Page 31 of Randall
Valter’s gaze bounced between Artor and Randall. “Right about what?”
“Mates,” Darvon said simultaneously with Randall, then chuckled as he leaned against him.
“More?” Baron said, wide-eyed.
Darvon narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t Jarrah tell you?” When Baron shook his head, he debated, glancing at Randall, wondering if he was not supposed to say anything, but his mate’s nudge encouraged him to do so. “Jarrah told us that there would be five sets of mates. We’re third. The dragon and his mates, which must include Master Artor, are the fourth.”
“Who’s the fifth?”
Darvon pressed his lips together as Baron’s sons, Connor, Cormac, and Camron, arrived just then. The vampiric brothers descended from the fully enclosed driverless carriage—the reinspassed through curtains into a cutout so that it could be controlled by someone inside. They were swathed in dark cloaks with their deep hoods raised, hiding their similar features of jet black hair, high cheekbones, full lips, and piercing dark eyes that Darvon remembered from the night before. The cloaks didn’t hide their wide shoulders or how tall they were. Darvon recalled how they were each a head or more taller than he was.
Three brothers for Sylvan. Lucky Fae… but no, Darvon had a handsome mage and a lithe, little cat shifter with a wicked tongue. He was just as lucky as his cousin. As were Jarrah with his wolf and vampire. Mother was going to be shocked when they returned. Or… maybe not. Perhaps she’d seen who, where, and when. He would have to ask her.
Having only met the brothers for a short time following the tavern brawl, he couldn’t be sure who was who, so he listened and watched for clues from the others.
“Any trouble, Connor?” Baron asked as his sons closed in on them.
The brother walking in the front lifted his head enough for Darvon to get a good look at him. He seemed to be the oldest by human years, and so Darvon assumed he was Connor and committed the scar on his cheek to memory. “No, Father. None followed us but the ravens.”
“Where’s my dragon?” Artor asked, breathing hard as he turned, peering from Randall to the road and the woods beyond.
Darvon took in the intent stare and the vampire’s white-knuckled fists and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Down the road a bit, but wait—” He put up his hands when Artor moved. “He’s injured.”
“Injured? My mate is hurt?” Artor stormed closer, gaze darkening, blood red taking over the whites of his eyes. His voice dropped to a low rumble. “How? To what extent?”
“We aren’t sure how bad. Our link to Flynn is tenuous.”
“You haven’t claimed him yet?” Baron asked, a note of surprise in his voice as he approached with his mates and sons. The soldiers remained kneeling, not having yet been released by Valter.
“Not fully,” Randall said. “I sent my raven to check, and he just returned with the news. We debated joining Flynn but thought it best to wait for Artor before heading that way.”
Artor growled, sliding forward, fingers splayed, his nails extending into claws. “You knew about us?”
“No!” Darvon spat, thrusting a hand out and magicking the ground to catch hold of Artor’s feet. He barely contained his surprise at how easily he’d done it. His magick had never welled and leapt to him so quickly before.
Baron caught hold of Artor’s arm when he stumbled. “I think you’d better explain, but before you do that… Valter, get those soldiers moving. Our horses need water and a few handfuls of grain, and you and Duke need to eat.”
Valter nodded, grabbed Duke’s hand, and headed for the humans. Meanwhile, Baron calmed Artor down. Once Artor’s eyes lost their sharp, reddened haze, Darvon released him from the spell, again marveling at how easily his power moved for him. Only one thing had changed—well, two “somethings.”
“Sorry,” Artor muttered, but Darvon waved off the apology.
“Your reaction was understandable. I should have softened the blow.”
“Not sure how you could, but you kept me from running off half-assed. For that I am grateful.” Artor glanced at Baron beseechingly. “I am anxious to go to him.”
“We’ve been on the road all day. Give us a quarter of an hour to rest the horses and for my mates to eat, and then we’ll go.” Baron gripped Artor’s shoulder.
Artor conceded under Baron’s earnest request. He darted over to his horse and opened a pack, pulling out a bottle of… Darvonwould have said red wine, but vampire, so it was probably either blood or blood mixed with wine. He wrinkled his nose as he watched Artor pull out the cork and took several swallows.
Beside him, Baron chuckled. “I understand the Fae prefer not to eat meat.”
“I do on occasion, but it has to be cooked.”
Randall nudged Darvon’s arm. “And yet your brother ended up with a vampire.”
Darvon sighed. “Jarrah is more worldly than I am. Mother titled him ambassador and sent him out into Obrusa as her emissary while I remained behind, learning how best to support him once he took over the throne.” He smiled slyly at Randall. “I was a terrible student.”
Randall placed his hands on Darvon’s waist and tugged him closer. “I look forward to hearing all about your escapades. We’ll compare notes, though I suspect your list will be far longer than mine, seeing as you have three hundred or so years on me.”
