He held her gaze as he lowered his head toward her. He didn't kiss her though--just leaned kissably close and asked, "Will you let me take you in my arms... for a dance, Leslie?

You're not weak at all. Wounded, but that's nothing to be ashamed of.

I need to check in with Seth before I--" he burrowed his face into the side of her neck, his breath almost painfully warm on her throat--"give in to my unconscionable desire to put my hands on you properly.

If he took her into his arms, he would keep her. He wouldn't let her suffer the way the other mortals had when he'd left them. He would keep her, with his court's permission or without it. Irial wouldn't take her, and Keenan wouldn't stand between them.

I did survive. I still am. And it won't happen again.

It wasn't the tattoo that had changed her, had given her repossession of her body. It was her actions, her choices. It was finding the path when it looked like there weren't any paths to be found.