by Marian Tee
The knock became more insistent. Fearing it was Domenico, Misty slowly went down and looked through the peephole. It was Lysander.
She quickly unlocked her door. “What’s wrong?”
Everything was wrong – with her. For her. Misty looked like a wreck. Her hair was a complete mess, her eyes were swollen and red, her face blotchy. But somehow, she still managed to look like a delightful wreck in his eyes. Somehow, Misty tempted him even more this way, making Lysander want to make her cry even harder but this time because she couldn’t bear the pleasure of his touch.
“Lysander?”
Fuck. Trying to get his erection under control, Lysander managed a smile for Misty. “May I come in?”
“Now?” It didn’t feel right, letting another man come inside her house at this time of the night.
He snapped his lace fan open then raised a brow at her. “Were you already sleeping?”
The sight of that pretty lace fan relaxed Misty, reminding her once again that even though Lysander Allard was one of the most beautiful men in the realm, he was still gay. She stepped back with a sheepish smile. “Obviously, I wasn’t and you’re gay enough to know why.”
Lysander turned to close the door for her and as he did, he caught sight of something in the darkness. His eyes gleamed. So that was how the prince wanted to play the game then? Interesting…and Lysander knew just what to do to make things even more interesting.
As Misty led him to the living room, he casually pulled the blinds partially open, as if to study the moonlit surroundings outside. “This Alliance has made me remember just how hard our ancestors worked to rebuild our race after the Great War,” he murmured.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to your family,” she mumbled, wishing she could say more but knowing words would never be enough to take away the pain of losing one’s family.
“It’s all right. It was a long time ago.” He swung back to face her, leaving the blinds open behind him, thus allowing the prince to see inside the house.
“Would you like some tea?” She didn’t make the mistake of offering him coffee, knowing how they preferred their food and drinks naturally sweet.
“Yes, please.” He took a seat on the floral cushion, taking pleasure meanwhile at the sight of Misty preparing his tea. His mind tempted him with images of Misty doing the same thing, in his house, naked except for an apron tied around her waist but Lysander swiftly pushed those thoughts away. Now was not yet the time to let her know the truth about him. Not just yet at least.
“Sorry for making you wait,” Misty said as she put the tray down on the center table. Looking at Lysander, she couldn’t help but smile and forget her troubles for a while. He was dressed in the most casual she had seen him, but his “casual” look was still a lot frillier than most. It was not gay specifically but it just had a lot of lace in it, like a real-life Ken doll.
Lysander snapped his fan closed as she began serving tea. He didn’t bother hiding his surprise as he remarked, “You have star fruit?” It was an exotic fruit in the human world, and one that his race prized.
She nodded, confused. “Sir Belmont always gives me some when he comes back from his one of his trips.”
Sir Belmont, the Grinch of their race, the one who infamously swore to burn all his wealth on his deathbed rather than give it to anyone? That Sir Belmont?
Lysander cleared his throat. “I see.” Actually, he didn’t but he was going to look into this as soon as he could. He had never heard of Misty having any connection with the old curmudgeon, and maybe even if he did he would not have believed it. There was really more to this human girl than met the eye, Lysander considered, looking at Misty with a narrowed gaze.
She caught him staring. “What is it?”
He lied smoothly, “Nothing. I was just wondering how to tell you I have a shoulder for you to cry on if you want to talk about…” He trailed off delicately.
She sniffed. “You’re a lot more sympathetic than Daryl, I’ll give you that.” Her other gay friend, upon learning what happened in the ballroom and what she had overheard Ivory saying, simply told her to talk it out with Domenico.
“Do you really think he’s doing all these things just to get you back for the pack’s sake alone?” Daryl had asked.
It was a question she didn’t want to answer, not even to herself. If she did, Misty was afraid the alternative would be even more terrifying. It would mean that he might just be telling the truth, and she wasn’t willing to risk her heart that way again.
“Misty?”
She blinked, refocusing on Lysander with an effort. “I’m sorry. I was just…” Misty stopped and took a deep breath. And then she said in one quick burst of speech, “I’m so afraid to trust him again.”
The chance he had been waiting for finally arrived, and Lysander took it without a qualm. Keeping his movements slow and unthreatening, he went to the other side, taking a seat next to Misty. He clasped her hand. “I can only imagine what you’re going through, Misty. I know it’s confusing – especially with the kind of man Domenico Moretti is. He’s perfect in every way. It’s hard for any woman to think she deserves to be at his side.”
Lysander was stating out loud her every fear, and she could only nod, silently grateful that he wasn’t beating around the bush like the others did. Her family, her friends, all of them thought Domenico had been the fool to lose her, but a part of her felt just the opposite. A part of her believed that their separation was inevitable because she never did deserve to have someone like Domenico.
Reading Misty’s face like a book, Lysander continued, “Maybe you and the prince were never meant to be, but---he did not have to deceive you that way. It was not the right and honorable thing to do.” He squeezed her hand so she would look into his eyes as he said quietly, “That’s why I understand if you have a hard time believing him. In fact, I don’t blame you at all for not believing him.”
Misty bowed her head, inhaling several times just to keep the tears at bay. It was her first time to hear such words. Everyone around her had kept telling her that although Domenico had been a world-class jerk, he deserved a second chance. Maybe he did, but was it so unreasonable for her to be unwilling to risk her heart again?
This was her life, not anyone else’s. If most thought she was a fool to have thrown the chance away of being a true mate to Domenico Moretti, then that was their problem.
She was a strong woman now, and she didn’t want again to go back to being the weak naïve fool she had been when she was married to Domenico.
When she finally controlled her tears, she looked up at Lysander with a tremulous smile. “Thank you for that,” she whispered. “I feel so much better…” Her hands fluttered in the air as she sought for a word that could perfectly describe what Lysander’s words meant to her.
In the end, all she said was, “Thank you.” She moved close, her breasts grazing the sleeve of his shirt as she kissed his cheek. “I’m so lucky to have met you.”
And this was yet another moment he was waiting for.
Lysander carefully pulled Misty close into his embrace, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Anything for my beautiful co-ambassador,” he murmured just before allowing himself to let her go.
Outside Misty’s cottage, Domenico shifted into a wolf, his claws raking the ground as he worked to bury his rage. It was that or lope towards where his woman was and kill the man attempting to seduce her from him.
The scent of the younger man’s arousal tainted the air like garbage, and he watched with fierce burning eyes as Misty walked Lysander Allard to the door. She tiptoed once again to kiss him on the cheek.
He wanted to howl his rage, his jealousy, his hurt.
Misty.
What else could he do to make her believe him?
~~~
Domenico Moretti was in a foul mood the next day. Misty had seen it before, how his aloof façade was completely burnt away by his temper, and though Domenico did not say anything to her, she also instinctively
knew that she was the one he was furious with.
What had she done?
The tour around the realm was postponed for no reason, with Domenico instead requesting in a cold voice to discuss with Misty and Lysander the Faeries’ defensive strategies within and outside their realm. Throughout the day, the only time Misty had seen him smile was when he had dismissed Ivory’s offer of assistance, promising instead to meet with the woman for dinner.
Domenico was well aware of the way Misty had stiffened as he invited the other woman to dinner and was coldly satisfied by it. He was a Lyccan, and emotions like possessiveness and jealousy were deeply ingrained in him. If she had thought he would simply take the fact that she had allowed another man into her home lying down, then Misty didn’t fucking know him as well as she once did.
“I believe Misty brought up the issue of a possible attack of vampires coming into your realm,” Domenico said as the three of them walked into the courtyard where soldiers in training continued with sword practice.
“Vampires will not be able to enter this realm.” Lysander stated it matter-of-factly.
Domenico stated just as matter-of-factly, “They will be able to if one of you invited them in.”
Lysander tried not to bristle at the assumption. “My race is not the betraying kind.”
“There are always bad apples, Allard. You should do your best not to forget that.” Before the other man could speak, Domenico nodded towards the training ground. “Shall we practice for a round?”
And then they were sparring, Lyccan against Faerie, and the soldiers immediately gathered around them, with Misty unable to believe that Domenico and Lysander were going against each other just like that.
But…this was practice. She didn’t have anything to worry about---
She screamed when Domenico’s sword actually drew blood. “Domenico, stop this!”
“This is how you practice using your swords,” Domenico said coldly as he moved away and they started to circle each other once more. “Your sword was forged in blood and it is designed to kill. Honor the memory of your dead by learning how to goddamn use the weapons you were given.”
Lysander suddenly disappeared from view. Although he was invisible to the eyes of non-Faeries, members of his race had no problems seeing him, appearing like a semi-transparent figure, and they held their breaths, wondering if this would finally put the Lyccan prince at a disadvantage.
Domenico didn’t miss a beat. Relying on his heightened senses, which Faeries were not blessed with, he used Lysander’s scent to detect his location and made a sudden jab, catching Lysander by surprise once more with another fresh wound.
“Use your invisibility only as a last resort, Allard,” Domenico advised the younger man in a bored tone. “Since it takes up too much of your power, you should learn to use it wisely.”
The speed in which the other man had wounded him twice distracted Lysander, causing his invisibility to wear off, and Misty cried out when she saw the gash on his cheek.
Without looking at her, he murmured, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine!” Misty blurted out. In fact, she thought he was a little crazy for taking on someone like Domenico. His family had its own fighting hall for heaven’s sake! And what did Lysander have? A freaking dancing hall – literally!
She opened her mouth to beg Domenico to stop, but he still looked coldly furious, and any hopes she had of asking him to take it easy on her gay friend died with that look.
The two men were still circling each other. She wanted to stare at Lysander alone, but she couldn’t help glancing at Domenico once in a while, amazed at the coiled strength in him, the speed of his movements, and the grace with which he wielded his sword. It was her first time to see him in action, and although he did appear deadly, something inside her squeezed painfully still. This was nothing compared to the dangers he faced almost every day, protecting not just his own race but other non-human races as well.
She tried to stop herself from remembering all those nights he had hunted for vampires and came back bloody and dark. Seeing Domenico and Lysander now fighting each other with almost deadly intent made Misty remember the horrors of the past.
Matteo dead---
Kevin in a coma---
Estrella attacked---
The lack of sleep, the stress of having Domenico back in her life, and her inability to even eat because she couldn’t stop worrying about how tempted she was to let Domenico walk all over her again---all of it, combined with those bloodstained memories, made Misty faint.
“Misty!” Knowing he would be wounded because of what he was about to do but uncaring of it, Domenico ran towards Misty and straight into the path of Lysander’s sword.
“Fuck!” Lysander did his best to control the fall of his sword but knew it was too late.
Domenico did not stop running, did not even look as he hit the other man’s sword with his. It was not enough to completely prevent the blade from slicing against his shoulder – it was too late for that - but Domenico’s long experience on the battlefield allowed him to precisely execute a counter move, his sword flinging Lysander’s into the air afterwards.
“Misty!” He caught her just before she fell, beating even those closest to her.
She blinked, unable to understand why she was suddenly in his arms. “I’m---” Her eyes widened at the large bleeding gash on his shoulder. “You’re hurt!”
He did not even spare it a glance, his eyes raking over Misty’s face worriedly and not liking what he saw. “You’re too pale,” he said grimly instead. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Last night,” she answered reluctantly.
He cursed and immediately stood up, with her still in his arms. “You’re going to eat even if I have to force feed you.”
“But your wound---”
“Fuck my wound.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “No. Domenico, I won’t eat until we have it treated.” She pointed towards the Main Hall. “There’s a healing center---”
God save him from Faeries, Domenico thought. It was the fucking 21st century and they still could not bear to have a fucking modern hospital. It still had to be called a healing center. “That’s too far. I want you to eat now.” He scanned the area rapidly and zeroed in the armory. “There. Will it be too much to hope that they would have a first aid kit there?” Normally, Lyccans were quick to heal but since he was wounded by a special type of sword – one that only Faeries could wield – Domenico knew that even his Lyccan blood would not offer him a speedy healing.
“But---” She sighed when Domenico just looked at her, his face stoic. She knew that look.
“Okay, the armory then. They have a first aid kit there, and will you put me down for God’s sake?”
He gave her another look.
She frowned. “Stop that. I’m not your wife anymore.”
Yet another look, even more stoic this time.
The Faeries who managed to overhear their conversation as Domenico walked past them were giving Misty odd looks, as if unable to believe that she dared argue with the Moretti prince. Or maybe they were just shocked that she was able to admit that she was no longer his wife.
Either way, she hated those looks. She really did. It reminded her of all those times she had been bullied in the past, had deliberately played the wimp because it was the safer way. Sixteen long months of trying to be strong were completely ruined after spending only a few days in Domenico’s company. None of the Faeries had looked at her this way until Domenico came along.
“I hate you,” she whispered, unable to help it. But the moment she said the words, she wanted to take them back.
Domenico turned to her as they reached the gates of the armory.
She held her breath.
“I love you.”
Misty turned her head away quickly, not wanting Domenico to see just how those words hurt. He was so, so sly – maybe even more manipulative than he had ever been. Ho
w did he always know what to say to make her break down completely?
There was only one guard inside the armory, and he almost tumbled over his desk in his haste to salute Domenico.
“Get some food for my wife. Now.”
Domenico’s voice lashed out like a whip, and the guard nearly ran past him, his nervousness making him salute and bow to Domenico at the same time before leaving.
When the gates snapped close, Misty said, “Stop saying I’m your wife.”
He didn’t say anything, instead gently lowering her to the most comfortable place he could find in the armory, which was nothing more but a squeaking padded bench that the soldiers used for working out.
Misty bit her lip, wanting to take the words back again but too proud to do so. Domenico’s silence made her feel so childish and petty, which consequently made her feel defensive and angry.
