Just a House
Chapter twenty-eight
Dex
Dazed and confused, Dex struggled to gather his scattered wits as Cya’s face went ashy pale.
They lowered in the pool until water lapped at their chin, arms covering their bare chest as they stared at the older female Sypent.
Cya didn’t look much like their mom; she was paler and shorter than them with muted brown scales and dark hair.
Shards from a vase littered the ground at her feet—er, tail—as she gawked at Cya, then at Dex. He waited for Cya to say something. Then he waited for their mom to speak. When neither of them did, he hesitantly lifted a hand and waved.
“Uh, hey, Mrs. Vysov. I’m Dex, Cya’s boyfriend.”
At the word boyfriend, the woman covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a cry of dismay. Cya flinched, lowering their eyes when their mother turned to them, as if begging them to deny Dex’s claim. For a split second, he feared they would.
Judging from their brief glance his way, Cya must have thought the same thing. Maybe they even contemplated it. Dex would never know because their mother’s tail swept in an arc across the patio, sending the pieces of porcelain flying in all directions, and Cya jerked their gaze back to her.
“Mother—” they started.
“What is this?” she interrupted, waving a wild hand at them both. “What have you done, Cylene? What in the deities have you done?”
They ducked their head, shoulders curling forward, like they were trying to shrivel into nothing. Dex reached for them, but they flinched away.
“Keep your filthy paws off her!” Cya’s mom hissed, and Dex stepped back in shock. “Róbyr! You must—ah, gods, Róbyr, I need you. There’s a—and he’s—and your daughter! He’s assaulting your daughter.”
“Mother!” Cya barked as Dex said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up! The sex has always been consensual.”
“Dex!” Cya screeched as their mom shrieked in horror.
He inhaled through clenched teeth, grimacing in apology. “Sorry, not helping.”
Another shrill keen pierced the air as Cya’s mother slapped her hands on either side of her face. “What did I ever do to deserve such a senseless floozy for a daughter!”
Anger stirred in Dex’s chest as Cya winced, though they fought to hide it behind the icy mask he hadn’t seen them wear for months. “Mother, please, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Where are your clothes? Have you no shame, traipsing around like a common Lust whore?” She turned back to shout into the house. “Róbyr, for deities’ sake, get out here!”
Ashamed, Cya tightened their arms across their chest to hide their breasts, even as Dex moved to shield them from their mom’s judgment. He cupped their face, ignoring their instinctual recoil, and drew them close. At first, they resisted, then they curled into him, taking refuge in his body.
“I’m sorry,” they whimpered into his throat, and their voice was so small it made his heart hurt. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to be sorry,” he said as he cradled the back of their head.
An exasperated male voice spoke, turning Cya to stone. “Good gods, Cadynce! What in the deities are you carrying on about?”
Meeting Cya’s dad with his literal pants down was not how Dex wanted to make a first impression, but here they were. He half-turned, ensuring he was still covering Cya’s nudity, and audibly gulped under the piercing golden stare of their father. And he was definitely their father.
In all the ways Cya differed from their mom, they resembled their dad.
The same bronze skin, green scales, and dark, emerald hair.
Even the cold way he held his face and the haughty tilt to his chin.
If he’d possessed any softness to his features—and been thirty years younger—he could have been Cya’s twin.
But there was no softness in him, no give, no warmth. Cya was shaped out of fragile ice, but this man had been sculpted from stone. Dex wanted to tuck his tail between his legs and bare his throat in deference. He didn’t, but it was a close thing.
Cya’s mother had been prattling on, a high-pitched whining that grated on Dex’s ears, but she must have been speaking Pentish because he couldn’t understand her hissed words.
Cya’s father didn’t seem to be listening, but her yammering must have been grating on him as well because he held up a hand to silence her.
“What is this?” he asked, voice dropping several degrees as his eyes narrowed on Dex, then Dex’s hands on Cya’s shoulders, then Cya themself, still way too naked.
His expression didn’t change, but his head tilted the tiniest bit.
It made Cya’s breath catch, their fingers trembling against Dex’s chest.
“F-Father,” they choked out.
“You stupid girl,” he said, and both Cya and Dex flinched at the quiet cruelty.
It would have hurt less if he’d shouted. Judging from the satisfaction creasing the skin around his eyes as Cya shriveled, the calm coldness was a calculated blow.
To Dex, in the same hushed chill, he said, “If you value your life, mongrel, you will unhand my daughter immediately.”
Fighting the instinctual urge to submit or try to smooth things over as he might have done a few months ago, Dex swallowed thickly and infused his voice—and his spine—with steel.
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not going anywhere unless Cya wants me to.
Also, you shouldn’t misgender them. That’s super uncool. ”
Cya inhaled sharply, but Dex didn’t look away from their father. Mr. Vysov’s eyes narrowed at him, oval pupils thinning to slits, but instead of deigning him with a response, he dismissed Dex completely, like he hadn’t even spoken, like he wasn’t even worth the effort of his attention.
“By the gods, Cylene, put some clothes on,” their father said flatly, brushing invisible lint off his impeccable tunic. “What a godsdamned embarrassment.”
With full-body flinch, Cya curled up even tighter, and that anger in Dex’s chest sparked again, catching this time. It crackled and popped with baby flames, and he growled a warning.
“Don’t,” Cya whispered for his ears only. “Please.”
He turned away from their parents and swallowed the furious rumbling clawing at his throat. “C’mon, let’s get your clothes.”
As their parents hissed at each other in Pentish, Dex led Cya to the side of the pool, heaved himself out first, then reached down to pull them up after him.
The moment they were steady, they released his hands to cover their breasts again, and he wrapped an arm around their narrow shoulders, walking with them to the lounge chair where their clothes and phones waited.
Ignoring his own nudity, Dex helped Cya tug their light, sleeveless tunic down their wet body until they were covered.
The whole time, they mumbled apologies, their face flushed in humiliation.
He wasn’t sure if they were apologizing to him or their parents.
Neither was warranted, in his opinion, but he remained silent as he smoothed their tunic over their hip where the fabric stuck.
Once they were decent, he hurriedly put his shorts on, ignoring the discomfort of wet material catching and molding to his thighs.
He didn’t bother with his cum-dried shirt, draping it over his shoulder instead.
Since Cya didn’t have any pockets, he slipped their phone into one of his, but before he added his own cell, he hesitated.
He wasn’t sure how serious to take this confrontation. Cya had never once hinted that their parents were a physical threat to their safety; they’d simply been neglectful and absent. But judging from the abject terror on their face, Dex’s own misgivings grew.
As Cya smoothed down their hair and fought to make themself presentable, Dex shot off a quick text.
Possible code red at Cya’s. Might need backup.
He pocketed his phone, hoping he hadn’t just made this whole thing worse.
Silent tears trickled down Cya’s face, but their expression was otherwise blank and emotionless. It was the aloof, unaffected facade Dex hated, but he knew they needed it. Even if he didn’t fully understand the threat they were facing, he knew they needed their armor.
Dex captured their face in his hands, ignoring the warning rattle of someone’s tail behind him as he stared into Cya’s panicked eyes. “I’m right here with you.”
Inhaling deeply, they nodded, closed their eyes, then exhaled, fortifying themself. When they opened their eyes, they were hard metal. Like their father, their softness was gone, hiding behind barricades of scale and steel.
“Stay with me,” they whispered.
Dex took their hand and twined their fingers securely. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Together, they turned and faced the Vysovs.
Cya’s mother clung to their father’s arm, chin wobbling as her watery copper gaze ping-ponged between her husband and her child. Cya’s father was as stoic as ever; the only tell to his unrest was an erratic flick of his rattle every few seconds.
Shoulders back, chin high, Cya moved first, leading Dex this time, and he followed. His phone buzzed in his pocket with several incoming texts or maybe a phone call or two. He didn’t bother checking, needing all his focus on the here and now.
Coming to a stop near the pool stairs where bits of vase still littered the veranda, Cya stood tall, even as their hand trembled in his hold.
Mr. Vysov’s gaze dropped to their twined hands, and his upper lip curled, revealing a sharp fang.
Mrs. Vysov cowered away from Dex like she thought he was going to rage-out and attack her at the smallest provocation.
At first, no one spoke, and Dex physically bit his tongue to keep his own discomfort in check.
He didn’t have to fix this; he didn’t have to appease.
He didn’t even have to step up to fight the battle for Cya, because they were strong enough to fight for themself.
All he had to do was stand at the ready beside them, a silent reminder of their power.
Cya cleared their throat, swallowing with an audible click, then they said, “Mother, Father, this is Dex. He’s my b-boyfriend.”