“Stupid Shifter. Want it—I want it, want it—” It tried to stomp its feet, kicking Drustan instead. “You steal it. It’s mine.”
“Give me the potion,” Drustan demanded as long teeth started to grow out of his mouth, his eyes growing more oblong.
“Here, here,” the poor thing screamed in panic, pulling another vile out of its pocket. Drustan tossed the red potion to Kiora.
“A warning, Illusionist,” Drustan said. “If that potion causes him any harm I will eat you.”
The Illusionist squealed. “Wrong one, wrong one. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” It pulled another vile out, darker purple than the first, and handed it to Drustan.
Kiora looked in horror at the red vile in her hand, dropping it to the forest floor. Taking the purple vile, she prayed the Illusionist valued its life. She poured the vile down Emane’s throat and watched him anxiously. A couple of seconds later his legs and arms twitched a few times. Emane sighed in relief. Pushing himself up to sitting, Emane wiggled his fingers and rolled his wrists, smiling.
“Everything working?” Drustan asked.
Emane stood and tested his appendages. “I think so.”
“You listen to me,” Drustan hissed at the Illusionist. “If you ever come within so much as a mile of us, I will hunt you down and kill you. Do you understand?” The black creature nodded emphatically. “We know what you feel like. We know what you smell like. And we know that whatever you show us is not real. You have no more power over us.” He threw the creature free of his grasp. The Illusionists glared at the three of them before it scuttled off, mumbling to itself.
“Thank you,” Emane said humbly, his blond hair falling into his eyes. “Thank you, both of you.”
Kiora pushed herself to her feet. “Don’t thank me. I would have gotten us both killed if not for Drustan.”
Drustan morphed back into his standard form. “I am so disgusted with you two I don’t even know where to start,” he snapped.
“It’s my fault.” Emane lowered his head.
“Oh, you started this,” Drustan said, pointing his finger angrily in Emane’s direction. “Never, ever, leave without telling one of us. This place is not home. It will eat you alive. And you—” he stabbed at Kiora. “You are lucky we encountered a young Illusionist. The adults are capable of so much more.”
He stopped, breathing loudly through his nose. “Come.” He turned and stomped back toward camp. Kiora and Emane scrambled, like children, to fall in behind him.
When they reached the camp, Drustan instructed them to stay inside.
“Where are you going?” Kiora asked.
“I am going to see if we have attracted unwanted attention.” He morphed into a barely visible bug and flew off.
Kiora and Emane trudged inside the barrier.
“I’m sorry, Kiora,” Emane said, placing his hand on her shoulder.
Kiora turned, throwing her arms around him. “I thought I might lose you.”
He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “I love you.”
Kiora opened her mouth slightly, wanting to say it back—that she loved him. But she still harbored a fear of hurting him. Fear that she hurt everyone she loved.
She reached up on her toes, kissing him instead. He’d told her to take as long as she needed, but it didn’t kill the twinge of guilt when she failed to repeat the sentiment. A magical current tingled from her lips to his. Kiora felt Emane jump before she could rein her magic in.
Emane smiled ruefully. “That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER THREE
Deception
DRALAZAR SWEPT INTO ONE of the more magnificently furnished rooms he had given Layla. The bed was large with a sweeping black headboard and footboard to match. The room itself was draped in black and red fabrics, camouflaging the fact she was living in a cave. Two candlesticks with pewter snakes coiling to the top sat on the bedside table, red wax dripping down their serpent bodies.
Layla jerked up at Dralazar’s appearance, nervously smoothing down her brown hair. “Hello.”
“Are you ready to start training?” Dralazar asked, smiling down at his new pet.
“Of course.” She paused. “Training for what?”
“Your magic. We will find your strengths and hone them.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dralazar put his hand on top of Layla’s. As he did so, his sleeve slid up, revealing two puncture wounds. The edges were rough, jagged, and wicked red. The wounds oozed a yellow-green liquid as if the flesh were eating itself. Red streaks from his wounds disappeared under his sleeve.
Layla gasped, her free hand flying to her mouth. “What