Moon Flower

Madam Langley’s words echoed in his ears: “You are born just as you were meant to be.”

The sentiment no longer had the same buoyant effect on him. Now it only turned to acid in his stomach.

“You will send him, along with a fresh pot of tea,” the constable said in a raised voice, apparently finished with the negotiation. He could have his pick of any of the men, so why choose the very one who’d cowered from his touch? The only answer was a twisted one: he either enjoyed making him squirm, or felt the need to conquer him, whether he consented or not.

He heard the whimper in the back of Azriel’s throat and pressed closer, feeling desperately helpless.

Madam Langley frowned, looking part indignant, part defeated. “You must agree to follow the rules.”

He waved a hand in her direction. “Your rules are ludicrous. These lads are employed to please the gentlemen who enter your establishment. They don’t need your frivolous protections.”

“They absolutely do,” she said, her fists clenched. “The aperture will remain open.”

She stared him down until he acquiesced with a slight nod. At least Madam Langley would be able to check in on him. But what if she was too late? That thought stuck in his throat like glue.

“There is one more rule I must insist on.” Madam Langley’s gaze clashed with Galen’s, and apprehension slid down his spine. There was a silent plea in her eyes…maybe for him to remain calm? “Azriel and Galen will join you together.”

Galen trembled as the constable asked, “And why is that?”

“Because…they are fated,” she said, the slight pause allowing the statement to sink in, though Galen couldn’t make sense of it himself. “It’s cruel to keep them apart, unless it’s per their request.”

Her declaration was pure theater, and Azriel must’ve known that as well, but Galen could feel his weight against him, sagging in clear relief. Having a third in the room was meant as a buffer between Azriel and the constable’s baser instincts, but hearing the madam’s pronouncement still made Galen lose his breath.

“Men cannot be fated to one another,” the constable scoffed.

“They most certainly can,” she insisted. “It might serve you better to finally embrace the idea.”

The constable grunted even as he averted his eyes. His gray aura was now tinted with a smoky blue, and Galen was reminded of the story about him turning in his best friend. Could there be some humanness left beneath the scorn? As soon as Galen had the thought, the blue was gone, the gray churning like a windstorm.

“Another patron has enjoyed them together several times,” Madam Langley said with an air of embellishment, then delivered the coup de grâce. “Would such a virile man as yourself not be up to the task?”

It was a challenge Galen didn’t think the constable could refuse, and he was proved right, as the constable straightened immediately as if to show his prowess. “Of course I would be.”

Galen might’ve laughed if he didn’t want to cry.

The constable motioned for Azriel and Galen to trail behind him to the room, not bothering to wait.

Azriel took a deep breath before he broke the line, and Galen followed. He didn’t bother to make eye contact with any of the others, afraid he’d only see pity or worry in their features.

Madam Langley motioned to Galen as they passed, placing her hand on his shoulder to draw him closer. “Use your gift to determine if there’s trouble. I’ll be within listening distance,” she said in a rush. “It’s our only recourse.”

Galen dipped his head. “Yes, Madam.”

The tension in Azriel’s shoulders had abated, but Galen could still feel the nervous energy radiating from him.

As they walked side by side, it felt like they were heading to the gallows—and in a different scenario, they might’ve been. That only made the pit in his stomach grow.

He reached for Azriel’s hand and locked their fingers together. “We can leave right now. Straight out the door and onto the street.”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “And where would we go? We are wearing very little and would surely be arrested for indecency before we even…” Galen groaned in frustration, and felt Azriel squeezing his hand. “I am comforted that you will be in the room with me.”

“Make haste,” the constable barked, causing them to jump and refocus.

Galen noticed how unsteady his gait seemed as he swept inside the room. It reminded him of the man in the alleyway, his gut filled with spirits, his breath sour.

He swallowed down his fear, refusing to let it rule him. This was simply another transaction, something he understood well—a payment for services rendered, as long as both parties lived up to expectations. His stomach dropped, recalling how frightened Azriel had sounded when recounting the last time he’d spent with the constable.

He decided his sole purpose would be to protect Azriel—his beloved. His legs faltered at the realization. When had Azriel become his beloved? Perhaps from the first moment he laid eyes on him. Affection and yearning coursed through him and bolstered his resolve.