Tis no’ just because ye were scared?”

I allowed my own grin to rise, the stubborn one he’d come to adore.

“I was terrified I would lose you.”

“No’ as terrified as I was at the thought of losing ye.”

Since I’d felt his fear, and known he’d felt mine, there wasn’t much use arguing over it. Still, I couldn’t let him think he could win so easily, so I clicked my tongue.

“We can argue about it later.”

“Och,” he sighed, pulling me closer. “My stubborn Mate.”