Page 16 of Thrown into the Mob

There was no need to wait for him if he was following because he’d catch my scent. Hanging around wasn’t advised when you’d broken out of a dragon-shifter compound, even though I was one of the said dragons.

He’s wounded, my dragon informed me.

Yes, I scented the blood, and his wolf yelped. But there was nothing I could do for him because he wasn’t with me.

The stash was a quarter mile away, buried at the base of a split oak I'd marked fifteen years ago when I was sixteen and angry enough to believe I might actually leave. I'd maintained it since then, replacing supplies twice a year, telling myself it was a contingency plan rather than a fantasy. Clothes, water, cereal bars, a basic first-aid kit, a knife, juniper to cover my scent, and some cash. Those items were enough to get away from here.

But I'd never expected to share it with someone.

The ground was rough under my bare feet, and I navigated by the stars and the tree line that I'd memorized years ago. There were shouts, an engine, and a distinctive burning aroma coming from the compound. No one would take their scales and fly until they'd confirmed my father's orders, so I had maybe an hour before the sky became dangerous.

The split oak appeared in the dark, and I dropped to my knees and dug. The bag was wrapped in waterproof canvas and buried a foot down. I pulled it out and unzipped it. Everything was there, including two sets of clothes because sixteen-year-old me had packed one, but twenty-nine-year-old me had added another set just in case the first one got dirty or destroyed.

I pulled on jeans and a shirt and shoved my feet into the boots I'd packed. With the bag slung over my shoulder, I picked up Durand’s scent when blood-stained fur mingled with his own distinctive scent. I couldn’t leave him because he was more vulnerable than me. At least I knew where I was and had supplies.

I tracked him through the trees and found him in a shallow depression between two boulders. He’d taken his skin and was sitting with his back against the rock and his hand pressed to his left shoulder.

He was naked and bleeding and staring at me, but I couldn’t make out his expression in the dark.

“How did you—?” He cut off his question. “You’re been planning to run away.”

“Sort of.” I pulled out the second set of clothes and the first-aid kit and crouched beside him.

The wound was a graze. The bullet had torn a furrow along the top of his shoulder. It was bleeding and must have been painful, but it wasn’t deep enough to have hit anything critical. His shift back into human form hadn't healed it.

“It's not bad.” I opened the first-aid kit.

“Easy for you to say.”

This was our first real conversation, and I ignored the sassy tone and studied the gauze, tape, and antiseptic wipes. They wouldn’t do, and I got up and wandered in the surrounding vegetation. After finding yarrow growing in a patch near the boulders, I pulled a handful of the leaves and crushed them between my palms.

“What's that?”

“It'll slow the bleeding.” I hesitated because what I was about to do required touching him, and I understood what that meant. Our scents would mingle and our beasts would insist we mate. He knew we were fated, I’d seen it in his body language. And with my hands on his skin, there’d be no doubt.

Durand’s eyes met mine, and he nodded. “Just do it.”

With the crushed yarrow in my palm, I counted to ten before pressing it against his wound. Warmth from his skin rippled through my fingers, and I held him tighter than I should’ve. He winced, maybe at the pain of his injury or me gripping him. Or possibly he was trying to resist the inevitable and being my fated mate was a fate worse than mating Evander or being held captive by Father.

But that connection that the universe set in motion took hold of me and stifled my breathing. His scent was all around me, wrapping me in its arms. My hands wanted to stay where they were long after the poultice was in place.

His skin reddened, and he hissed as I pressed harder, trying not to listen to my dragon who was telling me to mark him.

Let me have my fire and mark him.

Father will be after us, and we have to get away.

I let go of him and wiped my hands on my jeans. I wrapped the gauze around his shoulder because I’d done this enough times with our men who’d been injured in dragon form.

Durand put on the clothes I'd brought. The clothes were for a sixteen-year-old, and the shirt was too small and the jeans reached mid-calf. We couldn’t afford to hang around. Though the woods were quiet, there was the constant reminder of what we’d done with the uproar from the compound.

"You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Who or what? You’re Conrad Blain, son of the Solari patriarch.” He tugged at the too-small T-shirt. “What you’re asking me is what you are. I know that too, but I can’t put it into words.”

Mate. My dragon said it, not that Durand could hear him.

“There's no going back for either of us. My father won't forgive this.”