Page 33 of Moonlit Alexandrite

“Can I...?” I didn’t want to assume anything, so I waited as she recovered from the shock of accidentally giving herself a lombardi slap. God bless the Urban Dictionary for giving us terms for situations like this.

She nodded vaguely and waved me in, sending an accusing glare to the offending toy before showing me to the sofa. The house was an eclectic mix of fucking chaos. How the hell she lived here, I couldn’t guess. I sat down, only to have the largest guinea pig in the history of house pets come and muscle his way up next to me, forcing me to perch on the very edge of the cushion.

“What is this thing?” I asked, trying to avoid skin contact.

“That’s Rusty. Our capybara. You’re a good capybara, aren’t you, Rust?” Lex made some peculiar baby noises at the beast who had started chewing on the cushion his head rested on.

“Sure. Um... I think we need to talk.” I pushed my glasses up my nose, mentally preparing a speech to ingratiate myself with her and get us on track.

“You don’t have to say it,” she blurted. I snapped my head up to meet hard eyes. Shit.

“I don’t like that this whole thing has come between the three of you, that was never my intention, and I hate that it seems to be happening. I’ve told them it’s your choice to ignore the mating, and I don’t want them to think less of you. We were all surprised by this, so... yeah.” She seemed to run out of steam, her hands waving around as though they had a mind of their own. “I release you or whatever. No hard feelings, right?” She turned her back on me, though not fast enough to hide the tears forming in her eyes. My heart cracked open, and I mentally flayed myself for putting her in this position. How hard was it to say the fucking words?

“I want to take you somewhere,” I blurted. The stiffening of her shoulders told me she hadn’t expected that, but it had finally dawned on me what I needed to do. Even if the idea of making myself that vulnerable made me want to scream.

“Will you come with me?” I stood and held a hand out to her. I kept my distance though, she needed to feel safe to come to me. A wall clock somewhere in the house marked the seconds my hand hung, suspended in the air. Anticipation made me itchy, and just as I thought about taking it back, covering this moment up with a joke or a snide comment, her fingers slipped through mine. I jolted at the shock of skin contact and looked up to see she had closed the gap between us. She was tall for a woman. Nowhere near my height, let alone Tase’s or Ren’s, but I liked that I didn’t have to double over to see her eyes. I had a nice close-up of the tentative trust lurking in those cerulean depths.

No conversation passed between us, but her hand never left mine as I led her down to the parking garage and handed her the spare helmet I kept for when Tase wanted to use my ride. I slipped my jacket over her shoulders and in no time we were roaring out into the afternoon heat with Lex wrapped around me, riding pillion. For the second time in a month, I flew down the road connecting Moonlit Falls to Howling Heights, not stopping until the familiar pink building came into view.

Mama Fo would be out on the loch, hunting in her animal form at this time of day, but I knew where she kept the spare key. This place was always open to me.

It was home.

We gained entrance quickly, and I led Lex into my favorite studio, tugging her along as she gawked at our surroundings. I would show her all of it, if she wanted, tell her about my childhood and the sanctuary this place had always been for me.

I had never been good with words though, so I would have to find another way to communicate.

A blue plastic chair sat alone at the front of the studio space, abandoned by an instructor, or a parent who watched a rehearsal, I didn’t know, but it was here I led Lex to and urged her to sit down. I stalled out as I reached the sound system. What the hell could I cue up that could tell this story for me?

After an internal debate that I feared lasted too long, I went with an old favorite, a classical piece that had always helped me sort out my emotions and told a tale along the way.

Lex startled at the crackling of the speaker coming to life, and I allowed myself a small grin as I strode to the center of the room, took a deep breath, and began to move.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lex

Once, when I was young, my parents took me to a museum. They had a historical art exhibit running, and I begged for weeks to be allowed to go. We walked through pieces representing all the important art movements throughout history, and I found each more fascinating than the last, until we found ourselves observing the renaissance works. While my parents spoke to well-dressed critics, I slipped off and found myself in front of a painting of satyrs dancing during Bacchanalia. The joy and freedom represented by the debauchery of the piece called to me like nothing I had ever witnessed before, nor thought I would again.

As Dion’s body began to sway with the first strains of music, I saw the painting again in my mind’s eye and appreciated how little I had understood back then. My parents, horrified at the depictions, had refused to take me to another art show, insisting I was too young and impressionable to be exposed to such hedonism. They believed any exposure to sexual content would awaken the demon in me, and I would become something subhuman. Something unlovable.

Their lesson had stuck for too long.

With the trust growing between me and my mates, I was casting off my conservative upbringing, and my succubus was learning what it was to love and enjoy the pursuit of pleasure with those we trusted.

Dion’s arms snapped out to shoulder height, and he began to move around the room. The movements, the emotion behind them, he was telling me a story.

His story.

I saw the small boy who never fit in. Saw the young-adult betrayed by his first love. His bond with his chosen family and the safety that those men represented. Then I saw me. His face twisted in anguish and longing, his movements erratic as he fought himself. His hard won control had become a prison he couldn’t break free of, and he didn’t know how to move past the block that held him.

His hair was disheveled, sweat dripping down his face, and I could tell he thought his message unclear, so I did the only thing I could. I met him on his level.

A flash of panic lit his eyes as I stood. He thought I would leave.

Silly boy, I knew he was mine now, and I was what he needed to break through.

I stepped into his body and followed his movements until we looked like a mirror image, our bodies untouching, but completely in sync. With my eyes, I gave him my forgiveness, my acceptance, and though I was panicking a little myself, my trust.

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