Ian searched back over the last hour for clues and came to a terrible conclusion.
“Is this about the eggs?” Ian whispered. He released Geoffrey’s arm and cupped his cheek instead, running his thumb over his smooth skin. “Geoff…”
“It’s illogical,” Geoffrey mumbled. He blinked quickly a few times as if to chase away tears, then cleared his throat. “No matter the outcome of the clutch, I will love those children with all my heart, but… I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That one of us will feel like an outsider,” Geoffrey admitted. His voice warbled, although he did his best to mask it. “We spent the last hundred years wishing for a clutch of our own and acceptance from our families, but I cannot help but feel like there are still obstacles in our way. The three of us will be happy on our own, I know, but will we stand so strong when we’re met with opposition from all sides? And what of the parent who didn’t father the clutch? When he’s met with sympathetic looks and harmful words meant as reassurances, will he still be able to love as much, or will doubt begin to creep into his mind?”
“Geoff…”
“How many times will we hear how ‘great’ it is that one of us is willing to raise children who are ‘not our own’?” Geoffrey ran his arm over his eyes. The steel in his voice dissolved beneath the pressure of the sorrow hidden beneath. “How will we handle those who will accuse us of loving our children less because we are not bound by blood? I love you, and Matthieu, and our whelps still to come regardless of the color of their scales, but no one will understand that my love is not contingent upon genetics. My love isunconditional.”
“As is mine,” Ian assured him. He closed his eyes and laid his forehead against Geoffrey’s, standing with him for a silent moment. “Whether Amethyst or Topaz, I will love our young until my dying breath. If others can’t understand that, it’s a reflection of them, not us.”
Geoffrey gripped both of Ian’s shoulders, then let out a sigh and deflated. The tension vanished from their mate bond, and Ian replaced it with feelings of love and support. A hundred years ago, he’d pledged his heart to Geoffrey; the fact that their relationship had evolved didn’t change that. No matter the heartache he had to endure or the pain he had to suffer, he would keep Geoffrey safe, whether from others, or from himself. If the burden of enduring others’ disdain was too great for Geoffrey to bear, Ian would gladly take it onto himself.
With all his heart, he prayed for an Amethyst clutch.
* * *
“Look!” Harry exclaimed, beaming. He gestured at Matthieu’s spread legs. “Dilation! The eggs should be on their way through the oviduct to the cloaca. Although, I guess it can’t really be referred to as a cloaca, can it? Ev, what would you call it? A pseudo-cloaca?”
Everard clamped a hand over his face in exasperation. “It’s a rectum, pretzel. It terminates in the anus. There is no cloaca involved, although I do appreciate your enthusiasm.”
“Just as well.” Harry gripped Matthieu’s hand. “You’re about to lay your clutch, Matthieu! How exciting! I wonder what it will look like.”
Matthieu pushed a garbled string of French obscenities through his teeth. He gripped Harry’s hand until Harry said, “Ouch,” and pulled it away. Ian took his place, giving Matthieu something to squeeze. Despite how delicate he appeared, Matthieu’s grip was viselike, and Ian found it challenging not to squeeze back in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.
Geoffrey fretted at the bedside, dabbing Matthieu’s brow with a cool, wet towel. Every now and then, Ashley would wander over and peek at what was going on, then meander elsewhere in the room, usually to find the best beak-sized piece of treasure he could. Without fail, Ashley would return to the bedside, deposit the offering near Matthieu, then head off again.
“We’re here for you,” Ian promised. He lifted Matthieu’s knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Geoffrey and I are both here.”
An awful scraping from the other side of the window momentarily stole Ian’s attention away from his lover—the other peacocks were perched on the outstretched limb of a tree. Flake, their peacock with leucism, stood on the windowsill. He scraped his claws down the pane a second time, demanding to be let in.
Not wanting to ruin the glass, Ian released Matthieu’s hand and opened the window. One by one, the peacocks arrived. Flake nuzzled Ian’s hip as he strolled by, while Killian honked and went to nest on a pile of treasure not far from the window. Lucian narrowly made it in through the window before Bellamy barreled into the room and promptly set about trying to eat an emerald the size of Ian’s fist. Once they were all inside, Ian shut the window and returned to Matthieu’s side, intending to apologize for the birds’ presence, when Matthieu screamed and bore down hard.
“It’s happening!” Harry exclaimed. “I see it! Here it comes!”
A rich purple egg, so much like Geoffrey’s eyes that the sight of it made Ian’s heart flutter, dropped onto the towels set up between Matthieu’s legs.
“Purple!” Harry went to touch the egg, but was immediately stopped by Everard, who grabbed his wrist. Matthieu hissed at him and curled into a seated position despite his bloated stomach, laying his hand delicately on the shell. “It’s an Amethyst clutch! How exciting! Although, I suppose we already had data on Ruby and Amethyst pairings, since Alistair and Iggy are mated, but still! More is always better when it comes to science. Hurrah!”
An Amethyst clutch.
AnAmethystclutch.
Tears streamed down Ian’s cheeks and he almost wept with joy. Geoffrey would never need to worry about the opinions of others. Ian, who knew he could shoulder their judgment, would bear that burden for him gladly.
Geoffrey kissed Matthieu’s forehead, then reached out a hand for Ian. Ian came to stand by their side, setting a hand on Matthieu’s back while he pulled Geoffrey to him with the other.
In a year’s time, their clutch would hatch, and Ian would have the honor of raising six incredible Amethyst children. When he closed his eyes, he could see each of them, some dark purple like Geoffrey, others closer to red, taking more to Matthieu’s side of the family. Cozied up in bed beside his beautiful mates, their hatchlings would scamper and play, scaling their bodies and spreading their wings as they jumped off hips and shoulders. For the first time, Ian imagined the nibble of tiny teeth and the singe of early flame.
“I love you,” he whispered, speaking not to one mate in particular, but to the complete family he saw in his mind’s eye. “How I love you.”
The love was returned to him in stereo through his mate bonds, tender and exhausted from Matthieu, and overjoyed and amazed from Geoffrey.
The moment was interrupted by Harry, who cleared his throat apprehensively. “I’m very sorry to have to ask this of you, but would it be okay if I could move the egg just a touch down? If there are going to be four more, we’ll run out of room. I promise that I won’t even touch it—all I’ll do is slide the towel down the bed a little.”
