Page 19 of Randall
“Darvon, grab the pot, water, and my bag,” Randall called out with only a glance away from their mate.
Darvon wanted to touch, too, but he pushed that niggle of jealousy aside to do as Randall asked. He filled the pot with water from the river and put it beside the fire to heat while Randall pulled a mug and bags of herbs from his bag.
“You can’t just heal him?”
Randall halted his search and peered at Darvon, his brow furrowing. His lips pressed together, and from the way he breathed slowly, Darvon could tell he was mad. “That’s not how magick works,” he said slowly, like he was speaking to a child.
Darvon jolted and stepped back, guilt swamping him. He didn’t want to get into how Fae learned to control their magick, mostly because he’d been a horrible student who refused to listen to those older and wiser than him. He felt he needed to say something, so he offered, “I never had formal training in the healing arts. There isn't much need among the Fae.”
His mate nodded and resumed his task of finding just the right ingredients.
“Ginger and honey, too,” the young shifter muttered. A new smile bloomed on Randall’s face as he agreed with him, and Darvon had to look away. No, he had to get away… just for a moment.
He headed to the carriage and ducked around behind it. Ridiculous. That’s what he was, what he was doing. Their mateneeded help after his ordeal, but all Darvon could feel was jealousy that he was on the outside of the tiny twosome. Maybe if he and Randall had had more time together, he wouldn’t feel such spiky envy.
“Thank you, mate.”
Darvon froze, hearing their mate speak. He strained to hear more, moving to the edge of the carriage where he could peek around the corner. The young man gripped Randall’s arm as he looked at him. He’d slid off Randall’s lap and sat on the ground beside him, the blankets pulled tight around his body. “For rescuing me and for the tea. My name is Flynn of the Fisher Clan… But I don’t know if… I might be… the only one left.”
“I know,” Randall said, covering Flynn’s hand. “The ravens brought me word, or well… a vision of the attack and your escape.”
“That’s how you knew where to find me?”
“Yes, though not here in this place exactly. We’ve traveled from Onamond, knowing you’d come through Riverside. I’d thought we’d find you closer to town.”
“I swept through there just after sunset. I’d planned to go ashore when I’d seen the town from a distance, but then I was afraid to be seen. I didn’t want whatever was after me to hurt them.”
“You weren’t followed,” Randall said. “The ravens tracked you, and my scrying didn’t show you in any harm except from the river itself.”
Flynn shuddered. “I’ve never been so wet and cold in my life.”
“Never again. I promise.” When Randall drew his fingertips along Flynn’s cheek, a mix of longing, anger, and jealousy lodged in Darvon’s chest.
“Don’t,” Flynn started, catching Randall’s hand when he jerked it back. “No, not that.” The soft smile Flynn gave Randall melted Darvon’s ire somewhat, but he wanted that smiledirected at him. “I meant about making a promise you may not be able to keep. I could tumble into the river tomorrow, and wind up looking just as bedraggled as I’m sure I do now.”
Flynn’s light laughter caused sparks of joy to spread through Darvon. Again, he wanted… badly. It wasn’t fair. Flynn already had Randall wrapped tight around his fingers, but they weren’t supposed to be a couple. He turned his back on them and leaned against the carriage, looking into the forest, but the blurred wetness kept him from seeing it.
“Mm. This tea tastes good. I can already feel it working.”
“Good. You must be hungry. Dar— Darvon?”
He jolted, dashed at his eyes, and scrubbed his cheeks roughly. “Just a moment,” Darvon called back, then took a few deep breaths before coming out from his hiding spot. He stopped, seeing Randall and Flynn standing only a few steps away. Randall had his arm around Flynn’s waist, propping him up. Both of them stared at Darvon, making his stomach twist. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat.
“Oh no,” Darvon said, frowning, hurrying to help Flynn. “You shouldn’t be up.” With Randall’s help, they carefully eased Flynn down beside the fire. He turned to gather the food he’d forgotten about when he got mixed up with his own feelings. Flynn touched his hand. When Darvon stilled, Flynn wrapped his small hand lightly around Darvon’s wrist.
Flynn lifted his other hand and brushed at a spot beneath Darvon’s eye. “Did I do something to upset you?” Flynn’s whisper dug under Darvon’s skin, and he felt another tear fall.
Jerking away, Darvon fell on his ass, flipped over, and scrambled clear. He rushed into the woods, pushing the trees and shrubs from his path, all the while calling himself every derogatory term he’d ever heard. “Some fucking prince you are. This is why Mother never named you heir.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Darvon pulled up short, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Randall, who stood with his arms crossed at the edge of the forest. He glanced back the way he’d come, sure he should be far away, yet when he turned back, there behind his mate was Flynn, slowly eating the bread he was supposed to have gotten him. “How…? I should…” He waved a hand toward the woods.
Randall took a small step forward. “I redirected the path you were on to return to me.” He took another step. “You weren’t paying attention.” Another step. “And it wasn’t like you really wanted to leave, right?”
“Maybe…” Darvon sighed. “I suppose not.”
Randall quirked an eyebrow. “Suppose? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
