Chapter 5
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Bullets dodged are still knives twisted.
Maelin
Please! If you’re out there, foxy baby, let me be your alpha! My pack wants one more. ;)
A full-body shudder pours down my spine as I gag, checking the comments on Harry’s Leopard post to find that his creepy ASMR girlfriend— MoonWoof —is on board with expanding the “pack.” I did not know that when Harry told me he needed to be free with his pack , he really meant he needed a harem of women.
Huh. Maybe I should be less offended that he knew better than to assume I’d support him in this if polyamory is what he wanted. I’m strictly a monogamous kinda girl. He didn’t have to be so cruel about it, though, saying how I blocked out his sun . He could have talked to me like an adult that recognized I had feelings and we had history and—
“Everything okay, princess?” Zakery asks.
“Um.” I swallow rising emotion and grimace at the picture Harry posted of me, fleeing him, in my fursuit. “Yeah.” I can’t believe he took a photo of someone actively running away from him then had the audacity to post it online. How much of an attention addict is he? How mentally unstable and egotistical do you have to be to not only want multiple women—against at least one of their wills—but also want to be their alpha ?
I can’t believe how blind I’ve been.
For seven entire years, I excused this self-centered behavior left and right. Out of love. Because we all have our flaws. I know I have my fair share… It’s wrong of me to accuse anyone else of them when I’m not the most selfless of beings either.
Desperate to think about anything else, I look up and find Zakery limp in his chair, head thrown back, spinning slowly.
I blink. “Um. Are you okay?”
His head cocks toward me as he grinds the spin to a halt. “Sure. Why?”
Well, for one, he’s not smiling that calm, almost iconically soft smile of his that I saw all over the internet when I was—per Morana’s demand—researching whether or not these brothers were known for shoving assault claims under the rug. And, for two, he was just twirling in his spinny chair like a restless child.
It has been several hours since he started drawing. Since I’ve just been lollygagging on my phone the entire time, maybe he’s the one who needs a break. Before I can ask, though, he huffs. “It’s just… your eyes .”
“My eyes?”
“They’re radiant. Reflective pools of pure exquisite allure. And, obviously, these feeble mere mortal hands that I have…” He pulls a shaking breath into himself. “…cannot get them right. Do them justice. Do them honor .” His eyes narrow—icicles. “No. Not honor . Glory.”
Some of the kids at the school where I went used to say that if you looked me in the eye, I’d steal your soul. That was, of course, until they learned that if you said stuff like that, Morana would rip the soul out of your body.
If I’m honest, I’ve always thought my pale green eyes looked somewhat soulless, too. Given their position in my ghost-white face, I understood why kids found them disturbing.
It’s strange how Zakery can’t seem to speak highly enough of them.
“May I see what you’ve done?” I ask.
Coming alert, he throws his arms over his digital canvas. “Don’t you dare. These unsightly scribbles of your majesty shan’t befall— nay! besmirch! —such a marvelous gaze as yours. I’ll make them perfect before you catch a glimpse of them, and then—still—they shall be but pale imitations of your unrivaled beauty. No camera could so much as do you justice with the stagnant, pitiful, lifeless photos they produce.” His voice shakes, with humanity. (I think.) “Oh! Why must the task I’ve undertaken be impossible! What have I done to deserve this? Will I, like Sisphyus, be doomed for eternity to reach a precipice only to fall back down at your feet? Again and again! All is for naught.”
I check my phone. It is past noon.
Harry would also go a little mad whenever he was hungry…but at least Zakery’s madness is less angry and more…whatever this is.
I rise.
He wails, “No! Don’t look, my goddess, my queen! I cannot bear the shame.”
I stay put, right in front of the daybed. “I won’t look. Promise. I’m just hungry. Do we have…lunch breaks?”
His gaze shifts as he pulls back from protecting his tablet with his body. Humming, he murmurs, “My, how did it get so late? Yes, of course there’s a lunch break.” He taps a few things on the screen with his pen, then he stands, removing his glove. “Come along, then.”
I do not expect that to mean follow him to the kitchen, where the gardener and my sister appear to be…cooking?
Morana catches sight of me and smiles. “Mae. How’s work going?”
“Fine…” I look at her, then at the mountain of man beside her. Kaleb is all broad shoulders and tan skin, isn’t he? Yikes. Comparably, Zakery is tall, but there is something to be said about how broad their gardener is. Trying not to stare, I ask, “Whatcha doin’?”
“Making lunch,” Kaleb says, smile warm as he cracks an egg into a bowl.
“How can we help?” Zakery braces a shoulder against the wall.
“I’m making calzones, if you want to help portion and roll the dough out. It’s in the fridge. This is the egg wash for after we get them filled.” He hands the bowl to Morana, who maintains an odd chipperness. What happened to her concern of being assaulted? Not to say that I’m arguing with no longer needing to worry about that, but…still.
Historically it takes Morana time to warm up to anyone. Who is this guy, other than the Bachelors’ gardener and…chef? That’s an odd melding of job positions.
While I’m trying to make sure Morana isn’t under threat or duress, Zakery opens the fridge and gasps. “Sister princess, did you do this?”
Morana’s eye twitches, proving she’s not been replaced by an alien at least. “Don’t call me that. Morana or Mora is acceptable. And, yes, I cleaned your filthy nasty fridge. Kaleb assures me the only animal you guys live with is a cat named Ender, but since I’ve yet to see the cat and it shouldn’t be using the fridge…I have my doubts.”
Zakery retrieves two bags of premade pizza dough and closes the large silver door. “Viktor’s going to be so happy.”
“If it ever gets that bad again, I will castrate each and every one of you—except Kaleb.”
My mouth drops open as I look at my insane sister, who is terrorizing the monarchy that controls our rent.
Her gaze catches on mine, and she smiles—peachily. “Kaleb says I’m allowed to threaten his slob brothers whenever I want. I’m the house maid, but I’m not a slave, and there is a difference between upkeep and pick up after . I’m not employed to pick up after anyone. I like this job.”
Um.
Okay.
Wow.
Lots to take in here.
First…Kaleb is…a Bachelor brother ? He’s so much darker than the rest of them, and something about his bone structure doesn’t quite match. Not only that, it’s kind of widely-known that there are only four Bachelor brothers. Who knew they were hiding a secret fifth?
Second, this is such a massive difference compared to when she’d come home from work at Helena’s and contemplate homicide.
Third, calzones sound delicious, but I wasn’t anticipating that we’d be eating here . I thought we’d get an hour break to go pick something up.
Zakery offers me a bag of dough. “Want to help me portion and roll?”
“I was going to ask if you’d help mix the innards, Maelin,” Kaleb says. “I know what my brothers want in their calzones, but I don’t know what you and your sister like.”
Zakery almost pouts before he glances at Morana and exchanges the onset of the expression out for cool resignation. “Very well. I suppose I have hogged her attention most of the morning. I can share.”
Attention hog reminds me of Harry.
Struggling to ignore memories of Harry, I help Kaleb mix up the cheese, meat, and veggies into separate bowls, depending on who gets what. All the while, my thoughts drift to my ex and his harems and…my stupidity.
It’s been months since he broke up with me, but I’m still stalking his Leopard page. He chased me through a convention like a lunatic mere days ago, but thinking about him still hurts. I still feel like I’ve lost something huge. It’s like…sunk-cost fallacy.
I put so much time and effort and care and love into him. It’s hard to clean-cut those emotions now.
Even with all the proof that we weren’t good for each other, there’s still this shrinking feeling. This niggling sensation that I should have known better. I should have caught on before investing so much. I should have seen the selfishness and insanity and been the one to step back a long time ago.
My parents loved Harry, but—now that I’m thinking back on it with clearer vision—wasn’t he always different in front of my family than he was with just me? More…charming. More polite. Kinder.
The most negative thing my mother ever said about him before we broke up was in regard to how long it was taking for us to get married. Whenever she’d mention it, I’d cover for him. I’d explain how good and responsible he was being by saving up for our wedding.
Now, I doubt he saved a penny. I doubt he was ever seriously planning to marry me.
After all, he proposed without a ring and said he’d save up for that, too.
All Harry’s ever given me is cheap words.
Six years together, seven in love.
And all I have to show for it is an amalgamation of hurt, angry, sick, confused feelings.
I want to cry and scream and break things.
But I can’t.
I just can’t.
So I won’t.