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Ignoring Helian, Ash faced Radnor, tapping his nose. “A wolf’s nose never lies.”
Radnor growled louder. I was grateful when Finn backed away with the girls, keeping them out of Radnor’s line of fire. He pushed them into Shiri’s arms, and she took them behind her mates as they formed a barrier with their spread wings. Bea let out a squawk and slowly backed toward the jungle behind her. What was going on?
Why did these scents have Radnor and Bea so on edge? And who were these dragons?
“Should we follow the scent?” Helian asked while brushing vomit off his tunic.
Radnor let out a keening whimper. It could be a trap.
“What if it isn’t?” I asked.
Radnor shook his head, steam pouring out of his nostrils. She was killed by the satyrs decades ago.
My mouth fell open as I recalled the story Radnor had told me at Dunhull. “Your mate?”
His heavy jowls turned a frown. Yes.
I’d been wondering what dragon he’d scented last night. Could it be true? His mate was alive? “What if she wasn’t?” I asked.
He let out an agonized roar. I saw her die. I held her lifeless body.
“Did you?” I pressed. “Or did the mind spinner make you think you did?”
He snarled, arching over me and blowing smoke on my head. The mind spinner’s magic doesn’t work on dragons.
“Are you sure about that?” Helian asked.
Radnor roared in response.
And then everyone froze when two more roars echoed in the distance.
Finn grabbed the rabbits and joined the girls behind Shiri’s mates. Ash latched onto my arm, hovering protectively beside me when two shadows circled overhead.
Radnor crouched low, snarling when a golden dragon about two-thirds his size landed in the clearing opposite him and a smaller dragon about the size of a wyvern or Malvolia’s winged horse with glistening orange scales landed behind her. The smaller dragon had luminous, golden eyes just like Radnor’s, though her singular pointy horn jutting from the top of her short snout was exactly like the golden dragon’s. She was a perfect blend of the two dragons. I knew these were his mate and child and that Radnor had most definitely been fooled by Thorin.
But even more surprising was the pull I felt toward the golden dragon, much like the bonds I felt with my mates, only different. Rather than feel the strong desire to mate with her, I felt a different kind of pull, and I had to fight hard the urge to jump on top of her scaled back and fly off with her into the heavens.
This was the pull I should’ve felt with my rabbit, Demon, which meant this dragon was my real familiar or perhaps more than that. Much, much more.
Shiri gasped as she walked toward the dragon, her mates protectively at her back.
Do you feel the pull? I asked my twin through thought.
Yes. She stopped, hands clenched by her sides, and looked at me with wide-eyed alarm. Do you?
Most definitely, I answered.
“Who are you?” I asked the dragon.
She puffed up her chest and turned up her chin while leering down at us. I am Isa Fireborn, she said to me through thought, daughter of the last great dragon queen Dementa Fireborn, bonded to the goddess Maiadra. She craned her neck toward the smaller dragon behind her. And this is my hatchling, Triss Fireborn.
“You’re Radnor’s mate,” I blurted, “and Triss is his child.”
Her top lip curled up in a snarl. I have no mate and Triss has no father.
Shiri clutched her throat, her gaze darting to Radnor as he gaped at his mate and child.
Triss whimpered like a frightened puppy.
