Flynn, who’d spent the past hour complaining about walking, rolled his neck and stretched his shoulders. “Haven, you’re riding with me.”
Did he realize he’d used her name?
We’d lost Haven’s horse in the wyvern attack. The panicked animal had run away. Now she’d have to ride with one of us. She drew her golden eyebrows together and asked, “Why is that?”
“It’s my turn.”
“Your turn? You’re taking turns? What exactly do you think I am that you can claim turns?”
A smart man would hear the warning in her voice. No one ever accused Flynn of being smart. “Our shield.”
She stopped short, allowing her hands to settle on her hipsas she glared at him. I could almost sense the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue.
I winced on his behalf.
“Pierce, may I please ride with you?”
“No sharp retort for Flynn?” She’d surprised me with her restraint.
She shook her head. “Undoubtedly, it will come to me later.”
I found myself nodding slightly. I understood that particular frustration, though I rarely admitted such things aloud.
“It’s the worst,” she continued. “I’ll think of the perfect response, and it’ll be too late to use it.”
“It’s still my turn.” Flynn’s mouth narrowed, his usual cockiness replaced by genuine irritation.
“Not happening.” I couldn’t control my smirk as I helped her into the saddle.
Flynn’s eyes narrowed, either in disappointment or at my expression. “You can’t just ignore the rotation,” he muttered, but the fight had gone out of his voice.
“I am not a thing to be traded or shared. I’m not part of a rotation. There are no turns.”
Grayson gave Flynn a disgusted look before shifting his glare to Haven. It wasn’t her fault Flynn was behaving like a child denied his favorite toy.
She pretended not to notice his ire.
Grayson’s scowl deepened, and he climbed atop Caspian, urging the gelding to a trot. “We don’t stop until we reach the foothills.”
That meant we’d be riding most of the night.
He glanced over his shoulder at Haven. “Try not to slow us down.”
I mounted behind her, wrapping my right arm around her waist, and we trotted after him. The rolling hills stretchedahead of us, dotted with clusters of pine that cast long shadows in the afternoon light.
“He’s such an asshole,” she whispered softly. Then she stiffened. “Did you hear that?”
Suppressing a laugh took real effort. “Grayson?”
“Who else?”
Her scent, a heady mixture of cinnamon and morning dew on fresh-cut hay, teased my nose, and I had to fight not to bury my nose in her golden hair. “He’s under a lot of pressure.”
“To keep me ground under his heel?”
Exactly that. Carron had warned Grayson to break Haven’s spirit. If he didn’t, she was dead.
“He’s trying to keep you alive.” We all were.
