Page 99 of Lana Pecherczyk

The other Well-blessed Guardians could locate their better halves through the mating bond, but for River, it was this thing between his legs leading the way. Had been since he first laid eyes on her rainbow hair in that marketplace.

“Down, you bastard.” But it never cared much for listening to his brain.

Maybe if he released tension, he could think clearly about escaping without ruining Blake’s opinion. He took himself in hand and squeezed, but it didn’t feel good. It felt empty. It wasn’t Blake’s fingers wrapped around his shaft. He sighed as the caravan jostled over a bump, and he still felt nothing.

Glass shattered in the main cabin, followed by Blake’s muffled apology that stabbed him in the gut. Back to saying she’s sorry again.

He turned off the faucet and wrapped a towel around his waist. Then he gathered his mud-stained clothes, took a steadying breath, and stepped out to face yet another person he was destined to disappoint.

Three steps out, he stopped short. Blake stood at the kitchenette, her shoulders slumped, halfway through preparing the nesting recipe his mother had left. Her black hair was pulled into a messy bun, revealing more UV-painted patterns on hermostly bare back. Painted arrows pointed down to her curved ass.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled to gather his focus. What had broken?

Vegetable peelings, broken eggshells, and glass shards were swept into the trash basket beside the kitchenette. Waves of Blake’s melancholy traveled through their bond.Well-dammif that didn’t make him feel worse.

She glanced over her shoulder, briefly locked red-rimmed eyes with him, and then returned to peeling a potato.

“While you were in the shower,” she said, voice brittle bright, “I re-read the letter and realized why you were so angry.” She cleared her throat, still not looking at him as she peeled with jerky movements. “We need to do the rituals in Lark and Tommas’s place.” Another clearing of the throat. “So I thought I may as well start with the meal. I hope that’s okay?”

“Sure.” He kept his tone neutral, afraid any hint of humor might shatter whatever fragile thing was happening here.

She sniffed, nodded, and attacked the potato with more determination than skill. The ceramic blade skittered across the vegetable’s surface, removing chunks and leaving a masticated mess.

“I also thought about the other rituals,” she continued, words tumbling faster as her shoulders curved inward. “The tattoo challenge looks simple enough. You have experience with that. I’m sure you can teach me. And the repair job will be the easiest. I can repair things with me eyes closed.” Her tone was no longer bright. “Myeyes closed.”

He scowled. She kept doing that—correcting herself and feeling shitty. Why?

“As for the final challenge,” she said. “I pulled out a few items I think I’m brave enough to try.”

River’s gaze drifted to the booth where she had, indeed, laid out various toys. His brain screamed for him to look away, not even to consider this an option, but something deeper than curiosity held his attention.

She hadn’t chosen the tamer items—no simple blindfold or tickle feather. Instead, she decided on fur-covered cuffs, a bejeweled plug, and a sparkling string of anal beads. Blood rushed south again.

But this wasn’t how he wanted to learn her secrets.

He shook his head, scrubbing his face with his palm. This was Blake trying to give him what she thought he needed. His bastard cock could shut the fuck up.

A sharp crack drew his attention to Blake’s hand over the sink, yolk from an accidentally crushed egg oozing between her fingers. “Fuck you, you fucking egg,” she sobbed, flicking the mess toward the trash. “Fucking cunty-cuntfaced egg.”

The movement gave him a glimpse of her profile and the fresh tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.

“Hey.” He tossed his clothes on the floor, moved behind her, and reached around her.

Blood.

His breath caught.

On her hands.

Mixed with the egg yolk and peelings.

She must have cut herself on the glass thing that broke while he was in the shower. He turned on the faucet and guided her fingers under running water.

“We’ll figure another way out,” he murmured. “It’s not worth hurting yourself over.”

She remained silent but leaned a fraction against his chest. Her black hair caught a stream of sunlight filtering through the window. Glittering rainbows danced across the strands. Heclosed his eyes and inhaled her warm scent like a balm. It wiped away the mess in his mind. Cleaned it right out.

And it wasn’t just him feeling this way. He sensed her soul grow calmer. For the first time, he understood why the mess never seemed to touch his parents. It was this. She needed him, and he was here. She hurt, and he surrounded her with his arms. Just like she had cared for him when he’d sat there dumbly, staring atPeacemaker, not knowing what was happening.