Page 20 of Randall
Embarrassed by his actions and knowing he could have acted instead of reacted, he hung his head, whispering his answer.
“What was that, mate of mine?” Randall’s booted feet came into Darvon’s downward view. Randall’s hand landed lightly on Darvon’s neck, fingers tracing softly across his skin.
“I was jealous.”
“Of me? Why?”
Darvon inched closer, butting his forehead into Randall’s chest. Randall’s arms enclosed him, pulling him in, the heat of his body sinking into Darvon’s, washing away the bitterness. He sank into the embrace.
“Oh…” Randall breathed. “It’s good then that I have two arms and plenty of room in my heart for both of you.” He lifted one arm, and Flynn tucked in.
Flynn offered a small smile as he touched Darvon’s cheek with fingers still cool from his time in the mountain-spawned river. “Hi. I heard what you said, and you don’t have to be jealous. I don’t have to either.”
Surprised, Darvon twisted to face Flynn while still staying within Randall’s hold. “You were?”
“Yes, Randall got very upset when you took off, and I realized you already had his heart. I thought there might not be room for me.”
Darvon shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. We both want you. We both saw you in our visions and knew immediately that you were ours.”
“Hearts and heads are funny things,” Flynn chuckled, low and thick, the sound dipping into Darvon’s soul and taking root. “My master told me that… a lot. I think… I think he knew what was coming and deliberately sent me away. He saved me.” Tears trickled down Flynn’s cheeks.
It was Darvon’s turn to touch, gently wiping away the tears before he urged Flynn closer, and Randall’s arms tightened around them. He tucked Flynn’s head beneath his chin and held on while Flynn sobbed and shuddered. Their mate had lost so much, so quickly, and in needing to survive, he hadn’t had a chance to grieve.
Darvon wondered what he could do. What could he say? The Fae lived such long lives; he had no experience with grief. So he did what felt natural: holding his mate up while the world fell apart around him.
Chapter 14
Flynn
“Let’s move back to the fire,” Randall whispered once Flynn’s tears had lessened. He kissed first Darvon’s hair and then Flynn’s, having to lean down to reach Flynn because he was much shorter than his mates.
Flynn let Randall lead them to the cleared circle Darvon had made with his Fae magic. He’d watched in awe as both of his mates used their gifts. If he had anything to be jealous about, it was that. They had talent at the tip of their fingers, born with it. He had only what he could physically use: his herbs and tinctures.
Randall ripped off chunks of bread and passed them around before pulling out a small knife and cutting the fruit into pieces. As Darvon ate, half of his long silver hair fell like a curtain around his shoulders, hiding his face when he dipped his head.
Flynn swept it back, wanting to see his mate. “May I braid it?” The crinkle across Darvon’s forehead was cute, as was the scrunched nose. When he finally shrugged, Flynn threw off theblanket and scurried around behind him. His mate’s hair felt like silk when he trailed his fingers through it, smoothing the long strands, untangling what had still been braided, before he separated it into three parts and began forming a new braid.
Randall held out a piece of blue ribbon. “Here.”
Flynn smiled his thanks, then worked the ribbon into the end of the braid before wrapping it several times around the end and tying it off. He pushed the braid over Darvon’s shoulder so he could see, but really it was so Flynn could place a light kiss on the bare skin of his neck. “Beautiful.”
The shudder that ran through Darvon appealed to a raw hunger Flynn had never felt before. He repeated the kiss, gripping Darvon’s arms, holding him in place as he then ran his nose up the back of his mate’s neck, inhaling the scent of him: wild woods, lavender, and citrus. Bright and bold, and that fast, he was addicted.
He’d already cataloged Randall’s scents: crushed leaves, cinnamon, cloves. Deeper scents that spoke of his generational magic. Randall was a born magick user, with strong ties to the land, but also learned. He’d studied spells and casting and runes.
In contrast, Darvon’s Fae magick was elemental, mostly of earth, with hints of air and water. It was why he had no problem shifting the ground they sat on, but had struggled to start the blaze. Randall wouldn’t have. Feeling how Randall had pulled the water from Flynn’s fur with barely a word, how he’d layered warmth over him to fight off the chill, how he’d spoken a command and, with a twist of his hand, the forest paths brought Darvon back to them.
His mates were powerful; he was a lowly shifter. A Fisher cat. Small, benign, nothing of consequence. He shrank away.
After a moment, Darvon turned. “You stopped. Why?”
“I’m… not like you.”
“So?”
Flynn huffed, curling his hands into fists and bouncing them on his thighs. “I don’t have magick like you.”
“So?” Randall repeated Darvon’s question. “We don’t need our magick to love you.”
