Chapter 8 #2
Gramlithyn settled on the edge of the bed farthest from where Pyxlevir sat.
For a heartbeat, they stared at each other without a word.
The scent of carrots faded thanks to the distance between them, which helped Pyxlevir drag his mind fully from the gutter.
Now all he could feel was sadness that he had no clue what Gramlithyn was thinking.
The last time they’d been in the same room, Pyxlevir would’ve been able to assess Gramlithyn’s emotions with a glance and probably been able to guess exactly what was happening in his head.
Those days were long gone.
“I have a proposal that I hope you’ll take into consideration despite the elven traditions it breaks,” Gramlithyn stated.
“Some things are forever…others, not so much. I’d like to suggest that you, me, Dasan, Colby, and Crispin move in together for a year.
They can act as witnesses so that at the end of those twelve months, we can request separation papers and start the process of having our matebond dissolved with a demonic spell. ”
Pyxlevir swallowed thickly and wished he’d shown more caution when he received Gramlithyn’s text. But he supposed nothing could have prepared him for six years of silence broken by Gramlithyn’s request that they allow someone of demonic blood to permanently destroy the bond Fate had granted them.
A deep, festering pain started in Pyxlevir’s soul and clutched at his heart.
Somehow, it was worse being rejected again.
Gramlithyn wasn’t reacting like a scared teenager.
The stranger staring at him was a grown man with plenty of time to think about his future.
One he preferred Pyxlevir not to have a role in.
He’d already recast Dasan as his best friend. It appeared Gramlithyn wanted Pyxlevir firmly in the column of buried history, and it stung. Despite the warm temperature of the hotel, a frigid chill froze Pyxlevir in place, but he refused to allow anything to show outwardly.
The one thing Pyxlevir would not do was let Gramlithyn see or understand how much his words hurt. Tears were already desperate to fall, but Gramlithyn wasn’t privy to that. Not anymore.
“I do not think planning for a separation before the first year begins is in the spirit of the law,” Pyxlevir stated woodenly.
“I’m not suggesting there isn’t room for surprises, but either way, the path we must follow to dissolve things has to adhere to the law.
We were both raised to respect elven traditions, but our extended family also created these laws and remain the lone people in the Council to have asked Lorcan to break their matebonds.
I don’t think anyone will judge us for doing what is necessary. ”
Chieftain Lorcan Acwellan-D’Vaire had performed the only two permanent matebond severances in known recorded history, and Pyxlevir couldn’t argue that the men involved were happier thanks to his demonic ability. However, he hadn’t planned for such magic to be used on his own behalf.
What was the point of having a mate who didn’t want him? Pyxlevir didn’t want to spend eternity alone. And if he still wanted Gramlithyn, he needed to prove to them both that Fate hadn’t made any mistakes. Hopefully, he was up to the fucking task.
“We will need to speak to the others involved prior to making any plans,” Pyxlevir said, his words emotionless and stilted.
“I do not know Dasan, and neither does any other D’Vaire.
If Colby and Crispin are not willing to help, you will need to devise another plan.
Are you planning on telling them the truth? ”
“Yes. Dasan doesn’t know either; we can tell them together if you want. As far as the rest of the family is concerned, I think that can wait until later.”
“Odd that your best friend does not know that you have a mate,” Pyxlevir blurted before he could think better of it.
Gramlithyn stood. “The subject never came up. Do you want to call the twins, or should I?”
Unsure how much more he could handle without losing his shit, Pyxlevir rose too. Each sentence Gramlithyn spoke added another wound to Pyxlevir’s mountain of them.
“Call them,” Pyxlevir ordered. “It is your plan. Keep me updated.”
Without another word, Pyxlevir stalked out of the hotel room.
Once the door was firmly shut behind him, he took off for the elevator at a dead run.
The sooner he was home, the better. He needed a good cry, perhaps an hour of swearing, then he wasn’t sure what the hell would come next, but it wouldn’t be pretty.
Neither were the blistered remains of his heart and soul, but Pyxlevir supposed any fault belonged squarely in the hands of Fate.
It was too bad the goddess was nowhere around.
Which meant Pyxlevir had to deal with the horror of his matebond and somehow find the strength to believe the situation could be salvaged.
Because it was apparent that Gramlithyn was ready to end their relationship for good. Pyxlevir refused to accept that was the sole option.