Page 25 of Randall (The Tenth Step #3)

Randall

The raven’s blaring caw as he sped toward us shocked me. We had only just started on the road, the horses trotting at an easy pace. I stuck out my arm and braced it, expecting the jarring impact as the raven landed. It quickly hopped to my shoulder and relayed Flynn’s frantic plea.

“We must hurry,” I shouted to answer Darvon’s unasked question.

“The dragon worsens.” I tossed the raven aloft and flicked the reins, urging the horses to run, our carriage taking the front.

A little magick ensured Darvon and I weren’t thrown from the seat as we bounced and rocked, racing along the uneven road.

That everyone followed without bombarding me with a thousand questions was nice, but really, the only two people I would have answered at that moment were my mate and Artor.

Our carriage was shortly overtaken by the vampires, who’d insisted on riding first as protection.

They slowed the horses’ pace from a full-out gallop to a more manageable canter.

“Should we tell him?” I asked Darvon, sitting beside me on the bench seat.

His gaze flicked forward to Artor, where he rode just behind Baron in the lead, as though I didn’t know where the vampire was, before returning to stare at me. “And deprive ourselves of his surprise when he learns there’s another mate for him?”

Though it wasn’t the time or place for jesting, his response made me laugh.

Off-balance seemed to be my perpetual state since the night the queen summoned me to her chambers and revealed Artor’s involvement.

From there, it was days of scrying for the king, of trying to keep Valter calm while still training him to use his magic, of nightly visions of shadowy figures, both good and bad.

Two bright spots had lifted my spirits: one with a silvery mane and a starburst in his brilliant-blue eyes, the other with burnished skin and glowing eyes of green.

My dreams had kept returning to them, but revealed little else to clue me in on who they were.

I needed no clues now, except those that would help us defeat this vile presence that had invaded Obrusa.

“Randall!” Flynn shouted. Hauling on the reins, I brought the horses to a stop and then jumped from my perch.

Flynn ran to me and leapt, and if it weren’t for the sudden strong gust of wind at my back, I might have toppled over.

Darvon’s chuckle was adorable. I was amazed at how his power seemed to have grown in the little time we’d spent together.

“Thanks,” I said to Darvon for the assist, hugging a very naked Flynn to my chest as I could do nothing else with him wrapped like a monkey around me.

“You have to help him.”

“Him?”

“Timur… the dragon.” Flynn huffed and leaned back, grabbing my shoulders and shaking them. “He’s badly hurt.”

I gasped. “Timur? Prince Timur?” Just as quickly, my surprise faded because, of course, Fate added another person of lineage to our entourage, like a human prince and two Fae ones weren’t enough.

“Prince?” Flynn’s eyes widened, showing off the huge golden green irises. “He didn’t tell—”

“Flynn, come to me. Let Randall help.” Darvon held his arms and a tunic out to our mate.

“Darvon…” Flynn slid from me to Darvon, tucking his head beneath Darvon’s chin. “You’ll help, too, right? My herbs aren’t working.”

“Of course, but first we have to watch.” Darvon pointed at Artor, who stood transfixed, staring at the dragon, who’d also gone still as stone.

“What…? Oh… They’re mates.” Flynn snuggled harder against Darvon, sliding one arm around my waist when I came to stand at Darvon’s back. “Just like us, but only two.”

I stroked a hand down Flynn’s hair, then down his neck and along the bumps of his spine before taking the tunic from Darvon. “They’ll have a third.”

He tipped his chin up and looked at me, seeming reluctant to let go of Darvon as he tightened his legs around our mate to hold up his arms for me to put on his tunic. “How do you know?”

“Darvon’s brother let it slip before he told Darvon’s seneschal to wait and then meet us at the foot of the Wintervale Mountains.” I lightly fisted his hair, holding him in place as I leaned down to kiss him. Flynn moaned into my mouth, and Darvon moaned softly in my ear, watching us.

“I’m not sure who to watch now,” Darvon whined. “The two of you, or Artor and the dragon.”

I broke away with a laugh and raised my eyes to peer over his shoulder at Artor kneeling beside Timur.

The vampire had two long gashes along his palms, his blood welling and dripping, which he smeared on the gaping wound.

He spoke quietly to the dragon, gently massaging his blood into the broken scales and skin.

Meanwhile, Baron whispered fervently with the soldiers until three men stepped forward. He had them kneel next to Artor, hold out their forearms, and offer their blood to Artor to drink. Artor took only a few swallows from each man, sustaining himself while his blood healed Timur’s wound.

“How can his blood do that when my herbs could not?”

“The blood of ancient vampires has amazing healing powers. It forces the body to regenerate quickly, which is what is happening. The evil poison that infected Timur is slow-acting. With Artor’s blood, the dragon is healing quickly because it's not allowing that vileness to gain anymore of a foothold. Your herbs were simply not potent enough, but I believe they slowed its progression, giving Artor time to reach his mate. You did well, kitten.”

Flynn blinked at me, a stain of pink flushing his cheeks. “Kitten?”

I caressed his jaw and ran the backs of my fingers down his throat as I hummed. “It suits you. Young. Feisty. Soft. Pet-able.”

Rolling his eyes, Flynn smiled. “You can pet me all you like. Goddess, I can’t wait until we have a big bed to roll around on. One that isn’t lumpy.” He wrinkled his nose adorably.

“If it is,” Darvon interjected, “I’ll magick it smooth.”

“Thank you, mate.” Flynn hauled Darvon down and kissed the stuffing out of him.

When hands started drifting where they shouldn’t in full view of the others, I cleared my throat. “Later, mates. Let us see how well Timur is healed. The sooner he is, the sooner we can resume our journey to Riverside.”

Flynn nodded. “Where we can find a room with a locking door, a magicked bed, and no interruptions.”

“Your priorities are noted,” Darvon said, squeezing Flynn before releasing him to stand on his own feet. I noted them as well and wholeheartedly agreed.

I took them to where Baron stood, keeping an eye on Artor. He glanced at us, then took a minute longer to study Flynn.

“You did well, healer. Your skill is admirable.”

“Master Baron, this is our mate, Flynn of the Fisher Clan. A feline shifter.”

Baron breathed deeply through his nose. “A healer. I can smell the herbs, flowers, berries, and roots on his skin. Thank you for keeping Prince Timur alive.”

I was surprised by Baron’s familiarity with Timur. “You know the prince?”

“Yes. When I was consolidating my power in Ashwood, Marius was insistent that I travel to Wintervale Palace. We—the dragons and my clan—have had very few interactions over the last century. The dragons have a fear of vampires—I’m unsure why—but it was good for both of us to know that we had a powerful ally.

Now circumstances have brought the dragons into our conflict, so I’m thinking Fate had a hand…

Well… obviously.” Baron sighed heavily as he flicked his fingers in Artor’s direction.

He looked at me sharply then. “You’ve never met the prince?”

“No, I’ve never met a dragon-shifter, never even seen one from a distance. But…” —I smiled— “I’m not as old as you.”

His mouth dropped open at my less-than-subtle jab, but no words came forth, and just when he seemed ready to speak…

“Baron! Duke’s gone wolfy again.”

Frantic caws and the rustling of a hundred pairs of wings filled the air. Their cries pierced my ears and my mind, bringing me to my knees.

Darvon cursed as he stood over me, waving his hands. The external sound cut off to a muffled roar with a swirl of air that became a barrier around me. The raven’s anger, though, hammered my skull from within.

“I’m going to kill him,” came a muted cry that morphed into a low rumbling growl.

“Flynn, no!” followed by a high-pitched yip and more shouting as the ravens finally quieted, landing in the trees, making their annoyance known at a more reasonable level my brain could handle.

“Our mate tackled the wolf of the prince. Baron’s eyes have gone red.” Darvon’s gaze lowered toward me. His lips pressed in a thin line, and he swallowed hard before he tacked on, “We’re all gonna die.”

I stood with Darvon’s aid, feeling off-balance from the avian cacophony, which had thankfully mostly turned from yelling at me to arguing with each other.

Locating our mate circling Duke warily, I took in how huge he was.

He’d been a slight thing when we pulled him from the water, bigger than a normal cat as shifters usually were, but nowhere near the size he currently was. I called to him, “Flynn.”

He stopped at the sound of my voice. Slowly, he turned his head in my direction, and his lovely golden green eyes widened. The tip of his tail swished.

“Kitten, please.”

Flynn lifted a paw and flexed it, showing off his sharp claws and swiping them at Duke. Then he sneezed at the wolf, turned, and with his tail up, stalked toward me.

“Oh, now there’s a pretty kitty.” I bent over to run my hands through his fur, not having to bend much with how big he’d grown. As I comforted him, he shrank to the size he’d been when we first met, and I had to wonder if he knew he’d even changed.

“You were impressive, Flynn,” Darvon added, taking a knee and petting our mate. “I love how soft your fur is. Once this mess is over, I expect we’ll have long nights of you curled on our laps… in either form.”

“I like the sound of that.” I’d planned on asking Flynn to shift, but before I could, he changed into the young, sweet-faced boy I’d already fallen for. Without clothes again. Touching his cheek, I whispered, “Hello, Flynn.”

Heedless of his nakedness, he climbed me like a tree, pressing his whole body to mine.

Darvon stepped in front, blocking everyone else’s view, which was mostly the wandering gazes of the soldiers as Connor, Cormac, and Camron were just arriving.

Valter and Baron were engrossed in reprimanding a still-wolfy Duke, while Artor was engulfed in the arms of the dragon prince, a man twice his size.

“Damn it,” came a voice from inside the carriage. “We missed all the fun again.”