9. Nephilim King Strikes Again
Aleiraah
It’s officially a bad day. With tonight's Veilmoon looming, my husbands are wound tighter than a war drum, and I'm no calmer. As if that weren't enough, my traitor of a mind dredged up the disaster that was me and Jadeth––my ex.
Last night, I dreamt of him.
Reliving the bitter end of that doomed affair from my impressionable years has left me tired, distracted, and unsettled.
It didn’t help that I went to bed feeling irritated.
The seven had been away to deal with a pixie wedding gone disastrously wrong—goblins had attacked, leaving the colony in chaos. I tried accompanying them, but the overprotective oafs wouldn’t budge—threatening to ward me in. I was livid, but didn’t want to slow them down.
They managed to kill a few of the goblins. But most had already fled the scene and the pixie groom was dead along with the bride’s parents and a few others.
The bride, overcome by grief, had unfortunately exploded into a shower of pixie dust. And my mates came home covered head to toe in that same glittery dust.
I could tell the failure weighed heavily on their shoulders. Can’t imagine what it feels being covered in someone’s remains––like ashes.
Vibrating with anger, they seethed in glum silence. With the goblins fleeing the scene, the motive behind this random attack remained a mystery. When I tried to offer comfort, simply by listening, they retreated to their individual chambers. Leaving me entirely alone.
They shut me out. Again.
I didn’t bother them. I fumed with disappointment, but I understood—failing to save the pixie couple had scarred their consciences. My mates saw themselves as protectors and couldn’t accept this defeat.
Lying awake at night, I found the entire thing odd.
I just couldn’t put my finger on it. It seemed like a random attack.
But the pixies murdered were high up in the hierarchy and there’d be repercussions in the pixie faction.
Pixies loved to live in harmony. It’s bizarre that they’d be targeted without any reason.
Then again, goblins are not really sane creatures.
In no rush to face whatever fresh chaos is awaiting me, I sluggishly make my way toward the visitors' chambers.
Rozalin, my efficient assistant, intercepts me at a bend in the corridor, her numerous blonde braids swinging around her shoulders.
She starts briefing me about today's guests.
"First up, an orc and his wood nymph bride," she says, then lowers her voice.
"Newlyweds. Having...size-related complications. "
Seriously? Pay attention to dimensions, people! I bet they thought love would overcome the size of the 'love-club'!
"Why are they wondering about the 'fit' now? Didn't they do the deed before sealing the deal?" My eyebrows arch incredulously.
"The orc was saving himself for marriage, Aleiraah." Rozalin coughs delicately.
Well, that’s...almost unheard of in the supernatural community, and a touch too sweet.
I nod sagely as Rozalin continues, "Next we have a banshee and her grim reaper mate."
Interesting mate-ship…
“What seems to be their issue?”
“The reaper has lost her hearing—”
“So why don’t they just visit the healer?” I interrupt impatiently.
“—for the fifteenth time in a year.” Rozalin finishes with a straight face.
I come to an abrupt stop, causing Rozalin to stumble. “What?”
“Their frequent altercations often result in shouting matches. And you can imagine who always wins.” Rozalin says with a meaningful look.
“The banshee’s mother-in-law suggested marriage counseling, and sent them to you.
She said if anyone can help it’d be you since you’re married seven times over. ” She winks.
“Years ago she was a regular of yours when her mate's workload strained their relationship.” Rozalin adds and I sigh.
Soul-reaping was indeed a depressing job. But apparently, being married to seven ridiculously hot males qualifies me to solve everyone else's marriage drama.
As we resume walking, Rozalin drones on until her words snag my attention. “…..Nephilim king is scheduled last. He is bringing both his butterfly and moth mates.”
“Fuck! Just what I need today.” I mutter rubbing my face.
“Are you feeling alright, Aleiraah?” Rozalin enquires, concerned.
“Yes, yes. Didn’t get a good night’s sleep, and the day has just started.”
“I’ll be hard-stopping the sessions and bringing in refreshments when the drama hits the ceiling, don’t worry. And you look beautiful as always, if not more.” She says with a genuine smile.
Helida had been especially overbearing today, fussing over every detail before helping me into a periwinkle-blue silk dress with delicate forget-me-not motifs. She left my hair loose down to my waist, save for two slender braids pulled back from my temples and woven together at the back of my head.
“Thank you, Rozalin, for all that you do!” I offer a smile of my own.
She truly is the best assistant anyone could have.
A half-giantess, towering a foot and a half over my five-foot-nothing frame, she flawlessly manages the scheduling and lends quiet support whenever I feel overwhelmed by the antics of the visitors.
Her giant fiancé, Magnar, worships the ground she walks on.
“My pleasure, Aleiraah!”
We both enter the visitors’ wing, and almost immediately the paranormal parade begins.
Once I calm the orc’s nerves—turns out, being compared to a long list of your partner’s legendary lovers is bad for morale—I recommend using the ever-reliable ‘Potion of Elastic Affection’ from the Hag’s Delight apothecary.
Guaranteed to stretch boundaries, literally.
With the promise of the proverbial key fitting the lock and performance anxieties soothed, the happy couple leaves looking far more optimistic.
The day drags on. I’m feeling hungry and irritable when Rozalin announces Ispahan, Zahara and Zenith.
“Welcome!” I greet them, all sunshine and sparkles. “Please take a seat.”
Ispahan trundles in like a lumberjack I’d salivated over during my time in the human realm. Built like a tree trunk, I had climbed him a time or two. Hmm…good memories.
Zahara, sporting a massive baby-bump, manages to glide effortlessly after him. Her corn-yellow waist-length hair sways slightly, giving off a ‘I’m a fragile butterfly’ vibe.
Zenith enters last, his gait slightly hesitant. He closely watches them both and then his gaze quickly sweeps over me but returns to Ispahan. Objectively, he’s a beautiful moth shifter with hair a blend of ash and red, vibrant green eyes, nearly as tall as Ispahan, but notably more slender.
“How are you all doing today?” I ask pleasantly, only to receive noncommittal responses.
This’ll not do.
Never one to take the easy route, I poke. “I believe congratulations are in order, Zahara! How far along are you, if you don't mind me asking?”
“Thank you, Aleiraah! Close to six months. I should give birth in another week or two.” She replies in a soft voice, smiling for the first time. But it fades as she looks up at Ispahan with sad blue eyes.
“That’s wonderful!” I beam, wondering if it was wise of her to choose this date when she’s so heavily pregnant.
Aiming a measured look at Ispahan, who’s sulking at a corner of the divan opposite mine, I turn my attention to Zenith.
He’s looking at Ispahan with so much longing that I start feeling thirsty!
Could this be one of those romance dramas the mermaids enact, where the protagonists pine for each other in silence?
“Stop with the thunder-frowns Ispahan. You’re probably scaring the baby.” I huff and he immediately looks contrite. His gaze drops to Zahara’s belly, and he reaches out, as if to touch the baby-bump, but drops his hand at the last moment.
Zahara bursts into tears.
Rozalin steps into the room with a tray full of shiny, sweet-smelling confectionaries, serves us steaming cups of chamomile tea and stuffs a kerchief into Ispahan’s hand.
I gape at her in silence, then frown at Zenith who is giving Ispahan a stern look, motioning with his head to do something.
Ispahan, finally finding enough brain matter, moves closer to Zahara and tenderly wipes her cheeks, “Don’t cry, sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt the baby.”
Zahara jumps up from the divan, surprisingly agile and looking incredulous. Zenith face-palms.
She snatches the kerchief from Ispahan and shouts, “Hurt the baby? What in the flames of hell are you rambling about, Han? You might not love me anymore, or want this baby, but I know that you’ll never intentionally hurt her!”
She waves the kerchief at his face and cries some more, “I feel so tired all the time and I don’t look pretty anymore.
So you can’t even stand to look at me. Every time I think I’ll invite you into my cocoon, you magically vanish!
Poof!” She gestures with her hands and I struggle to suppress a smile.
“Zenith is exhausted from catering to my exponentially growing needs, yet you refuse to touch me!
Have I become unpalatable because this isn't your biological child? You knew our species mismatch meant we couldn't have children when we mated. You promised to love me forever, Han, yet at the first sign of change, you abandoned me!” Zahara almost collapses, sobbing into Zenith’s chest as he steadies her after the passionate outburst.
I’m honestly speechless and Ispahan appears stunned, his jaw hanging open.
Ever efficient, Rozalin has quietly retreated into the curtains somewhere. I’d too, given a chance.
Zenith murmurs something soothing to Zahara then looks pleadingly at Ispahan.
“Tell me how to reach you, Han. I’m sorry if I’ve messed up your mate-ship, but I don’t know what to do anymore.
I love you so much, and I love Zahara too.
The baby is an unexpected surprise, but was always a possibility due to our closer biological compatibility. ”
Ispahan winces and Zenith’s expression falls.