Page 61 of Lana Pecherczyk

Sera’s features could have been carved from the same blade as River’s. Her braid glittered with interwoven charms that caught the light. A sword and a bow were strapped across her back. Two sashes crisscrossed her torso and housed an arsenal of smaller blades. Her billowing, pleated pantaloons swished with each movement, somehow making her look more lethal, not less.

The tall male, River’s father, shared his son’s chiseled features, but his smile radiated warmth rather than mischief. As ageless as all fae, he looked like he could be River’s brother, not father. Beads clinked in his tied-back hair with each slight movement. A colorful, billowing shirt peeked out from beneath his chest plate.

The third female, Lark, curved where the others cut. She had softer edges but appeared no less lethal with the blades strapped to her thighs and arms. Wavy black hair escaped her messy top bun in a way that reminded Blake of a bird’s nest. Her wide blue eyes—identical to River’s—fixed on Blake with unconcealed curiosity as she propped a sashed hip against a tree.

Blake lifted her chin, refusing to abandon her point just because of an audience. River still grinned incorrigibly, still didn’t take her seriously. He’d trapped her with magic when running might have been her only survival option. If he insisted on being tone deaf to her feelings, perhaps she needed to speak his language to show him she was done being a doormat. Never again.

She pivoted to Ash and said, “Thanks for saving us, mate. I owe you one.”

River’s scarred hand snapped around Ash’s throat before another sound was uttered.

“Touch what’s mine, princeling, and I’ll feed you your own entrails.”

He’d moved so fast that Blake felt the air displacement against her skin.

Ash’s answering smile held no warmth. He drove his knee into River’s ribs with a crack that made Blake wince. Then it was game on. They crashed through the underbrush, all fists and fury. River’s elbow connected with Ash’s jaw, spraying blood in a crimson arc. Ash’s responding headbutt would have shattered a normal man’s skull. River just laughed through bloody teeth, wild and wicked, and lunged again.

This was unbelievable. Completely unhinged. They’d walked away from the owl-shifter battle with barely a scratch, but now they were carving each other up like it was a competitive sport.

“Enough!” River’s father’s voice boomed like thunder. Wings mantled open as he lunged between them, hauling the Guardians apart with surprising strength. He cuffed each upside the head, scattering leaves from their disheveled hair. “Almost three hundred years old and still brawling like juveniles.”

Threehundred? Blake’s jaw slackened.

“Some things never change.” Sera snickered.

“Especially not River’s possessive streak.” Lark winked at Blake.

River shot the females a murderous glare as he dusted debris from his jacket.

“Blake,” he ground out, “allow me to introduce my father, Talo. And my sisters. Sera’s the one with the blue braid. Lark’s got the goofy grin. Umbrias, Blake is my mate.”

“Duh.” Lark rolled her eyes, smirking.

“You forgot the Well-blessed bit,” Sera added dryly.

“I’ll forget you in a minute,” he shot back.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Welcome to the Umbria Kettle, love.” Mischief danced in Talo’s eyes, the same wild light Blake had glimpsed earlier in his son’s. “You’ll fit right in here. Our family embraces the unconventional. When River was young, we encouraged all forms of?—”

“Shut the fuck up, Dad.” River’s nostrils flared.

“What? I think it’s beautiful.” Talo spread his hands. “You, Ash, and this spitfire outsider here—it’s like poetry. A trinity of passion.”

“Mmhm.” Sera folded her arms and stared at Ash with disdain. “Now I see why it never worked out between us. One bird was never enough.”

River and Ash shared a horrified glance, their postures going rigid simultaneously.

Blake’s stomach plummeted as understanding crashed over her. Heat blazed from her neck to her hairline. “Oh no, that’s not?—”

“Don’t be shy, human.” Lark’s grin turned wicked. “I once had a pixie orgy. They have multiple mates all the time.” She scrunched her nose and shuddered. “But it ended when their barbed dicks became too much for one girl to handle.”

“And remember my summer with the vampire trio?” Sera sighed dreamily.

“No, wait,” Blake said. “Where I’m from, ‘mate’ just means friend. In a platonic way.” Their expressions remained blank, not a flicker of comprehension. “It’s a colloquialism.” Still nothing but unblinking stares. “You know,”—she turned to River for support— “like how I call someone a cunt but mean it lovingly.”

His lips curved. “You think of me lovingly?”