Moon Flower

So whenever the orange flickers of envy in Edward’s aura became more pronounced, especially during Oscar’s playfulness regarding their evening with Mr. Blackburn, Galen understood the sentiment all too well.

After what they’d shared, Galen ached for Azriel with a force that took his breath away. So when Mr. Blackburn was not in attendance the next time the gentlemen congregated in the sitting room, he felt he might drown in disappointment. Not only because he would not be able to touch Azriel again, but because his sense of foreboding had returned. He didn’t share his thoughts with Azriel, not wanting to alarm him, but he wondered if their evening with Mr. Blackburn had been his parting gift.

His worries morphed into his worst nightmare the following evening, when the constable stumbled through the door of Moon Flower, looking like he’d just visited a tavern where he’d had more than his fair share of spirits. He waved off the footman trying to help with his hat, but finally handed it off at Madam Langley’s terse words. Of course, like everyone else in the room, Galen could’ve predicted his coming, given the reports of his foul mood in town.

When Galen’s gaze met Azriel’s across the room, he looked quite ill, the green cast to his skin matching his aura. Galen’s heart clattered against his rib cage, and he moved swiftly toward him, pressing his shoulder against Azriel’s as he passed by to offer cakes to a couple of gentlemen, but they appeared too distracted by the constable’s arrival to respond.

Galen wished he could reach out to Azriel in a more meaningful way, to knot their fingers together like Azriel had done the other night. It might’ve helped them both relax, but Azriel needed it more. The constable was a manifestation of Azriel’s most terrible fears, and Galen wanted to do everything he could to protect him.

Mr. Blackburn would’ve done the same. Unfortunately, he was not in attendance, but even if he were, it was silly to think of him as their savior. Undoubtedly, the constable would only strong-arm him or anyone else who got in the way of what he wanted. Or in this case, whom. And as his leering gaze landed on Azriel, Galen was certain his strange foreboding would come to pass this evening. The constable’s aura was a deep gray around the edges, and Galen took that as a sign of recklessness.

Madam Langley must’ve thought so as well, for when her eyes met Galen’s and he nodded in affirmation to her silent question, she seemed to understand immediately. As the evening proceeded, the other gentlemen’s small talk seemed forced, threaded with the tension they all felt. These men were all afraid of their reputations being tarnished—or of being jailed. They did not want any trouble. They had their reasons for being here, and he felt terrible that one man was ruining their evening.

Madam Langley had been able to run a reputable bawdy house with little to no trouble, and the irony was, that might’ve been partly because of the constable’s acute attention to it. But was it worth it if he was the sort of villain Madam Langley had hoped to rescue them from?

“Would anyone like some tea?” Galen asked in an unsteady voice, then helped serve the gentlemen. The constable, who was now occupying a settee that had cleared as more gentlemen moved away from him in whispered conversation, waved him over.

As he poured him some, he could feel his scrutiny.

“I remember you,” he said, and Galen tried not to stiffen.

“Yes, sir. We met at Enchantment.”

The constable’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything more, Madam Langley was making an announcement.

“Let’s line up in the vestibule, please. I will service the constable first; we all know what a busy man he is.”

The gentlemen stayed as they were, and Galen followed the others from the room. When he glanced back, the constable was already standing and sniffing at the air as if he were the most important man in the group, despite being the most disheveled and unsteady-looking. It made Galen clench his jaw, though he understood the madam’s announcement was meant to appease him—and the other gentlemen as well. If the constable was out of sight, then everyone would feel calmer, at least to a degree.

They all fidgeted in the vestibule as the constable had words with Madam Langley. She threw a worried glance toward Azriel, who looked white as a ghost. This time Galen pressed directly against him and said softly, “You don’t have to go with him.”

“Of course he must,” Percy hissed from the other side of Azriel. “If he refuses, that man might drag him from this place with his bare hands and make an example of him.”

“The bastard,” Bellamy grunted.

Galen’s stomach revolted at the idea of Azriel being made to pay for his refusal, all because the constable couldn’t accept his own true nature.