Page 14 of That Defining Moment

“Oh,” Cassian said. “I suppose they’d be even closer. I… I can look back into the doctrine and come back tomorrow to let you know if there are any declarations on snakes.”

The man exchanged a glance with his wife, who tightened her grip on her handbag and the dog.

Cassian, apparently satisfied that the snake question was tabled, pivoted without pause. “How long have you two been together?”

“Forty-eight years,” the man said.

Cassian sank onto the bench beside the woman, who shifted her Maltese onto her lap to make room, and stared at the couple as though they’d just told him they’d walked on the moon.

“Forty-eight years,” he repeated. “Did you feel it right away? When you met? That he was yours and you were his, and everything that came before was just waiting?”

“Well,” the woman began, “it was a bit more complicated than—”

“Because that’s how it’s supposed to work.” Cassian’s voice had gone soft and fervent, his pale eyes shining. “The Universe writes two names on the same breath, and then you spend your life finding each other, and when you do, you just know. You don’t have to be told. You don’t need elders or ceremonies or contracts. You just feel it.” He pressed both hands over his heart. “Forty-eight years. That’s the Light in its purest form manifesting your love.”

Lysander stepped in. “Right, Cass, I think you’ve taken up enough of their morning.”

He hooked a hand around Cassian’s upper arm and steered him gently but firmly off the bench, nodding an apology to the couple as he went. The woman mouthed take care of him at Lysander over Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian came away without resistance, but his face crumpled the moment they were out of earshot. His chin wobbled, his eyes went glassy, and his mouth stretched into a wide, bright smile that completely went against the tears pooling along his lower lashes.

Lysander didn’t think about it. He tucked Cassian under his arm the way his daddy used to when he or Stevie got upset like this, falling apart inside the performance of being fine. Cassian was slight enough to fit neatly against his side, his shoulder bony beneath the flannel.

“I was given my Evermate,” Cassian said, still smiling that terrible smile, his lashes wet. “Everyone said it was the greatest blessing a Calyx could receive. But he didn’t feel like one.” The smile held. “He scared me. And it hurt when he penetrated me, every time, and it’s not supposed to hurt with your Evermate. The doctrine says so. You’re supposed to open for them like a flower, and it’s supposed to feel like coming home.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “It didn’t feel like I was coming home. I don’t understand. Should I have moved around like you did?”

Cassian’s right hand drifted to his left wrist and rubbed at the scar that circled it, his thumb tracing the ridge of tissue. Lysander’s gaze dropped to the movement, then to the matching scar on Cassian’s other wrist. He didn’t ask.

Cassian stayed tucked under his arm as they walked, his bare feet soundless on the footpath. Lysander kept his eyes forward and his jaw tight and allowed the shape of what Cassian had just told him to settle into the space where his anger used to be.

“Hey,” Lysander said. His voice came out rough. “Want to try something that’s even better than the muesli Hamish got you?” He pulled out his mobile and tilted the screen so Cassian could see it. “I saw something about a café near here that’s supposed to sell the best apple turnovers in Melbourne. Reckon we should investigate.”

Cassian peered at the screen, his lashes still clumped and damp, the manic smile easing just a bit.

“What’s a turnover?” he asked.

Chapter Eight

Soleil charged six dollars for a flat white, and was all exposed brick and trailing pothos plants hanging from the ceiling beams. Lysander had ordered two apple turnovers at the counter and carried them back to a table by the window, where Cassian was perched on a stool with his bare feet tucked beneath him.

The turnover lasted four seconds before Cassian made a sound that shouldn’t be coming out of a person’s mouth in a public café at ten in the morning.

It started as a hum, low and private, the kind of noise you might make upon discovering that heated seats existed. Then it escalated. Cassian’s eyes fluttered shut and his tongue swept a long, obscene stripe through the cream that had oozed from the pastry’s seam.

“Mmmmm.” Cassian licked his lips, opened his eyes, and took another bite. His whole face went slack with rapture, cream smeared across his upper lip and dusted with flakes of golden pastry. He let out a moan so sincere and so devastatingly pornographic that the alpha at the next table set down his long black and stared.

Lysander’s gaze snapped to the man. He was mid-thirties, wearing a denim shirt, and sporting a wedding ring. His pupils had blown wide and his mouth hung slightly open, watching Cassian tongue cream off his thumb.

Lysander fixed him with a flat, unblinking stare until the man flushed to the roots of his hair, and became extremely interested in his mobile.

Two stools down, a younger alpha in a cap and a black North Face jacket had swivelled his entire body towards Cassian, his smoothie halfway to his mouth, his head tilted at a predatory angle that Lysander recognised because he’d been on the receiving end of it a thousand times. Lysander locked eyes with him and shook his head once, slowly. The man dropped his gaze to his laptop and began typing away.

Cassian, oblivious, took another bite and let out a sigh that would have earned him a subscriber milestone on any platform.

It crossed Lysander’s mind to talk to him about it. This, Cass. This is what an orgasm is. You’re having one right now, in public, over a pastry, and it’s making every alpha in this café lose their minds. But Cassian was so uncomplicatedly happy that Lysander couldn’t bring himself to ruin his first apple turnover for him.

He held out a napkin instead.

Cassian didn’t even glance at it. He was too busy pressing his tongue into the pastry to chase a stubborn pocket of cream. His tongue action was enough to make the married alpha’s head start turning again. Lysander kicked the leg of the man’s stool without looking at him.