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 battleforCya, 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.”
The wordboyfriendsparked conflicting reactions. For Dex, the word had pride swelling in his chest. Cya’s parents, however, were far less enthused. Their mother gasped dramatically, blanketing her mouth with her fingertips. Their father’s rattle clattered.
“Don’t be silly, Cylene,” he drawled, sounding almost bored.
“She’s always doing this,” Mrs. Vysov whined. “I don’t know what I ever did to make her so spiteful.”
“I never—” they tried, but their father spoke over them.
“Come now. You’ve had your fun and accomplished your goal of upsetting your mother. You can drop the charade.”
