“Love you both,” Pyxlevir called with a cheerful wave as he hustled out of the Dérive station in Hotel Draconis. As much as he adored the pair, he wanted to face Gramlithyn alone. He wasn’t sure yet what he’d say or how much he was willing to reveal, but he wanted answers. No, he deserved them. But whether they came today or at some point in the future wasn’t at the forefront of Pyxlevir’s mind.
As he arrived at the elevator bay and pressed the up button, he focused on ensuring he was calm because he didn’t know how he’d react to seeing Gramlithyn again. Excitement bubbled through him, but so did resentment. Betrayal, fury, and sadness were also present. Pyxlevir imagined a dark cauldron of mixed emotions gurgling from the depths of his soul.
The elevator opened, and Pyxlevir was relieved it was empty. He stepped in, hit the correct floor number, and schooled himself to remain calm. In the past six years, he’d earned two degrees and a few promotions. At Elven D’Vaire, he was a junior executive with a respectable reputation.
At the office, Pyxlevir was collected and even stoic if the situation warranted it. Meeting his mate after six years fit the bill for cool, emotionless tact. Determined to deal with his feelings in private once he knew what Gramlithyn wanted, Pyxlevir stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall.
Pyxlevir stopped at the correct door and took a deep steadying breath. Fate only knew what the next several minutes would mean for Pyxlevir and his life, but he wasn’t a coward. Nor would he be a pushover. He lifted his arm to knock and squeaked as the door whipped open.
A blond man, nearly as short as Pyxlevir’s five-foot-two frame, grinned at him.
“Hi, are you Pyxlevir?” asked the person, who Pyxlevir identified as a shifter of some kind. “I’d shake your hand, but Gram says you can’t do that with elves, which you obviously are. But I’m glad I got to meet you before Gram shooed me out the fucking door. Hey, I’m Gram’s best friend, Dasan.”
The words were like an arrow to the heart. One of the things Pyxlevir had prided himself on since he was six was being Gramlithyn’s best friend, but he’d been replaced.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dasan,” Pyxlevir managed.
“Dasan, go get some breakfast,” said a voice Pyxlevir would recognize anywhere. The soft, earthy scent of carrots wafted toward Pyxlevir, but the man who walked up behind Dasan was a stranger.
This wasn’t a hybrid who adhered to elven traditions; Gramlithyn had hacked off his long hair. The longest portion of his fringe didn’t even hit his eyebrows. Tiny silver hoops glittered in his earlobes. A black button-down shirt suited his pale green complexion, and the sleeves were rolled up to expose tattoos on both forearms.
His right arm sported a serpentine dragon, and on the left was a winding vine with leaves and dainty flowers. Whoever had inked him was incredibly skilled, and the black-and-gray images were gorgeous, but tattoos were taboo to every elf. Faded jeans covered his legs, and a pair of worn combat-style boots in the same raven as his top completed the look.
For some inexplicable reason, a sensuous wave of arousal nearly as intense as—or was it perhaps better than—the moment Pyxlevir had discovered Gramlithyn was his mate flowed through him, and he shivered. He dearly hoped the length of his tunic covered his dick’s interest in his other half.
As Pyxlevir stood mute, drinking in the luscious sight of a twenty-four-year-old Gramlithyn and quickly updating hismental image of the teenager who’d abandoned him, the hybrid shooed Dasan out of the doorway.
“Do you want to come in so we can talk?” Gramlithyn asked. Again, he didn’t greet Pyxlevir, nor did he allow any emotion to cross his face. Too much time had passed for Pyxlevir to guess any of the feelings in his dark brown gaze.
Thankfully, the flatness of his question helped Pyxlevir quell his visceral reaction to Gramlithyn. Determined to be aloof, Pyxlevir lifted his chin.
“Of course,” Pyxlevir responded. Gramlithyn turned, and Pyxlevir curled his fingers into fists. The way the light denim clung to Gramlithyn’s ass was a sight now seared into Pyxlevir’s mind. But he dug his nails into his flesh to ensure that he wasn’t distracted by hormones.
It was weird to have sexuality again. As the years passed, Pyxlevir thought less often about the few seconds of arousal he’d experienced on his eighteenth birthday. It turned out that as an elf with an absent mate, the desire to stroke himself to completion had quickly faded.
“Would you like to have a seat?” Gramlithyn asked.
Without a word, Pyxlevir chose the only chair in the room so his reckless body would focus on something besides getting off. He didn’t want to be mired in his emotions, but he also refused to lose himself in some sexual fantasy either.
Gramlithyn settled on the edge of the bed farthest from where Pyxlevir sat. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other without a word. The scent of carrots faded thanks to the distance between them, which helped Pyxlevir drag his mind fully from the gutter. Now all he could feel was sadness that he had no clue what Gramlithyn was thinking.
The last time they’d been in the same room, Pyxlevir would’ve been able to assess Gramlithyn’s emotions with aglance and probably been able to guess exactly what was happening in his head.
Those days were long gone.
“I have a proposal that I hope you’ll take into consideration despite the elven traditions it breaks,” Gramlithyn stated. “Some things are forever…others, not so much. I’d like to suggest that you, me, Dasan, Colby, and Crispin move in together for a year. They can act as witnesses so that at the end of those twelve months, we can request separation papers and start the process of having our matebond dissolved with a demonic spell.”
Pyxlevir swallowed thickly and wished he’d shown more caution when he received Gramlithyn’s text. But he supposed nothing could have prepared him for six years of silence broken by Gramlithyn’s request that they allow someone of demonic blood to permanently destroy the bond Fate had granted them.
A deep, festering pain started in Pyxlevir’s soul and clutched at his heart. Somehow, it was worse being rejected again. Gramlithyn wasn’t reacting like a scared teenager. The stranger staring at him was a grown man with plenty of time to think about his future. One he preferred Pyxlevir not to have a role in.
He’d already recast Dasan as his best friend. It appeared Gramlithyn wanted Pyxlevir firmly in the column of buried history, and it stung. Despite the warm temperature of the hotel, a frigid chill froze Pyxlevir in place, but he refused to allow anything to show outwardly.
The one thing Pyxlevir would not do was let Gramlithyn see or understand how much his words hurt. Tears were already desperate to fall, but Gramlithyn wasn’t privy to that. Not anymore.
“I do not think planning for a separation before the first year begins is in the spirit of the law,” Pyxlevir stated woodenly.
“I’m not suggesting there isn’t room for surprises, but either way, the path we must follow to dissolve things has to adhere to the law. We were both raised to respect elven traditions, but our extended family also created these laws and remain the lone people in the Council to have asked Lorcan to break their matebonds. I don’t think anyone will judge us for doing what is necessary.”
