A Royal Heartbreak (The Moretti Werewolf 2)

“Thank the stars,” Daryl exclaimed as he exchanged air kisses with Magenta.

“Thank you for supporting my plea,” Misty said fervently, stepping forward to hug the older woman after. Although Daryl’s partner, Milo, was one of the most powerful Faeries in the realm, he was also one of the youngest and more controversial members of the High Circle. His vote alone would not have swayed the elders to approving the alliance without Magenta’s help.

“It is for the good of our race as well, Misty,” Magenta answered. “However, the High Circle thinks it is best that our race is also co-represented by one of our own. I hope that is fine with you.”

She nodded quickly. “Of course.”

Magenta ushered them inside, saying, “From here on, you will be accompanied by one of our younger members.”

“Milo?” Daryl asked immediately.

The older woman waved one bejeweled hand in negation, the long silk bell-shaped sleeve of her amethyst-colored robes falling to her elbow. Like all members of the High Circle, Magenta was dressed in the traditional attire of Faeries, which - to Misty’s inexperienced eyes - appeared like a fusion of medieval and carnival, because of its Old World style and extremely shiny colors.

“Misty’s partner will be Lysander Allard,” Magenta answered with a pointed look.

She followed the other woman’s gaze, and her jaw immediately dropped at the sight of the boyish-looking…giant standing next to one of the marble pillars in the hall, speaking with another member of the High Circle.

She had heard of him of course. It was impossible not to when all the faeries looked up to him as some sort of living legend. But he was also infamous for his reclusive ways, which was why it was only Misty’s first time to see the man who was said to have killed a hundred vampires when he was still a boy.

He was tall – even taller than Domenico, perhaps by an inch or two. His hair was an interesting shade of black, one that gleamed violet under the light. His skin was pale, his body lean and obviously hard as his form-fitting white formal jacket and breeches proved. The most eye-catching part of his attire was the lace cuffs that peeked past the sleeves of his jacket, something Misty had only seen Tom Cruise wearing when he played the old-fashioned vampire Lestat in Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire.

Lysander turned partially towards them, allowing Misty a glimpse of his face just before he bid the other man goodbye with a deep bow.

Dark, perfectly sculpted brows, eyes the palest shade of lilac, cheekbones carved like a marble statue, and thin, equally perfectly shaped lips. That face was too beautiful for words.

“Be blessed,” the older man said before walking away.

She watched Lysander pull a lace fan out of nowhere. Every move he made was an execution of elegance, from the twist of his wrist to the snap of his ornately designed fan as it spread open with a flick of his long, thin fingers.

“He’s g*y, right?” Misty blurted out.

Daryl smirked. “Oh, yes.” His answer dripped with sarcasm, but Misty wasn’t to know that, not until much, much later, when it was too late.

Misty’s words floated to Lysander’s ears, but he made not even the slightest indication that he heard the mortal speak. Only when he turned his back to them did Lysander allow a smile half playful and half dangerous to touch his lips. It completely transformed his face, revealing the rogue under the princely guise, the man who f**ked so beautifully he made every Faerie woman cry tears of regret the moment he withdrew his c**k from between a woman’s thighs.

He closed his eyes, savoring the innocent interest in the human’s eyes. There was nothing so delicious as taking a woman's innocence. Virginity was just one of its many forms. There were so many others, and the woman gazing at him with curious wonder had it in spades. Her aura defined purity itself, and it aroused Lysander like he had never been aroused before.

Misty Wall.

He would have so much fun with her.

~~~

Ten minutes later, and Misty was smiling sheepishly as Lysander Allard clucked his tongue while gazing at her chipped nails.

“I can’t keep them long since I have sword practice daily,” she explained. Her voice sounded a little breathless, and it made Misty cringe. Gay, g*y, g*y, she reminded herself. With Lysander standing too close to her, his head bent down as he took her other hand and gently touched her nails, it was impossible not to be a little overwhelmed by his looks.

She tried distracting herself with her surroundings. The chamber Magenta had led her and Lysander into was as wondrous and vast as everything was in this realm. The ceiling and walls were of marble, its azure shade making Misty feel she was inside a rich fish’s version of an aquarium.

Misty cleared her throat. “Do you, umm, have any questions about the Alliance?”

“Hmmm…” He nodded, an absent-minded air about him. His gaze suddenly lifted to hers, the unique lilac shade of his eyes making her blink in surprise. There was also a gleam in them that she couldn’t quite understand, causing Misty to feel skittish.

She was nervous. Good. It would make her more likely to tell the truth. Did this human truly understand how important the Alliance was to non-human races? To test her, he murmured, “I would like to know more about certain matters of defense.” Lysander was stunned when she nodded back at him.

“You’re wondering what kind of aid the other races would provide to help defend your realm, right?” Misty started to fidget when it took Lysander a long time to answer.

Lysander slowly dropped Misty’s hand before taking a step back. This time, he took a really good look at her.

Her hair was dark and straight, somewhat old-fashioned with its style and length, reaching almost her waist now. Her gray eyes were made bigger by her long fine lashes, and her heart-shaped face, with its tiny nose and rosy red lips, was wondrously feminine. When he took it all in, with her peasant-styled blouse and skirt, there was just one fairytale character that came to mind:

Snow White.

A naïve princess lured into the forest by the huntsman – and he was that huntsman, but the difference was that he wanted her body and not her heart. He had thought she would be another easy conquest, another woman to seduce from her so-called “love” for another man.

Milo was an honest man, or so Lysander had thought until now. His mouth twisted cynically as he gazed at Misty. A cynical twist to his mouth, he finally realized that Milo had been teaching him a lesson. Milo had known he was one of those who strongly doubted Misty Wall’s abilities, and now he was hearing for himself how much he had greatly underestimated the girl before him.