Page 14 of Randall (The Tenth Step #3)

Darvon

Darvon hadn’t wanted to “let it go.” He wanted to hash out what had happened.

One moment, they were kissing, and the next, Randall had stormed off into the forest. He’d followed, slower, wanting to give his mate a little time.

He hadn’t said anything… hadn’t even thought anything other than to question why hadn’t they been kissing more.

Had Randall read his mind? Darvon stilled and checked his wards, but found them all neat and tidy. Eventually, he’d let them fade, but he wanted to keep some thoughts private for a while longer. No sense in letting Randall see all his flaws just yet.

Perhaps it wasn’t him. Maybe Randall didn’t like the way he kissed.

That would be awkward, but he’d never admit he lacked experience.

Humans were known to be loose with their bodies, taking several lovers before settling down.

The Fae usually did as well; it was just that he’d had so few encounters…

Darvon rummaged in the bag of food Soric had packed, pulling out another apple, bread filled with a variety of nuts, and dried meat. He placed half on a cloth for Randall and took the other half down to the river to keep watch.

The deep caw of a raven sounded over the rushing water. Darvon glanced up at the bird sitting on a branch, looking first at him and then toward the woods. He flew off toward Randall, leaving Darvon to stare after it, wondering about its message.

Randall came running, shouting, “Darvon!” and pointing at the water, the raven flying over his head. Darvon spun around to face the river, spying the log from their vision. Black-spotted grey paws clawed at the large branch. A black nose lifted, and their mate’s head bobbed above the waterline.

Darvon dropped to his knees, digging his fingertips into the soil and calling for the trees to aid him.

This he could do. What he’d always been good at.

They bent to his will, branches drooping into the river, making a catch basket with their twined limbs.

The log bumped against it, stalling their mate’s progress.

Randall pulled up short beside him and stared across the river. Black eyes filled with hope stared back at them. When the feline lifted a paw, however, he slipped beneath the rushing water; only his single paw, claws embedded into the wood, kept him from being swept downstream.

“I’ve got him,” Randall said, calling on his magick.

He swirled his hands in circles, muttering a spell so softly that Darvon could barely make out the words over the sound of the running water.

Randall swept curled fingers up and in, urging the log to the shore, lifting it onto land, and dragging their mate along with it.

Darvon raced over, kneeling in the mix of earth and sand, and pulled their mate fully from the river, which sought to have him back in its watery grip.

“No!” Darvon spat, thrusting a hand into the water, using his earth magick to shove it away.

“No. He’s mine.” The river obeyed, gentling and smoothing, allowing Darvon and Randall to lift their shivering mate free of the branch and carry him to the carriage.

Darvon hurried to find blankets to dry his fur and warm the body that felt too cold.

Randall cradled the shaking, limp feline in his arms, singing a low song of warmth and love. Even as Darvon tucked the blanket around their mate, he could tell whatever Randall was doing was working. His fur had mostly dried, and the shivering shudders that had wracked his small body had lessened.

Randall glanced at him with a tight smile that slowly grew the longer he stared down at their mate. Darvon hovered. He wanted to touch, to stroke his palm over that sleek fur. His hands rose unconsciously, but the moment he realized what he was doing, he shoved them down to his sides.

Unsure what to do, but needing to do something, he looked around and spied the food he’d taken out and which the raven was eyeing.

Their mate would be hungry and thirsty. He shooed the bird away and then found an open sunny spot and crouched, placing his fingertips in the middle of scraggly grass and broken rock.

Mindful of Randall’s warning regarding strong magick, he only let a smidgeon trickle into the ground, asking for it to form a circle of earth surrounded by a ring of rock.

He shifted the grass away, urging the roots to move closer to the water. They happily obliged.

He quickly gathered deadwood that nearly jumped into his hands and then kindled it to light, which took more magick than he wanted.

He’d never been a strong fire-wielder. Earth magick was his strongest asset; fire his weakest. Randall settled on the ground, close to the blaze, sending Darvon another smile and a nod of thanks as he continued to croon to their mate.

“He’s probably hungry, so I thought…” Darvon didn’t wait for Randall’s reply before turning to retrieve their food and finding the raven with its beak buried in the bread. “Shoo, shoo. Go away. That’s ours.”

Randall laughed behind him as he chased the determined bird away.

Another lighter chuckle filled the air, followed by a rough coughing.

Darvon spun around. The young man lying in Randall’s lap was small and slight, his pale skin darkened below his hooded eyes.

His hair was long, loose with a light wave, a dark brown that was nearly black with streaks of grey, a juxtaposition of his fur.

He’d curled over with the coughing fit, and Randall was rubbing his back.

“Darvon, grab the pot, water, and my bag,” Randall called out with only a glance away from their mate.

Darvon wanted to touch, too, but he pushed that niggle of jealousy aside to do as Randall asked. He filled the pot with water from the river and put it beside the fire to heat while Randall pulled a mug and bags of herbs from his bag.

“You can’t just heal him?”

Randall halted his search and peered at Darvon, his brow furrowing. His lips pressed together, and from the way he breathed slowly, Darvon could tell he was mad. “That’s not how magick works,” he said slowly, like he was speaking to a child.

Darvon jolted and stepped back, guilt swamping him.

He didn’t want to get into how Fae learned to control their magick, mostly because he’d been a horrible student who refused to listen to those older and wiser than him.

He felt he needed to say something, so he offered, “I never had formal training in the healing arts. There isn't much need among the Fae.”

His mate nodded and resumed his task of finding just the right ingredients.

“Ginger and honey, too,” the young shifter muttered. A new smile bloomed on Randall’s face as he agreed with him, and Darvon had to look away. No, he had to get away… just for a moment.

He headed to the carriage and ducked around behind it.

Ridiculous. That’s what he was, what he was doing.

Their mate needed help after his ordeal, but all Darvon could feel was jealousy that he was on the outside of the tiny twosome.

Maybe if he and Randall had had more time together, he wouldn’t feel such spiky envy.

“Thank you, mate.”

Darvon froze, hearing their mate speak. He strained to hear more, moving to the edge of the carriage where he could peek around the corner.

The young man gripped Randall’s arm as he looked at him.

He’d slid off Randall’s lap and sat on the ground beside him, the blankets pulled tight around his body.

“For rescuing me and for the tea. My name is Flynn of the Fisher Clan… But I don’t know if… I might be… the only one left.”

“I know,” Randall said, covering Flynn’s hand. “The ravens brought me word, or well… a vision of the attack and your escape.”

“That’s how you knew where to find me?”

“Yes, though not here in this place exactly. We’ve traveled from Onamond, knowing you’d come through Riverside. I’d thought we’d find you closer to town.”

“I swept through there just after sunset. I’d planned to go ashore when I’d seen the town from a distance, but then I was afraid to be seen. I didn’t want whatever was after me to hurt them.”

“You weren’t followed,” Randall said. “The ravens tracked you, and my scrying didn’t show you in any harm except from the river itself.”

Flynn shuddered. “I’ve never been so wet and cold in my life.”

“Never again. I promise.” When Randall drew his fingertips along Flynn’s cheek, a mix of longing, anger, and jealousy lodged in Darvon’s chest.

“Don’t,” Flynn started, catching Randall’s hand when he jerked it back.

“No, not that.” The soft smile Flynn gave Randall melted Darvon’s ire somewhat, but he wanted that smile directed at him.

“I meant about making a promise you may not be able to keep. I could tumble into the river tomorrow, and wind up looking just as bedraggled as I’m sure I do now. ”

Flynn’s light laughter caused sparks of joy to spread through Darvon.

Again, he wanted… badly. It wasn’t fair.

Flynn already had Randall wrapped tight around his fingers, but they weren’t supposed to be a couple.

He turned his back on them and leaned against the carriage, looking into the forest, but the blurred wetness kept him from seeing it.

“Mm. This tea tastes good. I can already feel it working.”

“Good. You must be hungry. Dar— Darvon?”

He jolted, dashed at his eyes, and scrubbed his cheeks roughly.

“Just a moment,” Darvon called back, then took a few deep breaths before coming out from his hiding spot.

He stopped, seeing Randall and Flynn standing only a few steps away.

Randall had his arm around Flynn’s waist, propping him up.

Both of them stared at Darvon, making his stomach twist. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat.

“Oh no,” Darvon said, frowning, hurrying to help Flynn.

“You shouldn’t be up.” With Randall’s help, they carefully eased Flynn down beside the fire.

He turned to gather the food he’d forgotten about when he got mixed up with his own feelings.

Flynn touched his hand. When Darvon stilled, Flynn wrapped his small hand lightly around Darvon’s wrist.

Flynn lifted his other hand and brushed at a spot beneath Darvon’s eye. “Did I do something to upset you?” Flynn’s whisper dug under Darvon’s skin, and he felt another tear fall.

Jerking away, Darvon fell on his ass, flipped over, and scrambled clear. He rushed into the woods, pushing the trees and shrubs from his path, all the while calling himself every derogatory term he’d ever heard. “Some fucking prince you are. This is why Mother never named you heir.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Darvon pulled up short, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Randall, who stood with his arms crossed at the edge of the forest. He glanced back the way he’d come, sure he should be far away, yet when he turned back, there behind his mate was Flynn, slowly eating the bread he was supposed to have gotten him.

“How…? I should…” He waved a hand toward the woods.

Randall took a small step forward. “I redirected the path you were on to return to me.” He took another step. “You weren’t paying attention.” Another step. “And it wasn’t like you really wanted to leave, right?”

“Maybe…” Darvon sighed. “I suppose not.”

Randall quirked an eyebrow. “Suppose? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

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.