Page 24 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

Too late.

Tristan advanced on him, growling. “Tell me, you bastard!”

Emon knew he should calm the situation down; Tristan wasn’t exactly the most stable wolf in the world either, and Emon didn’t need two out-of-control shifters on his hands.

But he didn’t care. He was a prince, for fuck’s sake, and a Draken, and he didn’t back down in his own castle.

his dragon said.

Great. That will help a lot.

“I didn’t do anything to her,” he said, getting up in Tristan’s face. “I found her in a place she shouldn’t have been. I confronted her. She went wolf, bit me, and then took off and smashed my window on her way out, thank you very much. What the fuck is wrong with her? And why didn’t you all happen to warn me that there was an uncontrolled wolf here who’s a danger to my staff, not to mention my livestock?”

Tristan snapped, “It’s complicated. And this isn’t the time to go into it. I need to go after her.”

Everything in Emon rebelled at the thought of Tristan out there with Trish—saving her, coaxing her to turn human, holding her. Defending her. Being there for her.

He said, “This is my territory, and it’s my responsibility. I’m going after her.”

Tristan shook his head. “She knows me. I always take care of her when she goes wolf.”

Always? Emon stared at him, eyes narrowed.

“Wait a minute. Are you telling me she can’t control herself at all when she Changes?”

“No,” Tristan snapped. He lowered his voice, glancing around as if making sure they were alone. “She’s rogue. And if anyone finds out, she could be put down.”

Emon’s stomach twisted. Put down? As in killed? “We need to get to her.”

“I need to get to her. You’ve done enough damage for one night, don’t you think? I suggest you stop bleeding all over the floor and clean this place up, or everyone’s going to smell the blood and want to know who bit you. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

Emon didn’t protest as Tristan pushed past him and ran down the stairs. Avoiding the broken glass, he went out the front door, turning wolf as he went.

Dammit.

Emon grabbed the neck of his t-shirt and ripped it off his body, wrapping it around his bleeding arm.

He muttered a cleaning spell and pointed at the splatters of blood under his feet. He hated to give Tristan any credit, but he was right. The last thing they needed was for the staff and research team to find the castle looking like a horror movie.

And start asking questions.

At least he could still do this simple spell. And this one—he summoned Tristan’s discarded sweatpants from where they lay in the Great Hall.

He retraced his steps, cleaning up the blood as he went. Just outside Ragnor’s study he found Trish’s shredded clothes, along with today’s pair of glittery shoes.

Purple. Her favorites.

One of them was half torn apart, the victim of her claws when she changed.

He picked up the tatters of the clothes, smoothing them as if they were worth saving. He supposed shifters without dragon magic got used to ruining their clothes when they Changed in a hurry.

But Trish probably didn’t have a lot of clothes with her. And she loved those shoes.

It was stupid, but… Gritting his teeth, he tried a restoration spell on the clothes. To his surprise, it worked, even without his power enhancer. He folded them carefully and put them on the desk.

Then he tried the shoe. In a few moments, it looked like it had never been damaged. Absurdly pleased with himself, Emon put the sneakers on top of the pile of clothes, stroking the restored one gently with his fingertip.

Then he started cleaning up the study. Blood was spattered everywhere, from him flinging his injured arm around. He started the spell, then stopped and looked closer, small details registering in his brain.