Chapter 10 #2
“As if I’m going anywhere without my stuffed animals or Leydira,” Pyxlevir chided, referring to the doll Aristos had purchased for him on their first trip to a toy store together.
“They’re the closest thing I have to siblings since you and Dad haven’t bothered to have any other kids.
You can put Centy in the basket on my bed.
My new room doesn’t have shelves like here, so I thought they could all hang out in a basket on the dresser. ”
“We’ve explained to you that two men cannot have children together,” Kalthekor said as he carried the basket to Aristos, who gently set Centy inside.
“Neither of you can give birth, but adoption exists,” Pyxlevir corrected.
“Well, we already have a son, and we didn’t think he’d be abandoning us,” Aristos barked.
Kalthekor cleared his throat and gave his mate a warning glance. “Aris, Pyxlevir has the right to make his own choices. That does not mean he is abandoning anyone.”
“Fine. I want it to go on record that this house is huge. There is plenty of room for Gramlithyn and his friend Dasan here.”
“Dad, the twins want to rebuild their friendship with Gramlithyn too,” Pyxlevir pointed out.
“They could stay here. We can add more fucking rooms if necessary.”
Kalthekor tucked Pyxlevir’s beloved stuffed dragons, Alek and Raf, into the basket alongside Centy. Then, he added Griffie the griffon and placed the blue-skinned Leydira in the center.
“It would cause a civil war within the D’Vaire family if we asked Hunter and Jordan to allow their twins to move in here,” Kalthekor stated calmly.
“Fine, but twelve months is a long time to live together. What if you guys can’t all get along?” Aristos demanded.
“We’re adults, we’ll figure it out,” Pyxlevir assured his parent.
“I’d like to know how you got to be an adult so fucking fast,” Aristos complained. “I swear you were six yesterday.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m barely taller than I was at six,” Pyxlevir teased.
“That’s a lie,” Aristos countered immediately. “You’re plenty taller than that. Despite not having my permission, you grew up.”
Although he was short even for a Valzadari elf, no one in Pyxlevir’s family ever made him feel small.
There were plenty of jokes about them wanting him to stay a child, but Pyxlevir knew it was because they loved him and had enjoyed celebrating every milestone with him whether it was a high grade on a spelling quiz or graduating with his master’s degree.
“Do you want me to put the album with your mother’s photos in a box or in your suitcase?” Kalthekor asked.
Pyxlevir didn’t want the pictures to go with him, but his father hadn’t offered that option. “Box is fine,” Pyxlevir responded.
Everything he owned of his mother was in a single thin album.
Chieftess-mate Tamlisyr Valzadari had died when Pyxlevir was nine months old.
Her life had ended in a car accident, and Pyxlevir had refused to memorize the date.
Not that he was angry with her; he knew precious little about her and he did not feel connected to her.
As close as he was to Kalthekor, his father’s face went blank whenever his mother came up.
Even in childhood, Pyxlevir had hated that change in his normally loving parent.
Elves were supposed to die together, but somehow Kalthekor had survived her passing.
That was an unfathomable break in elven tradition, which more than one little elf had pointed out to Pyxlevir in the short years he’d spent being educated among elves alone.
Thankfully, at six, Pyxlevir entered the Spectra Wizardry school system, and he wasn’t taunted about Tamlisyr’s death and his father’s unnatural survival again.
That switch was thanks to Gramlithyn. After the pair met, Gramlithyn was added to Pyxlevir’s school.
Weeks of bullying followed until Gramlithyn had confided in his parents about what was happening.
Semira and Laconifel had contacted Kalthekor and Aristos, but they were clueless about his misery.
Pyxlevir had suffered in silence because the terrible teachers at the school had convinced him there was nothing they could do and he should deal with it.
Better systems were now in place to protect children, which pleased Pyxlevir as he hated bullying in any form.
There had been one opportunity to learn more about Tamlisyr, but again, it was an episode in Pyxlevir’s life that held no positive memories.
His maternal grandparents had sued his father for visitation of him when Pyxlevir was six, once they learned of Kalthekor’s second matebond with Aristos.
Instead of using the court-mandated visits to get to know Pyxlevir, they’d grilled him about his father’s life.
They’d been scary, and Pyxlevir was thrilled when they had failed to show up, so the judge had revoked the visits.
His maternal grandparents had insisted Kalthekor was responsible for Tamlisyr’s death.
But that wasn’t true. His father wasn’t with her on the day she’d died.
That much Pyxlevir knew, and he’d hated hearing them badmouth his family.
Whenever anyone mentioned Tamlisyr, which was rare since Pyxlevir refused to bring her up in conversation, Kalthekor’s face lost all expression.
At D’Vaire, even the sunniest elf on the plant, Evlithar, grew quiet when Tamlisyr was brought up.
What kind of person had his mother been, and what did it say about Pyxlevir?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, so he let the subject rest despite having so much mystery around the woman who had given him life.
Dismissing Tamlisyr from his mind, Pyxlevir intended to stay focused on the biggest of his issues, and that was undeniably his mate.
When he was ready to discover the full story of Tamlisyr, he’d figure out how to learn the details without stressing out his father.
Or pissing off Aristos, who was back to muttering about his son abandoning his family home.
“I’ll come for dinner at least once a week,” Pyxlevir said as he grabbed a stack of tunics from Aristos.
“If you don’t, I’ll show up at your new place and remind you of your promise,” Aristos vowed. “In fact, there’s a kitchen there in your building; we can eat a few times a week together.”
“No, we will not,” Kalthekor corrected. “This is a chance for Pyxlevir to spread his wings. We will visit only with an invitation, and it will certainly not be as often as weekly.”
“Kal, please?” Aristos asked, his brown eyes pleading as he turned to his mate.
“I’ll be here at least weekly for dinner, and we see each other daily at Elven D’Vaire too,” Pyxlevir reminded his parents. They shared an office suite, and Pyxlevir was a few floors below them. “We grab lunch all the time.”
“Okay, fine,” Aristos said, his shoulders sagging as he marched off to the closet to grab more of Pyxlevir’s things.
“Please don’t miss a weekly dinner,” Kalthekor said, tugging Pyxlevir into his arms. “Otherwise, I will not be able to keep the centaurs from showing up the next morning at your apartment.”
Pyxlevir chuckled though he wanted to cry.
His father wasn’t exaggerating, and the last thing he wanted the centaurs to learn was that Gramlithyn was his mate.
They were already upset, and Pyxlevir didn’t want Gramlithyn murdered by a bunch of angry centaurs before they discovered if Fate had picked correctly or not.
“Don’t worry, I’m already looking forward to being home again, and I haven’t left yet,” Pyxlevir promised as he clung to his father.