“No. Go fish.” If Ronan could see him now, camped out on the living-room floor, the male would suffocate from bouts of laughter. But Michael didn’t care. Every moment spent with Claire was precious; each new day, a gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap. Another three days had passed. Three days shut up in his tomb of a house while Ronan acted as his envoy, reaching out to the strongest dhampir covens and bringing them into their fold, allies who were capable of sustaining the change. An army of vampire warriors to fight the Sortiari. So he could protect Claire. His mate. The Vessel and mother of the vampire race. Or so he hoped. “It’s your turn.” Michael looked up at Claire’s expectant face, a sweet smile curving her full pink lips. Gods, how he wanted to touch her again. Taste her. Feel the petal softness of her mouth against his. “Sorry. Do you have any aces?” Claire screwed her mouth into a petulant pout and handed over a card. The distance that separated them now was mere inches, though it felt like a cavernous expanse that stretched on for miles.
