The mate mark was still on her neck, faded but present, proof of the bond they'd formed. But she didn't remember how it got there, didn't remember the man who'd given it to her, didn't remember the life they'd tried to build together.
He'd made a choice in that moment. He could have told her everything immediately, about their mating, about the twins, about the daughter who'd died and the grief that had driven her to run. He could have forced those memories back onto her damaged mind and watched her shatter all over again.
Or he could start fresh. Could pursue her again, let her fall for him naturally without the weight of all that trauma crushing her. Could build something new from the ashes of what they'd lost.
He'd chosen the latter.
