Yes, he needed to talk to Ciaran. Yes, he’d withheld Salem’s true identity, and yes, he’d need to explain that. But he needed the cove. He needed the water of his home.
But first, he needed to get out of bed.
He lifted Salem’s arm, causing him to stir and try to tighten his hold. “No, my sweetheart. Stay.”
“I need to get up,” Aurin said. “I need water.”
He sat up, putting his feet on the floor. His head pounded, aching from his eyeballs to the back of his neck. “Ohhh,” he mumbled, then huffing out a breath as his stomach rolled.
Salem sat up. “What’s wrong?” He was bleary-eyed, his black hair mussed up and sticking out in all directions. Then he put his hand to his head. “Ow.”
Aurin chuckled. “Yeah. That’s what’s wrong.”
“You need water,” Salem said.
Aurin sighed. “Yeah.” He stood up, testing if his head and stomach agreed. He didn’t fall or vomit, so he pulled on his pants. “The stream. I need to go to the stream.”
“You need to go home,” Salem said gently.
Aurin met his eyes and he gave a nod. “Yes.”
Salem smiled for him, his yellow eyes softening. “Then we shall go.”
“Are you well enough to make the trip?”
“I am recovered, yes. Mostly, anyhow. This hangover is not helping.”
“No sympathy for self-inflicted wounds,” Aurin said, repeating what Kellan would say to the boys after a late night of too many beers.
And that made him think of Dylan and Hendrix and how they’d bonded with Kellan. A magnificent trio if there ever was one.
Which there never had been before.
Not a triad of mated cephamorphs anyway. He wondered how they were getting on.
He missed them terribly.
Salem was on his feet and pulling on his pants before he took Aurin’s arm. “To the stream with you.”
Aurin went willingly. He needed it more than he’d realised.
They walked out into what appeared to be the midday sun breaking through the mist that clung to the mountain, the lack of sleep making its effects known as they walked along the forest path. The shade of the trees was a relief, but the smell of the forest was damp and cloying and did Aurin’s tender stomach no favours at all.
“How much did we drink last night?” Aurin asked, kinda rhetorically, kinda not.
“I told you it was potent stuff,” Salem said.
“You could have said it was lethal,” he complained. “Ugh.”
Salem laughed, the sound rebounding through the trees. Or maybe it was just echoing in Aurin’s brain. It wasn’t fun either way.
“I’m never drinking again,” Aurin added, grateful for Salem’s hold on his arm.
He was too dry, too hot, too hungover....
The stream wasn’t far, Aurin knew this, but it felt like a mile. When he heard the sound of water, when he could smell it, he found some pace. His need for water was now instinctual and bordering on desperate.
“Okay, my love,” Salem said. “Steady on.”
