Page 87 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Sounds like torture.” River’s voice came out rougher than intended. “Locked inside until you complete arbitrary rituals with someone you barely know? Nope.”
“We both know that’s not what you really think.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe she’s the right person for you…” Ash’s gaze flicked to where Talo and Ravi slow danced, wing to wing by the table. “To dance under the moonlight with.”
“There is no right person for that tradition.” River knocked back the rest of his moonshine.
“You’re only trapped if you fight it.”
“Lark and Tommas should have kept fucking in private. The Donna has it in for our kettle. Trying to seek her approval only made things worse.”
There were two ways to become mated in the crow community. The first and most respected was the Donna’s strategic arrangement. The second still needed to be approved by her, but petitions were allowed.
“It wasn’t the Donna who caused the feud,” Ash remarked.
“She still denied every petition my parents made after they eloped,” River pointed out, his tongue feeling like cotton.
“Until Lark and Tommas.”
“Why can’t you let me wallow?” River groaned. “You’re being a warada’s tail.”
“And you’re being a cunt. What crawled up your ass and died? I thought you and Blake were getting along.”
“We are.” River scowled at him.
Ash glowered back.
A balmy, girly-scented wind tickled River’s nose, cutting through the smoky campfire. The impact of his mate’s unique smell floored him. Every cell in his drunken body awakened, vibrating with hot, male need. He hunted for a glimpse of her rainbow sparkle beneath the sparkling lanterns. Twilight was still young. Her hair should still hold a touch of UV warmth. He didn’t realize he’d leaped to his feet, didn’t even notice his erection, until Ash growled, “Get that thing out of my face.”
River’s crotch bulge hovered inches from Ash’s head. Wincing at the throbbing protest, he adjusted himself. All this from one whiff of his mate’s scent in his lungs.
An image of his scarred, patchy wings attempting flight flashed through his mind, and panic choked him. For all their joking about performance anxiety, they had a point. What if his cock decided this little reawakening was temporary? What if he couldn’t even make it to two pumps?
What if Blake decided that mourning her ex was easier than hating him? What if she refused to be near River again?
“I’m no good for her,” he muttered, the words coming thick and slow.
“ForCrimson’ssake, stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
The animosity in Ash’s voice pulled claws from River’s fingertips. He was ready for a fight despite his unsteady stance.
Dark, steady eyes dropped to River’s hands. Ash’s brow arched. “You’d rather fight me than deal with your shit?”
“So?”
Ash straightened to his full height, coming face to face with River, and said, “You think you’re the only one with problems?”
“I think that moonshine is getting to your head, princeling.”
“Get over yourself.”
“This isn’t about me.”
Ash used two fingers to shove River’s shoulder. “Who’s it about then?”
“Duh.” River flung his hand toward the Cardona Kettle, nearly losing his balance. “He’s made everything about him. Since the beginning.”
