“Truly?” the middle brother asked.
“We’re going to be rich,” the other said excitedly.
Lysandro stared at Octavia as though he could see into her soul. “What are you doing so far east, poppet?”
She tried to hit him again.
He just laughed, easily evading her.
“I don’t think she’s going to tell you, brother,” said the youngest. “Why don’t you see what’s in her bag?”
Alarm pulsed through Octavia. It was one thing for these malicious elves to know she was a dragon shifter, another entirely for them to question what she carried.
Shit. She was going to have to shift. She couldn’t see any other way out of this. The Elders would be furious with her.
But they’d be even more angry if you lose the object, the dragon within Octavia rightly argued.
That was true. Better shift than die. She watched the elves carefully, bidding her time.
“We’ll find out eventually.” Lysandro rose to his feet and walked around Octavia. “We’ll take her with us. I’m sure the fae will pay very well for a dragon shifter.”
A scream crawled up Octavia’s throat, swallowed by the gag around her mouth. Sell her to the fae? She trembled. Everyone knew that the fae who lived on the other of the Indigo Ocean were as cruel as vampires and known to collect exotic species from the Rose Empire as pets.
That would not happen. She didn’t belong to anyone but herself.
As Lysandro bent, clearly intent on picking her up, the dragon shifter resigned herself to the Elders’ wrath. Although, to be fair, they’d probably rather she shift than get herself shipped across the ocean. Or maybe they didn’t care. That was a fucking depressing though, and Octavia frowned as she reached within herself for the shift.
The moment Lysandro touched her, she would let her dragon free.
Except… the Earth Elf’s touch never came.
Bright, ribbons the color of a cloudless sky filled the forest like a swarm of bees. Lysandro’s eyes widened, and he shouted. It didn’t matter. The magic slammed into the three Earth Elves, and aboomechoed through the forest.
The Earth Elves’ eyes bulged, and they grabbed at their necks, choking. One by one, the trio fell to their knees. A few long, drawn-out seconds later, they each collapsed on the ground, unconscious.
Octavia’s heart raced. Her fingers clenched at the dirt, and she looked around as best she could for the source of the magic.
What were the chances there was another witch in the forest?
Slim, the dragon said.
That’s what Octavia was afraid of. Her fingers curled in the fabric of the bag around her hip, and she gripped it as best she could through the vines holding her down.
“Flynn?” she called out, the words garbled by the gag, half-hoping she was wrong.
A heartbeat later, her fears were confirmed. Looking amazing for having hiked for days, Flynn stepped out from behind a tree. His cloak billowed behind him, and his sword hung from the scabbard at his hip. He must have gotten it back from the werewolves.
Flynn walked between the fallen elves until he made it to Octavia’s side. He crouched, and his brows furrowed as he looked over the dragon shifter. Octavia looked him over as well. She couldn’t help it. Her treacherous core twisted, remembering the way his lips had felt on hers. Her body didn’t seem to care about his betrayal at all.
Why did he have to be the one who came to save her?
The witch moved with complete efficiency as he grabbed the knife attached to Lysandro’s belt.
Octavia could do nothing but lie still as she watched the witch carefully. It bothered her that a small part of her was happy to see him. She was frustrated that he was here. Why couldn’t he stay away?
Flynn severed the first vine around her feet with ease. “I’m sorry, Octavia.” He cut another vine. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
A third vine went.