“There you are,” he says.
I back away a step, then another. “Who are you?”
He tilts his head. “You’ve stirred quite the storm. Power like that… It's rare. And precious.”
The pressure of his gaze steals the breath from my lungs. I stretch out my senses.
He is a dragon, but so different to my mates. His magic is colder and his soul darker. I raise my hand, summoning a flicker of my power.
He’s faster.
In a blink, he crosses the space between us, catching my wrist in a vicelike grip.
“I don’t want to hurt you, little star,” he murmurs. “But you’ve shown your hand, and now you're mine to wield.”
His wings unfurl behind him, ink-dark and veined with lightning.
Panic coils in my gut. “Let me go.”
He leans close. “I can’t. You’re too important.”
Then he moves.
Everything flashes white. My body seizes, then slumps.
Darkness rushes in.
And the forest disappears.
26
DARIAL
She must be here somewhere. That’s what I tell Kelan. She is in emotional pain. The fear for her daughter deeply affected her and giving her up again must have been devastating. Our mate is accustomed to managing her pain alone and hasn’t learned to rely on us for support.
The forest smells like her. At least, that’s what Hunter says. It’s more than the scent of her skin. Nixon found blood on thorns, and Robert found more on the bark of a tree.
She ran, disregarding both danger and her own pain. Memories return to me of tending her wounds in the cave. Anger and frustration rise within, making it difficult to contain my dragon.
I crouch low, palm pressed to the damp earth. My dragon stretches beneath my skin, restless, searching. Did she come this way? Will we find her?
Ronyn paces ahead, his feet crunching over twigs and rocks he is oblivious to. His shoulders are tense, and his jawis clenched so tightly, his teeth grind.
Kelan stands perfectly still, a clear sign of his anger.
The bears and wolves spread out through the trees, sniffing and circling as they track every inch of ground.
Nixon kneels a few yards away, still in his human form, nose close to the forest floor. “Here,” he says. “She came this way.”
His face is bruised from a beating he received, one eye almost sealed shut with swelling, yet he continues to help us search.
A few yards behind him, Scarlet stands with Ahya in her arms.
The child is wrapped in a blanket, small and unusually quiet, which unsettles me.
Scarlet’s face is tense with worry. She glances between us and then at the child, uncertain where to direct her concern.
Ahya’s gaze drifts toward the trees.
