Page 65 of Balance

“If you own the business, it’s not technically stealing,” I pointed out, fighting—but failing—to keep the heat from my face. “Thank you.”

“No.” Titus was frowning. “It’s still tax fraud.”

“And so is purchasing ghost hunting equipment under the guise of doing research with it later.” I crossed my legs, placing the thermos in the gap between my ankles and thighs then twisting off the lid. “But you still did it anyway.”

He took the canister and lid from me, poured a capful of coffee out, and handed me the makeshift cup. “Why can’t you let me do this one dangerous thing for you?”

“This one dangerous thing?” But wasn’t the entirety of his work of the dangerous, and illegal, nature?

Or maybe Maria was more frightening with overseeing the kitchen supplies than anything else.

I hadn’t been around for very long, but it was enough to determine that shifters had very strange priorities.

“Thank you,” I said, sipping at the nectar. “So why do you like saying it?”

I didn’t need to clarify. Titus tilted his head, frame unnaturally still, as he seemed to contemplate my question.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice low, gravelly, and even a tiny bit lost, “I’m reminding myself. So I don’t make a mistake.”

I blinked at him. “What kind of mistake?”

“There’s only a fine line separating the human from the shifter,” Titus replied, gaze moving to some point over my shoulder. “The human side of me knows you’re my mate, but it’s not sealed yet.”

“But…”

“The dragon doesn’t care. He already considers it done,” Titus said, his terminology making me wonder, not for the first time, how exactly shifters saw themselves. “He wants to leave this place—forget about Miles—and destroy every living creature even remotely associated with Eric Richards. But…” He frowned, wrapping his hands around mine to steady my drink. “We’re still more logical than that. If you weren’t our mate though, in any other life, we’d go; there would be no other option. But you are. We can’t leave you like this.”

We?

How was I supposed to respond? I didn’t want him to leave, mate or no mate. I wasn’t even sure if I felt this connection he was talking about, or what it even meant. But I couldn’t deny it was safer with him nearby. “Titus…”

He put the canteen to the side as his expression shifted from severe to shy. “Want me to help?” he asked, holding up a foldable hairbrush. “While you drink your coffee and wake up?”

“Sure…” I replied, watching him with my lidded eyes as I sipped my coffee. His obsession with my hair continued, and it didn’t make much sense. Though, again, I did find his own to be strangely mesmerizing; it wasn’t like I was in any place to judge.

“We should be close.” Titus stopped abruptly while I, not paying much attention other than trying to keep up with his longer strides, ran directly into his back.

“Ow…” I pulled back, rubbing at my nose.

“Oh.” He turned, grimacing. “Sorry, princess. I didn’t realize you werethatclose.”

“It’s fine.” Where else was I supposed to be? He’d told me to stay close when we’d left this morning. Julian had been behind me this time, even though Damen really didn’t have anything to fear today, and Damen trailed at the end of the group.

Damen stepped aside, squinting at the sun through the dense forest canopy, while Julian moved to me, kneeling at the ground while he rummaged around in his bag.

“Here.” He stood, handing me a metal water bottle. “Drink something.”

I took the water, returning my attention to Titus. “Why do you say we’re close?”

Perhaps he smelled something. Miles was bound to be pretty stinky after all this time. Clearly, this was how Titus had been tracking him. With his inhuman shifter senses, and Miles probably being covered in filth, it made perfect sense.

“You see that?” he asked, pointing to a young-looking tree some feet away. “We’ve been following those.”

Followingtrees?

I blinked at the plant, not understanding. In fact, absolutely nothing looked out of place until I studied the scene further, lowering my gaze to where Titus was indicating.

“Mushrooms?” I pursed my lips. The nasty little fungus had spread from the base of the tree to about a half a foot up. How dare they ruin a perfectly fine sapling. “Is the tree dying?”