It was as though she wanted to be seen.
Caution and anger prickled between his shoulder-blades. He closed the gap between them, reaching for Francine’s mind carefully as though he were plucking a glowing coal from a fire. *What are you—*
Something buzzed. Francine checked her watch and made a small noise of irritation. So far, so ordinary—except she’d flinched as the message came through.
Julian narrowed his eyes. She wanted to be seen—but not contacted? That made no sense.
What was going on here?
“Someone you don’t want to hear from?” he suggested dryly.
She shot him a haughty glare. “My brother.”
He saw the moment she remembered heknewher brother. Her eyes widened the tiniest amount and her lips twitched, as though to form the word,Shit.
“How is Mathis?”
“He’s—” She struggled to find an answer. “Well.”
“And Chloe?” Chloe Kent was Mathis Delacourt’s fated mate. They’d met on the same island where he’d been imprisoned.
“They’re both—” A muscle twitched in her jaw, and then she regained control of herself. “They’re both well. Practically joined at the hip. I suppose that’s how it’s—how it’s meant to work.”
“Having second thoughts about your own technique?” he asked dryly.
To his surprise, she laughed out loud. And in the moment it took her to gather herself, he saw it had surprised her, as well. Something shadowy and confused passed behind her eyes.
“Doubt myself? Never.” Her lips curved in a satisfied smile that was almost convincing.
“Everything is proceeding perfectly to your plan, then?”
“Of course.” She looked away. “After all, we’re both here, aren’t we?”
*If I were not injured, I could have flown back to the fortress without all these delays.*
*Then it’s a good thing I organized a ship.*
*You anticipated my injuries? And your own?*
She stilled. “No,” she admitted quietly. But her disquiet was short-lived. *I didn’t consider you would be able to fly that far.*
*Why would you? MacInnis only has Harper’s records of my abilities.*
*Given my recent experience of dragonflight, I’m particularly glad I chose for us to travel by ship.*
He leaned close, watching as she pretended his nearness had no effect on her. “If I were uninjured, I would not take you with me.”
She whirled on him. “You’d steal my hunt?”
“Are we hunting?”
His dragon snapped its eyes open behind his own. Gold flared in Francine’s in response, and he felt an entirely unreasonable surge of reassurance. Whatever injury her lioness had sustained, it had not abandoned her entirely.
“All lions hunt,” she said, more sharply than she intended, based on the brief flicker of frustration at the corner of her lips. *I’m not saying your family is my prey. But lions … hunt.*
He understood. All shifters were a combination of their human and animal instincts—sometimes the mixture was smooth. Sometimes it curdled.*And you don’t share your hunts.*
*Of course we do. We’re pack animals.*
