Page 191 of Lana Pecherczyk

Ash shouldered past him. “Don’t ask me to source my own disguise next time.”

“Wait.” River scooped up a finger of mud and jogged after him. He smeared the mud over Ash’s Guardian mark, concealing its blue glow, and then gave him a patronizing pat. “There.”

“Great.” Ash jerked back. “Now I look like I’ve got shit on my face.”

“Glamour doesn’t work on Well-blessed marks.”

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

“What’s eating you?” River blocked his path, arms folded. “It’s me who should be pissed after what you did.”

Ash’s eyebrow arched. “After whatIdid?”

“You know.” River gestured toward their roost. “Picked sides.”

“Still sore that you lost?”

“Two of the triad against one. Definitely not fair.” River scanned the surrounding trees and shadows. “Where is he?”

“Probably at the tribunal.”

River’s fingers worried at the laces of his tunic. “Is he … okay?”

He’d rushed off after promising Cloud he wouldn’t be alone. He’d abandoned Ash too. Left him to clean up the mess.

How could River protect both his mate and his triad? He had no idea how to manage this.

What blinds the Guardian is not darkness, but his own feathers.

The Donna probably meant River needed to stop second-guessing himself. Following his instincts was how he forged a path ahead of the others. If his instincts weren’t talking, then jumping with no wings also did the job.

“Come on,” he said, circling behind Ash. “The sooner we find your psycho ma, the sooner we help Cloud sort out his shit, and the sooner I get back to my mate.”

They walked in silence, boots crunching over dirt and twigs, wings rustling in the tight space. The crowded branches overhead provided excellent cover for aerial discovery of illicit acts but made flying awkward.

River’s gaze slid sideways to inspect the ridiculous outfit. Where he expected to find Ash tugging at his collar, the princeling held his chin high, shoulders relaxed. He looked more at home in mating garb than Guardian leathers.

Interesting.

He tried to recall what the Donna had said to Ash. If she’d been right about River, perhaps there was more to her ramblings.

The wind—or the Well itself—whispered to Ash. By that logic, this “accidentally embarrassing” outfit might not be a mistake at all. He opened his mouth to question it when Ash asked, “How’s Blake?”

A spike of possessive jealousy gripped River’s throat. His eyes narrowed on the ceremonial mating outfit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you?—”

“Fuck her senseless?” River’s lips curved. “Of course I did.”

“I was going to say, did you give her your gift?”

River grabbed himself crudely through his pants. “Sure did.”

“Stop fucking around.”

Of course Ash wouldn’t make a move on Blake. That was ridiculous. River circled his fist over his heart. “I’m edgy.”

“Why, she didn’t like your gift?”