Page 14

But underneath that first prideful sting, another thought rises immediately. No. Please, no.

Not because of optics or tradition or even the fate of all mates. But because I'm beginning to realize it's been a very long time since I've truly connected with anyone. And now that I've experienced Willoughby’s thoughts, smiles, and easy manner, I don't want to go back to a life without him.

This morning feels like a lifetime ago.

Before I can scrounge up the words to salvage this conversation, Willoughby beelines toward a tall figure talking to Killian.

It's Laz, I realize.

And I do the only thing I can.

I follow.

Willoughby

Laz is saying his farewells to Killian when I approach, with Randy only a few steps behind me. His gaze travels from me to Randy, bright blue eyes practically glowing in the evening light.

"A pumpkin," he says, shaking his head.

"Sorry?" I ask, confused.

"Randy came to me rambling on and on about needing to protect a pumpkin for a friend. I was too tired to put it together at the time, but of course it would be a pumpkin for you. You live right next door to him."

I blush as a dull ache blooms behind my ribs. So much has happened that I've hardly had time to grieve the loss of my beautiful pumpkin patch.

My thoughts must show on my face because Laz, who stands nearly three feet taller than me, drops to one knee so we're at eye level. Laz is a genuinely nice person. Overburdened, for sure, but nice. The gesture feels caring rather than condescending.

"What happened?" he asks, placing one broad hand on my shoulder.

Before I can tell him, Randy is at my elbow, glaring at Laz's hand on my shoulder. His expression is unmistakable, eyes narrowed and shoulders squared.

I've just learned that Randy is possessive, jealous, and more than a little territorial.

Laz raises his eyebrows but removes his hand from my shoulder. I should feel indignant. Randy doesn't own me, and I told him we may not work as mates, but seeing him bristling and territorial sends heat coursing through me.

I squash it down hard. Now is not the time, but fuck.

"Actually, we've come to talk about the spell you gave Randy," I say, tearing my eyes away from my mate.

I explain what happened this morning with the demolished garden, the single pumpkin, and the mating bond. Randy picks up from there, recounting his visit to Laz and how he tried to use the spell but made an error.

Laz listens, and by the end, he's sighing and rubbing one large hand over his face. "So... hang on."

He takes a small knife from his pocket and pricks the end of his finger. A drop of blood wells up and lights like a star before fracturing into three points of light. One lands like a cool raindrop against my heart. Another flies to Randy's chest. A third piece of light takes off in the direction of our houses.

Laz groans and lets his head fall forward as if newly drained by this turn of events.

"What? What was that?" Randy demands, and my hand lightly grasps his upper arm as I hold my other hand up to urge him to wait.

Sorry he mouths, grimacing.

I don't think I'll ever get used to Randy saying sorry.

But Laz pulls my attention back. "I believe the spell was split, since Randy first looked at the pumpkin while saying the spell's activation word, but then turned to look at Willoughby halfway through."

"Split?" I ask pointedly.

It's Randy's turn to put a hand on my back and make a small calming motion with the other. Properly chastised, I fall silent.