Page 32 of Randall (The Tenth Step #3)

Darvon

“Who are you?” Darvon sat up in bed and peered across the room at Kat. She turned her gaze on him, the tip of her tail flicking back and forth before she rose and strutted along the back of the couch. Her graceful leap from couch to bed surprised Flynn, who roused from his drowsy, blissful state.

“Hello, Kat.” Flynn stuck out a hand, and Kat pushed her head to his palm, allowing him to pet her. He stroked her black fur and gave her a few scratches under the chin before dropping his arm and cuddling into Darvon’s side.

Kat picked her way across the bed to sit on the bedside table closest to Darvon. He shot Randall a questioning glance, but when his mate refused to answer, he turned back to the cat sitting regally beside him.

“I can feel your power.” As Darvon spoke, he tentatively extended a tendril of his magick, attempting to touch Kat’s, but he hit a wall that refused him entrance. “It’s faint, like it’s… trapped. Is that what happened?”

She tilted her head, ears twitching, and then she nodded. Yes. The sorcerer who caught me caged me in this form. Jarrah was thankfully nearby. He has been my confidant—and co-conspirator—since. Her chuckle felt like a warm pulse in Darvon’s mind.

“I’m sorry you’ve been stuck for so long,” Flynn commented, sitting up but staying pressed against Darvon’s side. He hugged Darvon lightly. “I enjoy being in my feline form, but I like my thumbs… and kissing.”

Randall huffed, then came and joined them on the bed. He dragged Flynn forward into a kiss, taking his time to take their mate apart, and he might have succeeded if Kat hadn’t sneezed again. Randall glared at her before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he mumbled, “but Kat and I have had an unusual friendship since we met. If I’m correct, other than Jarrah, and now you two, Kat hasn’t been able to ‘talk’ to anyone else.”

That is correct. The life of a cat is very boring. Valter attempts to keep me amused, but I am not meant to be stuck in one place for as long as I’ve been. My sister is restless. She is eager to have me home.

“Who’s your sister?” Darvon asked as his mates settled beside him, but Kat held her tongue. He huffed. “Do you know, Randall?”

“No. I have my suspicions, but Kat likes her secrets. In this instance, I’m willing to keep my assumptions to myself. I’m more interested in knowing why we have to leave at first light.”

Flynn let out a plaintive whine and slumped. “Already? I was hoping we could spend all of tomorrow in bed, getting to know each other, and getting to know each other.”

Darvon was on board with Flynn’s idea, but time appeared to be of the essence in breaking Kat’s curse. He patted Flynn’s leg. “We’ll have plenty of time for that.”

“Better.” Flynn pouted, then sat up and stared at Kat. “So why do we have to leave so early?”

“Because Timur and Artor must be in the right place at the right time?” Randall suggested, peering at Kat for confirmation.

Yes, but also no. She sent mental snickers, and Darvon jumped right to the conclusion she meant the no in regards to Sylvan.

You must inform the others. She jumped to the floor and strode toward the door.

Randall followed, pausing with his hand on the knob when she turned back, her violet gaze landing on each of them.

When Randall opened the door, she stepped out but stopped on the threshold and looked back at them again.

Congratulations on your mating. Her whiskers twitched, and she meowed before scampering away.

No time like the present. Determined to get “informing the others” out of the way, Darvon rose from the bed and gathered his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Flynn asked.

“You heard Kat. We have to let the others know. If we do it now, then we won’t have to stop later to tell them.”

Flynn rolled off the bed, landing lightly on his feet. He stopped in front of Darvon and lifted onto his toes to kiss him. “I like the way you think.” He gave him one more peck, then searched for some clothes, grabbing Darvon’s tunic and pulling it on.

Darvon stared at his mate wearing his clothes.

With only the single tunic that wasn’t even his, Flynn was the first one ready to go, but that wasn’t what had surprised him.

Seeing the fabric slide down to cover their marks, and seeing his clothes wrapped around their mate, a punch of possessiveness hit Darvon square in the chest, stealing the air from his lungs.

Randall’s husky chuckle and hum of approval when he stepped behind Darvon, leaning into him, his breath hot on Darvon’s neck, sent a shiver of want through him.

Thankfully, Randall put his arms around Darvon because when his knees went weak, his mind went fuzzy, and his cock stirred mightily, his mate was there to catch him.

Flynn sauntered over and pressed himself to Darvon’s front, cupping the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss him hungrily. Darvon got lost in the softness of Flynn’s lips, the taste of him, the hard grip of his hands.

“Fuck,” he moaned the moment they parted. “Let’s get back into bed.”

Smiling, Flynn shook his head, taking a step back. “You’re just filled with wonderful ideas tonight, but your first one was better. Let’s tell the others now, then we can spend the rest of the night together without interruption.”

“Fine,” Darvon grunted.

Randall slipped around to stand beside Darvon. “You are nothing like what I imagined the Fae to be like, but I only have Jarrah to compare you to. He is much more… stoic.”

“A stick in the mud? Absolutely no fun? Yes and yes,” Darvon agreed. “That’s what happens when you’re the oldest and expected to rule.”

“You’re the complete opposite.” Randall kissed his cheek.

Darvon wobbled his head. “I’m responsible when I have to be. Like now.” He straightened his spine and headed for the door. “Ready?” They followed him out into the hall, where he stopped, unsure which way to go.

Randall closed his eyes, turned slowly, and then pointed halfway down the hallway. “There.”

Flynn knocked, and they waited for the shouting for them to go away to fade while they laughed and pounded on the door some more. The grumpy pout that greeted them as the door was yanked open tumbled them into another fit of laughter.

Artor crossed his arms over his bare chest and growled. “What?”

“Be nice,” Timur said, coming to stand behind Artor and putting his arms around his mate. Darvon didn’t miss how Artor’s fierce demeanor crumpled when a shirtless Timur pressed against his back. “You know they wouldn’t be interrupting their own night if it wasn’t important.”

“Fine,” Artor grumbled. “Is there a problem? I assumed we’d be waiting for Marius and his mates.”

Another door opened, and Duke poked his head out. “What’s going on? Whatever it is, shouldn’t we wait for Quinn and his mates?”

Darvon pressed his lips together, amused by the way each of them put their friends first, regarding Jarrah’s mating with Marius, the vampire, and Quinn, the wolf. Hell, he’d done it himself.

“Oh, good,” Randall said to Duke. “Get your mates. I have information.”

Duke ducked back into his room, and after some muttered dialogue and a descriptive curse, Valter and Baron emerged with him.

“Can’t this wait?” Baron snapped. “Valter’s exhausted.”

Valter rolled his eyes and jabbed Baron with his elbow. “I said I wasn’t.”

“You didn’t want se—”

Valter slapped a hand over Duke’s mouth. “Seriously, Duke?”

Duke peeled Valter’s hand away, revealing a broad, cocky grin, which he aimed at his mate. “Sorry.”

Valter harrumphed, glaring at his mates. By the time he turned to face Randall, he’d schooled his expression into one Darvon would recognize anywhere: regal stoicism. “We’re listening.”

Darvon gave credit to his own royal upbringing for keeping a straight face during that exchange. Flynn, however, pressed his face into Darvon’s back to muffle his chortles.

Randall side-eyed Flynn but pressed on, for which Darvon was thankful. They didn’t have many hours for themselves until they had to be on the move again.

“We must leave at first light.”

“Why?” came from multiple sources.

Randall blew out a breath and lied, “I had another vision. We must make for the foot of the Wintervale Mountains.”

Valter glanced at his mates, then down at his feet as Kat brushed against his legs before he asked, “We can’t wait for Jarrah, Marius, and Quinn?”

Darvon smiled at Valter’s use of all their names, but he rationalized that to Valter, Marius and Quinn were like brothers-by-marriage.

Randall peered at Kat, then met Valter’s gaze. “They’ll join us en route.”

“You’re sure?” Duke interjected.

Duke’s question mirrored Darvon’s own. He sent, “What did Kat say?” to Randall, but his mate gave a tiny shake of his head, keeping his focus on Valter.

“As sure as I can be with anything that’s happened since the night of the ball.”

“What of the soldiers? Will they join us?”

Timur’s question was a valid one, though none of their visions had included them. Darvon hoped Randall would decline. He’d grown to respect Lanter in the short time they spent together. The captain seemed capable, but humans had no magick to protect them in this fight against monsters and demons.

However, it wasn’t Randall who answered. “No. We go on alone. Humans are too fragile for the battle to come. I won’t risk having our attention diverted.”

They spun to face the stairs, where Jarrah stood on the landing, dirty and dust-covered. Behind him, his mates, Marius and Quinn, looked equally exhausted and disheveled.

As they slowly sank to the floor, and Jarrah seemed about to buckle, Kat shouted in Darvon’s mind. Quickly! Help him.

With Kat’s plea ringing in his ears, Darvon sprang into motion, grabbing hold of Jarrah in a bear hug. He held him up as the others rushed around him. Valter joined Darvon while Duke and Flynn helped Quinn, and Baron and Artor went to Marius’ side.

“What’s going on here?” the mayor’s seneschal demanded. Master Nicholas and Baron’s sons slipped up and around the seneschal. Darvon could see how much the younger vampires cared for Marius; their gazes never left him. Nicholas’ gaze, however, was riveted on Artor.

“What room can we use?” Randall snarled, standing apart, waving his arms in the air. “And we’ll need food quickly. Baron, Marius needs blood.”

“Connor!” Baron shouted.

“Here, Father.” One second behind Randall, the next, kneeling beside Baron and pressing a bloody cut on his forearm to Marius’ mouth. Marius took a few sips before his mouth opened and he sank his teeth into Connor’s flesh. The vampire hissed but held still.

“Just a little, Marius. You know you won’t get as much fulfillment from them as you would from your mates.”

Marius’ eyes fluttered, and he stared at Baron, releasing Connor’s arm and readily accepting Cormac’s in its place.

“This is highly inappropriate,” the seneschal muttered angrily, looking around at them.

Valter, startled from his concern for Jarrah, glared at the man. “You heard the Royal Magician. We need food and drink for our friends.”

The seneschal jumped and quickly apologized to Valter, bowing low, and then he pushed open a door to an empty bedroom and hurried away, passing Herulf as he came up the stairs.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. It’s the price I pay for being mayor. The people insisted I have a few humans around.”

Valter and Darvon guided Jarrah inside and laid him down on the bed. Duke carried an unconscious Quinn in next and placed him beside Jarrah.

“Brother…” Darvon scanned Jarrah’s body, looking for obvious injuries. It was so rare for the Fae to become weakened in any way that he wasn’t sure what to do. “What happened?”

“Let me…” Randall said, running his hand soothingly across Darvon’s upper back. Darvon stepped to the side, allowing his mate to reach the bed. When Randall placed his fingertips on Jarrah’s chest, they both winced. “By the gods and goddesses…”

Darvon squeezed Randall’s shoulder. “Can you help?”

Randall nodded. “He’s dehydrated and low on blood. He must have fed Marius. I can infuse some power into them, enough to give them energy to eat and drink. Their bodies will repair themselves once they have significant sustenance.”

Baron had his arm around Marius’ waist, propping him up as they entered. He insisted on being placed between his mates on the bed. Jarrah and Quinn curled toward him the moment he was situated.

“Please,” Marius implored, gazing at Randall. “Do what you said. Give them whatever you can so they can heal. I can wait.”

A parade of servants entered, bringing platters of food, wine, water to drink and wash, and linens for cleaning. “Is there anything else, Your Highness?”

Valter shook his head and thanked the seneschal as he escorted him out and then closed the door. He tucked himself under Baron’s arm as Darvon and Duke made up plates of food and brought them to the bed, each knowing what their family liked.

Darvon had missed whatever Randall did, but by the time he came back to the bed, Jarrah was sitting up and had a flush of color in his normally pale cheeks. “Here. Plenty of fruit, but you need to eat the meat, too. Marius needs you at full strength.”

Jarrah grabbed Darvon’s arm before he could pull away. “Thank you, brother.”

Darvon gave him a tight-lipped grin and nod, then stepped back and pulled a wide-eyed Flynn into his arms. His little mate was shaking, so Darvon pressed Flynn’s face against his chest, allowing him to hide.

Randall joined them after ensuring both Jarrah and Quinn were well enough on their own.

With Baron and Artor hovering, and Baron’s sons squashed together on the small couch, Darvon felt safe. Being in Randall’s arms also helped.

He’d never know why Fate chose such a powerful mage for him, because he didn’t believe it could just be the presence of evil permeating the land.

Maybe it was, but Lore always said that from the moment of birth, one’s fate and destiny were decided.

He wondered if he’d missed out on someone else, or if Fate had really said, “Nope, you have to wait three hundred years to meet the one meant for you.”

He’d never know the truth, and so he shrugged, content to focus on the ones in front of him, in his arms, in his heart, and marked on his body.