Page 113 of Hunted By Her Demon Wolves

He puffed up his chest.I’ll cook it for you.

“No. You’ll scorch it, and it won’t have any nutrition.” I did my best to hide a smile. “I don’t want it looking like your rider.”

He impatiently flicked his tail.Then keep healing my rider.

“My magic needs fuel.” I released a huff of air. “I’m too weak right now.”

You’re not too weak to argue with me.

I arched a brow. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Fire pulsed beneath his chest scales.Malvolia’s dog.

By dog, I assumed he meant one of Malvolia’s fire mages. “Malvolia?” My heart skipped a beat, then took off at a race. “The sorceress queen?”

Is there any other?

My insides turning to mush, I swallowed back a knot of fear. “There’s no witch or mage more powerful than her.”

So I’m aware,he drawled, showing not one spark of fear.

My gaze shot to the sleeping dragon rider. “What did you do to anger her?”

Perhaps we asked questions that were none of our business.

He was a cantankerous beast, but at least he had a sense of humor. I snorted at that, my gaze sliding to his as he looked at me from beneath hooded eyes. “Why do you eye me like that?”

Why is a green witch running by herself in the Werewood Forest?

I tensed, not realizing I’d stopped petting Demon until he nudged my hand. “Long story.” I shrugged, doing my best to keep the hurt from my voice while absently scratching Demon’s head.

The dragon settled down with a thump, dried leaves rustling around him.I have time.

I shivered when he eyed me so keenly, as if he was looking into my very soul. I was afraid of what he’d find, for I’d no idea what memories were buried there. “I was running from my father...” I paused at that, his words blaring in my skull as if he was sitting beside me yelling into my ear.She’s not my child.“At least,” I mumbled, emotion threatening to choke off my words. “I thought he was my father.”

Go on,he purred, hanging on my every word like an old crone digging up gossip.

“The man who claimed to be my father is a tradesman.” I closed my eyes as tears threatened. How many hours had I toiled making that potion for him? How many of those little green bottles had we stacked in the back of that old wagon? Had he been using me just for profit? Could any man be so cruel as to separate a girl from her family and erase her memories, just for a few coins? I jerked back when Demon nibbled my finger. I’d forgotten him again. I resumed petting his head. “Mainly we traveled, and he sold an elixir made from Verian root.” Was my father awake yet? Was he searching for me? Who would make his elixir now?

The dragon arched a scaled brow.Verian root has no healing properties.

“It does when I cast an enchantment on it.”

His low, deep chuckle reverberated my bones.And your customers can’t tell this?

“No.” When Demon nibbled my hand again, I dug deep into my well of remaining magic and held my palm over the earth, summoning a small patch of flowers. They grew quickly, their leaves opening while they stretched toward a ray of morning light. I immediately plucked a handful and fed them to Demon. “Witchcraft is forbidden south of the Periculian Mountains. It’s the way we steep the Verian root, at least that’s what we tell everyone.”

His smile was a slash of teeth.And?

“We ran into an old friend of my father, a wandering wise woman. She and my father...they are sometimes lovers.” I released a shaky breath. Elka had always been kind to me, but I now realized the undercurrent of pity in her voice when she spoke to me. She had known, or at least suspected, and she hadn’t told me. Father said he’d never taken her to wife, or any other woman for that matter, because he still mourned my mother who’d died during childbirth. How much of that had been a lie? All of it? “I overheard their conversation when they thought I was sleeping. My father said he took me from my real family and altered their memories, so they thought I’d been killed by a bear. Then he changed my memories, too.”

The dragon’s eyes widened.A mind spinner, a very rare mage. There’s only one living mind spinner that I know of.

Breath hitched, I struggled to speak. This dragon could hold the key to my past. “Who?”

Does it matter?he slurred.

“It does to me. Was his name Thorin?” Though I had only ever called him Father, his many lovers called out his given name often enough when they’d disappeared into the tent or behind the bushes.

---