A Royal Heartbreak (The Moretti Werewolf 2)

Lysander winced, realizing where the joke was heading. “Misty---” He paused, half-exasperated and half-amused when he realized Misty was already giggling.

“This is good, really, just let me finish it,” Misty insisted even as she tried to stop herself from giggling. She resumed with her joke.

Jim brought the stuff into his mouth for a taste. “Blech! I told you it’s poop! Check it out if you don’t believe me.”

She pretended to do what Jack did, bringing one finger to her mouth.

Even though Lysander’s body was rocking with silent mirth, he had an immediate erection with how unconsciously seductive Misty’s pose was.

Jack crouched down as well and dipped his finger into the puddle. He grimaced after tasting. “You’re right. It is poop.”

Misty made a disgusted face as she pretended to be Jack. Lysander struggled to keep his laughter in control.

They stood up, Jim shaking his head in relief. “Good thing we didn’t step on it, right?”

The punchline took him completely by surprise and Lysander laughed, a sound that was completely genuine and extremely…male.

Misty blinked at the sound. This time, she blurted out, “Are you really g*y?”

Lysander let his laughter die naturally even though he was tense inside, knowing he had to tread carefully or all his plans would go to hell with just one wrong word. He snapped his fan open again and adjusted his lace cuffs.

When he finally met Misty’s gaze, Lysander knew what he had to say. “I’m sorry if my homosexuality offends---”

She gasped in dismay. “Oh, no, no.” She shook her head vehemently while mentally berating herself for even asking a question. “I’m sorry if I made you think like that. I totally have nothing against your homosexuality. I mean, Daryl and Milo and I get along with each other very well.”

Realizing she was babbling, Misty sent Lysander an entreating glance.

He took pity on her. “It’s all right, Misty. As long as you are truly fine with who I am?”

In answer, she tiptoed and placed a shy kiss on his cheek.

He froze at the touch of her lips, the heat uncurling in his body at that innocent gesture stunning him. And when she smiled up at him, the innocence in her eyes challenged his very ability to think straight. This woman was…dangerously addictive.

Fuck.

Lysander had a feeling that he had just bitten off more than he could f**king chew.

Chapter Four

“So…this is it.” Misty’s arm was beginning to ache at the lace parasol she was holding high to accommodate Lysander’s height. He had very gently told her that if she wanted to make amends, she would have to help shield his delicate skin from being burnt by the heat the realm’s shield generated.

Gay men, Misty thought with a sigh. They were so high-maintenance! How he had supposedly slain a hundred vampires as a child was completely beyond her. What did he do? Fan them to death?

The courtyard was filled with the growing number of Faeries who had signed up to be soldiers of their race. The growth rate was impressive but Misty knew that compared to the number of warriors Lyccans had – and the number of merciless vampire assassins they had to face – the number before her was still pathetically scarce.

Swords fell more times than they clashed, wielded by arms clearly unused to fighting. Laughter rather than shouts filled the courtyard for the Faeries had lived in an age of peace for so long they had forgotten the horrors of war.

Lysander’s lips tightened at the sight.

The swords that Faeries yielded were made of metal found only in their realm, forged in the blood that their ancestors had sacrificed. No bullets, not even those made of silver, could cut through the sword. But was it truly enough to defend their race?

Lysander only owed loyalty to two things: himself and his race. He would sacrifice his life if that would save his kind from extinction, but Lysander knew such a sacrifice would be for naught.

A f**king bubble, Lysander thought, bitter at how helpless he felt at the sight of his race’s vulnerabilities. They were living in a glass bubble, so weak against the threat of another war that they had to depend on a human to protect them.

“Would you consider training with us?” Misty asked. The thought of Lysander being under attack had suddenly occurred to her, and she immediately feared for the beautiful g*y man next to her. What if he was surrounded by vampires? What could Lysander do? Strangle them with his lace cuffs this time?

Lysander feigned a look of horror. “I am a member of the High Circle, my pretty.” He showed her his hands. “Hold it.”

She gasped when she did. “Baby soft!” She shook her head in amazement. “Even Daryl’s aren’t that soft.”

“I know,” he said complacently. It was all part of his disguise.

“But…Lysander…you have to learn how to defend yourself, even just a bit. I know right now it doesn’t seem that vampires can attack you here, but you just never know…”

He adjusted his cuffs again. “If there’s someone handsome enough, perhaps.”

Misty suppressed a sigh. She wanted to bring up his past, to remind him of how horrible vampires could be, but she also knew now wasn’t the right time to do so. As they looked back at the Faeries in training, she said slowly, “I requested for a Lyccan and Caro trainer to visit us.”

Lysander’s head turned sharply towards her. This was the first time he had heard of her request, and he was immediately suspicious. “Why is that?”

“I talked about it with Milo and he agreed.” She gave him an apologetic glance. “I didn’t get to ask you because I didn’t know you’d be my co-Ambassador then. Lyccans have been warriors all their lives and Caros have been fighting vampires from the very start. I think we can learn a lot from them.”

The ‘we’ made Lysander feel extremely good, but he didn’t want to think why it was so.

A commotion at the end of the courtyard drew his attention. A crowd was gathering, the noise increasing in volume.

“Maybe the trainers had come?” Misty hazarded a guess.

“Perhaps. Let us find out.” He offered his hand, and she took it after a moment of hesitation.

They walked hand in hand, Misty forcing herself to relax. He was g*y, g*y, g*y. How many times did she have to remind herself of that?

“I see Magenta,” Lysander, who easily towered over other Faeries, said as they neared the foot of the crowd.

“An important visitor must have come then,” Misty decided. “Magenta doesn’t…” The crowd parted slowly, and her voice trailed off, shock rendering her speechless when she saw who that important visitor was.