Finally free from offending Pyxlevir and every race of elves by touching one without permission, Dasan breathed a sigh of relief. But he didn’t get up. He was too taken aback by the stunning Pyxlevir falling into a fit of giggles.
“What’s so funny?” Dasan ventured. “Am I about to be arrested or something? What is the punishment for touching an elf? It’s not death, is it? Because I didn’t see you until it was too late.”
“Because I wasn’t watching where I was going, apparently,” Pyxlevir mused, his eyes wet with hilarity. “Sorry, I was lost in thought, and I stare at my feet if I’m overthinking something. But there’s no law against touching an elf, especially if they fall on you. It’s just a custom to respect our desire not to be touched.”
“Well, I didn’t ask your permission, so I wasn’t going to touch you,” Dasan said, happy he hadn’t already offended Gram’s mate.
“That’s very kind of you, but if I fall on you again, you have my permission to shove me out of the way,” Pyxlevir replied, still grinning.
“Could I get that in writing?” Dasan asked. “Because it might not be breaking the law, but you’re related to a lot of big beefy centaurs, and they look like the type of guys who could rip me apart if they chose.”
“They’re overprotective, but they’re actually big teddy bears,” Pyxlevir said. “Can I help you up?”
Pyxlevir stood and held out a hand, but Dasan ignored it. He was overjoyed that Pyxlevir found humor in the situation, but he wasn’t taking any unnecessary chances.
“I’m good,” Dasan responded, bounding to his feet. “Is it weird that something about you makes me want to do a grand gentlemanly gesture like ask you if I should walk you to your door?”
“Yes, it’s weird, but I accept your offer. It’s the least I can do after smashing you into the floor.”
“When the adrenaline wears off and my heart is no longer in my throat, I’m probably going to find all the new places I have bruises,” Dasan offered conversationally as he strolled alongside Pyxlevir.
“My left elbow is stinging like a bitch, but I should heal in a few seconds.”
“I read that elves don’t use coarse language.”
“I’ve lived with centaurs since I was six. It’d probably be weirder if I didn’t swear.”
“That makes sense. Do you speak Elvish?” Dasan asked as they came to a stop in front of the largest bedroom in the condo. Gram had assigned it to Pyxlevir before anyone but him and Dasan had even seen the place.
“Ah, there are many, many dialects of Elvish, so you need to be specific,” Pyxlevir replied. “But yes, I speak Modern Elvish, used by most tribes, and the ancient Valzadari one.”
“If I wanted to learn Modern Elvish, could I practice with you?”
Pyxlevir’s brow creased for a split second, then his face lost all expression, concealing his emotions. “Sure, but I’m surprised you wouldn’t prefer to practice with Gramlithyn.”
“I didn’t know he spoke any kind of Elvish.”
Pyxlevir muttered something distinctly foreign under his breath and shook his head as he opened the door to hisbedroom. “Sure, Dasan, I’d love to help you if you want to learn. Good night, and sorry again for flattening you in the hallway.”
“Thanks, sorry if I made it weird.”
“I’m a D’Vaire, I love it when things get weird,” Pyxlevir replied with a jaunty wave and a smile.
Dasan wondered yet again what alternative universe he’d walked into a few weeks ago and dearly hoped he wouldn’t find himself in his dreary reality anytime soon.
Chapter 13
It was uncommon for Pyxlevir to journey to the grocery store. At the beautiful home he’d recently moved out of it, his uncle Tyndarios took care of meals, including food shopping. But now Pyxlevir was responsible for feeding himself, so he’d climbed into a car with his new housemates. Grateful to avoid being squeezed against Gramlithyn, Pyxlevir had rejoiced at his former best friend’s offer to drive.
Without complaint, Pyxlevir had clamored into the back of the hybrid’s vehicle and allowed the conversation to flow around him as they traveled the short distance to the closest shop. Gramlithyn soon guided them into a parking spot, and Pyxlevir was eager to get their chore completed.
Pyxlevir’s weekend was nearly over, and he wanted to relax before work in the morning. Or get as much tranquility as he could find these days. His head hadn’t stopped spinning since the moment Gramlithyn had returned with his beefy shoulders, shorn locks, and sexy tattoos. And Pyxlevir really needed to stop thinking about how attractive his mate was if he wanted to keep a clear head.
The car engine shut off, and Pyxlevir undid his seatbelt. He slid along the seat until he could comfortably climb out. Thanks to his short legs, he couldn’t bound out like the twins orGramlithyn. It was a fact of life that he was diminutive, and in his teenage years he’d accepted it without complaint.
But Gramlithyn’s disappearance six years ago had unearthed a wealth of insecurities, and Pyxlevir hated that a tiny voice inside him wondered if his height was one of the things his other half disliked. Shutting off that train of thought immediately, Pyxlevir traipsed behind his housemates and barely registered the whooshing of the doors behind him.
A smile crossed his face as a memory surfaced. Fragments of a long-ago trip for groceries popped into his head, and a clearer image of the fire alarm ringing in his ears as Aristos had burned his steak later that same evening, filling his father’s old apartment with smoke. To this day, Pyxlevir and Kalthekor missed no opportunity to gently tease Aristos about that night.
