She would give him her vein when she was ready. He was no more or less her mate because her blood no longer lived in him. His blood lived in her, and even if it hadn’t, it wouldn’t change their devotion. They were tied on so many other planes than just the physical.

Murphy cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over the swell of it, glad of her. So very glad to be sharing his life with her again.

“If I am your pulse, Anne O’Dea, then you are my heart. You move me. You center me. You make me a better man.”

She curled into his side and held him as he drifted toward sleep.

“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you again, Patrick?”

“Every night, love. Every single night.”

THE END