Page 10 of Homesick, Lovesick (Harper Valley Witch #3)

The others came bursting out of the tent right as Ronan summoned his sword and armor, because without the armor, this was going to fucking hurt. Well, it was still going to hurt, but he was a thousand times less likely to die.

"You're awake?"

Marvin asked, clearly dumbfounded.

"Get fucked,"

Ronan snarled.

Match's face turned into a thundercloud, but the golem roared and all attention was diverted back to it.

His scar flared with sharp, hot pain again in the beat before the golem swung at him. Ronan lifted his broadsword to block the worst of the attack, but still was knocked back, stumbling over the fire, feet smashing and scattering the burning wood.

"I'll get that,"

Match said, stripping off his clothes to reveal his tattoos.

Much as Ronan loved to watch him work, he was busy. The scar was distractingly painful, but he ignored it as much as possible and braced for the next attack. Times like this he wished guns were of any use at all, but with golems especially they were useless. Because funnily enough, it was really hard to penetrate the hide of something that was meant to withstand rockslides and long falls.

Only faerie steel could reliably contend with every threatening paranormal known, minus the likes of demons and such, which was way above his pay grade.

The golem knocked into him again, sending Ronan slamming into a tree. He barely managed to roll away when it came at him again, then lunged forward to slice at the back of its knee before tumbling forward to get out of the way as it turned in a wide swing—and faltered when it put full weight on its wounded leg.

Panting, Ronan went in for another strike, getting the ankle of the other leg.

The stench of golem blood filled the clearing, sharp and pungent, like some sort of concentrated, industrial cleanser.

With its movements successfully slowed, taking it down became significantly easier and mostly just made him feel bad because the poor thing had probably just wanted to go home. But he had no idea where home was, or how to get it there, and in the meantime, it would be a danger to everything in the forest as it gradually starved to death.

It was stupid and shitty. By the time he landed the killing blow, Ronan didn't know if he wanted to cry or scream or go commit more violence. Banishing his sword and armor, wiping sweat and blood from his face with his fleece before stripping it off and discarding it before the stench knocked him out, he rounded on Lynwood.

"Where the fuck were you! Why the absolute fuck weren't you helping me? I know you don't like me, but that's no excuse to abandon me in a dangerous fight!"

He surged forward, determine to break Lynwood's fucking nose—

Then Match appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.

"Ronan, stop."

Anger turned to hurt and then back to anger.

"What the fuck, Match."

"I'll handle them, like I should have sooner, but I talked myself— Nevermind, it doesn't matter right now. I'm sorry for letting you down. I'll take care of these cretins. Go rest, you've done more than enough."

Utterly bemused, not knowing what else to do now, Ronan obeyed. Completely not fucking caring about anyone or anything, he stripped off his sweat-soaked sleeping clothes and pulled on actual clothes.

He stared at his sword arm, frowning.

"The scar has stopped hurting."

Match whipped around, a fury in his eyes that Ronan had never seen, not even when his shitheel, so-called friends had stabbed him in the back. He moved so quickly Ronan blinked, but was gentle as he took hold of Ronan's arm to exam the scar.

"I checked for anything weird, purely on reflex. There was nothing but residue from the punctured protection spell."

Snarling, he slapped his right hand to one of the tattoos on his left arm. The bottom of his hand glowed white, but as he slapped it to the scar, the light turned orange.

"You son of a fucking bitch,"

Match bellowed before Ronan could ask what the fuck was going on. He rounded on Lynwood and Marvin, who stood there staring wide-eyed, mouths gaping, like a pair of dumbasses. Match stormed across the short distance between them and threw a fist right into Lynwood's face.

Ronan's mouth dropped.

"Holy shit."

He hadn't known Match could throw any punch, let alone one good enough to break Lynwood's nose.

"You aggroed my boyfriend! I'll fucking kill you for this! And you—"

He rounded on Marvin, who held up his hands like that would do anything at all to save him.

"You've been drugging him! I'm so fucking pissed. I thought it this morning, when we struggled to wake him up, but then I thought I'm just paranoid, pain and annoyance are making me paranoid. I just decided my poor boyfriend was extremely tired and maybe getting hit by the elevation, even though it's never bothered him before. But no, I was right, I should have listened to me: You've been drugging him."

Marvin scowled.

"I have not."

"Yes, you did!"

Match howled.

"He poured out the chamomile tea tonight when he thought nobody noticed, and low and fucking behold, he didn't sleep through pulling aggro on a goddamn golem."

"It wasn't supposed—"

Lynwood snapped his mouth shut.

Ronan was going to be sick. They'd drugged him. Cast a spell on him to draw monsters. They'd put him and Match at risk. Put themselves at risk. Why? Just to convince Match that Ronan was a worthless piece of shit and he should leave Harper Valley for them? That was worth risking all their lives?

Marvin raised his hands again in a show of peace, which Ronan could have told him would just piss Match off more, but fat chance of that. The bastard had drugged him. Could have so easily fucking killed him.

He really just wanted to crawl into his own bed and cry.

Lynwood lifted one of his own hands, though to what purpose, Ronan couldn't say.

"Come on, Match, we can't work this out if you don't calm—"

"Calm?"

Match bellowed.

"I'll fucking show you calm."

Then, in the single hottest move Ronan had ever seen, he drew not one but two matches, struck them together, took one in each hand, and crossed his arms to press them against both sleeves, reigniting them. As Marvin and Lynwood were still bumbling out stupid excuses and pleas, various markings on Match's left arm lit up like a damned Christmas tree. He slammed his hand over Marvin's face, and the little bastard dropped like a sack of potatoes.

He turned to Lynwood, who'd given up any pretense of being nice.

"Fucking touch me and I'll kill you."

Match laughed, low and mean.

"Try it, bitch."

His right arm flared like the left one, and even as Ronan made to surge forward to protect him, right as Lynwood called up his sword, Match threw out his right arm and suddenly there was fire everywhere.

Lynwood shrieked, panicked, actually let go of his fucking sword like some sort of fresh-faced newbie, and started swatting uselessly at the flames that were very obviously an illusion. Match slammed his hand over his face, and Lynwood dropped down beside Marvin.

With a sharp jerking motion of both arms, Match put his magic back to dormancy. His breath hitched in a way that said he was trying not to scream or cry.

"So that was stupid hot,"

Ronan said into the silence.

"Where'd you learn to throw a punch like that?"

"My uncle."

Match turned to him, ran across the few paces separating them, and threw himself into Ronan's arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I feel so stupid and awful. I suspected drugging, especially when I couldn't wake you up, and I was so scared that it was so difficult and so mad at everything because Lynwood wouldn't stop telling me how perfect a fighter he was and how you clearly couldn't do anything once you left Harper Valley, and I've been trying so hard to play nice, but I'm so sick of it—"

Ronan grabbed his flailing hands, squeezed them gently, then let go to cup his face.

"Hey, breathe. It's all right. Whatever they did, they failed miserably in the end. Are they okay where they are?"

"Huh? Yeah, they'll be fine, but who cares if they aren't? Are you okay? Let me see your arm again."

Ronan obeyed, watching fondly as Match fussed over his arm, running more spells over it, even though he was pretty sure the earlier orange-colored one had taken care of the matter.

"Where did you learn a term like aggro? I don't think you've ever played a video game a day in your life."

Match looked up, the barest hint of a smile curving his mouth, though his eyes were still dark with hurt and anger.

"I'll have you know I played thirty whole minutes of Call of Duty. Under duress. Because I lost a bet to Benny. I hated it. But Benny is the answer—I know the word because of Benny. That doesn't matter right now. What matters is that I failed you. When it mattered most, when you needed me most, I failed you."

"Hey, hey, don't speak like that,"

Ronan said softly, wiping away tears with his thumbs.

"I'm not gonna lie, this trip has fucking sucked. It's nothing at all what I thought it would be. And I'm gonna be processing getting cursed and drugged for a long time. But these people purported to want to be our friends. Well, your friend. Why would they assault your boyfriend? Of course you dismissed that idea."

"I shouldn't have. You clearly caught on, not drinking the tea."

Ronan snorted a laugh.

"Not even close. I just don't like chamomile, and his was weirdly bitter. I just thought he was over steeping it. God, I feel dumb. The clues were right there."

He explained the 'sugar' he'd noticed and dismissed.

"I should have noticed, I guess, but it never crossed my mind. Because why would they do something so stupid and dangerous? Also they clearly didn't like me, but they do like you. Why would they hurt you like that?"

Match hugged him tightly.

"I don't care what you say, I should have trusted my gut. Should have told all of them to get fucked, instead of continuing to make nice and listening to all their stupid blathering. But I was distracted by pain and frankly regretting agreeing to this, so…"

"That's the second time you've mentioned pain,"

Ronan said, forcing him back up a bit.

"What pain?"

"From being away from my wards. It's like a constant, low-level ache. Like when you work out too hard and your body is sore the whole next day or three. But it's constant until I get back to my wards. I thought with my mom watching over them, it would help some. If it is helping, then fuck I never want to leave anyone else in charge when I have to go out of town."

He sighed and rested his head against Ronan's chest, arms tight around him.

"I was really hoping it would work, though, because I know there are places you'd like to see, things you'd like to do, and you'd never leave me behind, so you'd never do them…"

Ronan kissed the top of his head.

"Is that why you seemed so interested in Italy? I don't give a shit about any of that. I just want you. And maybe something for this goddamn headache that's come back. I was really sad you didn't give me the powder for it when you gave me the tonic."

"What!"

Match jerked back and looked up.

"I didn't— Please don't tell me I actually forgot that. I swore I grabbed both out of my bag and gave them to you."

"Maybe it slipped out of your hand and you didn't notice?"

Match looked anguished.

"Why didn't you say anything, dumbass?"

"I thought you were pissed at me for falling asleep and didn't want to bug you."

"I— No—"

Match clung to him again, which was good, because Ronan really wanted him close right now. He leaned up to kiss Ronan hard.

"I'd never punish you with pain. I'm sorry I led you to believe I would do something like that. Never, not anyone— No, wait, I'm a liar, those two I would definitely punish with unmitigated pain if I got the chance—but definitely never you. Next time just knock me upside the head. I was certain I'd grabbed them both. I keep them right next to each other, because the tonic is a bitch without the powder. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

"It's okay,"

Ronan said softly.

"Honestly, sounds like this trip has been cursed from the start."

Match sniffled.

"Here I was so certain it was destined to be a great one because we handfasted."

"We what?"

Match tried to smile, but it didn't quite catch as he pulled away again looking heartbroken.

"It was so silly, and completely an accident, and of course not in earnest because you weren't aware, so couldn't…but it was just so perfect…"

He sighed and went to his bag, pulled out the strip of ivy he'd been wearing earlier and something else.

The rope, Ronan realized, but at some point in the day he'd woven it into a Celtic knot looking thing.

Returning to Ronan, he pressed it into his hands.

"It's an old witch tradition, not often done anymore.

My parents didn't even do it, and you know how Mom is with her rites.

Cord for binding, to show that where we go, we go together, that nothing can pull us apart.

Ivy for affection, friendship, happy marriage, fidelity."

His cheeks flushed as he looked at Ronan's chest instead of meeting his eyes.

"Handfasting is somewhere above engaged but below marriage.

Traditionally, a handfasted couple would live together for a year in like a test-run marriage, and if at the end of that year they were happy with each other and their lives together, they'd get actually married."

Ronan remembered getting tangled together in the ivy and rope, that shy, happy smile.

"I wish I'd known, so I could be happy with you."

"I was going to tell you tonight, but you insisted I stay with Jackass and Jackassier in the tent, and I wanted to keep an eye on them anyway, so I was hoping to wake up early and tell you then."

"What a mess,"

Ronan said with a sigh.

"I feel kind of silly now that I didn't know about handfasting, and just did the usual engagement ring instead."

"You what,"

Match said, staring at him wide-eyed, frozen in place. Then he reached out to grasp Ronan's shirt and made a futile attempt to shake him.

"You did what. You can't say that and then not keep going! Stop being a jerk!"

"Okay, okay,"

Ronan said, grinning, suddenly feeling lighter than air.

"Can we do this not by those dumbasses, though? They're killing the vibe."

Match snorted, but let himself be dragged off into the woods after Ronan had fished the ring box from his bag.

And then Ronan heard it. Water. Loud and rushing. His heart kicked up. Could it be? Could this one fucking thing go his way?