“Oh, now we’re going to insult my entire tribe?”
“They whisper about your dad because he survived when your mother died. That was almost two and a half decades ago. Anyone with a heart in their chest would rejoice. You were a baby and deserved to have at least one of your parents alive. But no, they’d rather Kalthekor drop dead to respect tradition. Not that he had any fucking choice about it. He’s not Fate.”
“Yeah, well, I try not to talk to Valzadari who feel that way about my dad.”
“But you must’ve talked to your dad about the entire situation by now and learned about your mother’s death.”
To Gramlithyn’s surprise, Pyxlevir lifted his beer and took a big drink instead of answering immediately. He held the half-empty bottle of Centaurian Brew in his lap and refused to make eye contact. “Not exactly.”
“Pyx, you still haven’t asked your dad about your mom?”
“No, because she doesn’t matter. I never even met her.”
“Not true, you just don’t remember it.”
“Either way, she’s long gone and…it’s scary.”
“I know you don’t want to upset your dad by bringing it up, but you have questions. You deserve to have them answered. She’s a part of you too.”
“I wish both my dads were my biological parents,” Pyxlevir muttered.
“Imagine that. You’d be able to shift into a centaur.”
“I’d also be tall enough to reach the top shelf of anything.”
“Buy a stepstool.”
“Maybe I’ll find a zebra one and pretend it’s you. Whenever I’m annoyed, I’ll jump on its back.”
“You’re short, but you’re not weightless. The damn thing will break, and you’ll wind up on the floor covered in bruises.”
“That will heal in seconds because I’m an elf, and it’ll be totally worth it.”
The mischievous smile on Pyxlevir’s face made Gramlithyn’s dick twitch. “Why do I have the feeling that you secretly have a nefarious plan to take over the world?”
“It won’t stay secret forever,” Pyxlevir said, waggling his brows.
“Maybe your mate is somewhere out in the world and his or her sole job is to keep you from fulfilling your plan for evil domination?”
“Gramlithyn, you’re my mate.”
“What if we have another one?” Although triple matebonds were rare, Gramlithyn worried that Fate had additional curveballs to throw into the mess he’d already made of his life. He wanted to be open-minded, but his zebra grew frenzied at the thought of someone putting their hands on Pyxlevir or conquering the elf’s heart.
Pyxlevir polished off his beer and set it on the coffee table. “I can honestly say it never occurred to me I’d have more than one.”
“Well, think about it.”
“Gramlithyn, you can’t worry about every possibility. Just because triple matebonds exist doesn’t mean it will affect either of our lives. Personally, I don’t think it’d suit me. I’m an onlychild, and I used to get mad if you wanted Leydira to sleep over at your house. My parents spoiled me; I lack the maturity to focus on two mates.”
“I can’t believe you’re still bringing up thatonetime I asked you if I could borrow Leydira. It was a million years ago.”
A sense of relief flowed through Gramlithyn. Pyxlevir didn’t want a third mate, and neither did he. Hopefully, Fate heard them loud and clear.
“Excuse me, but you wanted my doll. The one my dad bought me. Little Leydira with her blue skin thanks to Dra’Kaedan, and the beads Evlithar helped me put in her hair.”
“I didn’t want to keep her. It was for a single night. We were six.”
“Did you offer me Erironarra? No, you wanted both dolls, and I’d be alone.”
