Lover At Last(2)

The male whose back was to Qhuinn was not part of the SOP.

Luchas was twice the size he’d been when Qhuinn had been approached by a doggen and told to get his things and go to Blay’s.

Well, that explained the vacay. He’d assumed his father had finally relented and given in to the request Qhuinn had filed weeks before. But nope, the guy had just wanted Qhuinn out of the house because the change had come to the gene pool’s golden child.

Had his brother laid the chick? Who had they used for blood—

His father, never the demonstrative type, reached out a hand and gave Luchas an awkward pat on the forearm. “We’re so proud of you. You look…perfect.”

“You do,” Qhuinn’s mother piped up. “Just perfect. Doesn’t your brother look perfect, Solange?”

“Yes, he does. Perfect.”

“And I have something for you,” Lohstrong said.

The male reached into the inside pocket of his sport coat and took out a black velvet box the size of a baseball.

Qhuinn’s mother started to tear up and dabbed under her eyes.

“This is for you, my precious son.”

The box was slid across the white damask tablecloth, and his brother’s now-big hands shook as he took the thing and popped the lid.

Qhuinn caught the flash of gold all the way out in the foyer.

As everyone at the table went silent, his brother stared at the signet ring, clearly overwhelmed, as their mother kept up with the dab-dab, and even their father grew misty. And his sister sneaked a roll from the bread basket.

“Thank you, sir,” Luchas said as he put the heavy gold ring on his forefinger.

“It fits, does it not?” Lohstrong asked.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly.”

“We wear the same size, then.”

Of course they did.

At that moment, their father glanced away, like he was hoping the movement of his eyeballs would take care of the sheen of tears that had come over his vision.

He caught Qhuinn lurking outside the dining room.

There was a brief flash of recognition. Not the hi-how’re-ya kind, or the oh-good-my-other-son’s-home. More like when you were walking through the grass and noticed a pile of dog shit too late to stop your foot from landing in it.

The male went back to staring at his family, locking Qhuinn out.

Clearly, the last thing Lohstrong wanted was such a historic moment to be ruined—and that was probably why he didn’t do the hand signals that warded off the evil eye. Usually everyone in the household performed the ritual when they saw Qhuinn. Not tonight. Daddio didn’t want the others to know.

Qhuinn went over to his duffel. Slinging the weight onto his shoulder, he took the front stairs to his room. Usually his mother preferred him to use the servants’ set, but that would mean he’d have to cut through all the love in there.

His room was as far away from the others’ as you could get, all the way over to the right. He’d often wondered why they didn’t take the leap completely and put him in with the doggen—but then the staff would probably quit.

Closing himself in, he dumped his duds on the bare floor and sat on his bed. Staring at his only piece of luggage, he figured he had better do that laundry soon, as there was a wet bathing suit in there.

The maids refused to touch his clothes—like the evil in him lingered in the fibers of his jeans and his T-shirts. The upside was, he was never welcome at formal events, so his wardrobe was just wash-’n’-wear, baby—

He discovered he was crying when he looked down at his Ed Hardys and realized that there were a couple of drops of water right in the middle of the laces.

Qhuinn was never getting a ring.

Ah, hell…this hurt.

He was scrubbing his face with his palms when his phone rang. Taking the thing out of his biker jacket, he had to blink a couple of times to focus.

He hit send to accept the call, but he didn’t answer.

“I just heard,” Blay said across the connection. “How are you doing?”

Qhuinn opened his mouth to reply, his brain coughing up all kinds of responses: “Peachy fucking jim-dandy.” “At least I’m not ‘fat’ like my sister.” “No, I don’t know if my brother got laid.”

Instead, he said, “They got me out of the house. They didn’t want me to curse the transition. Guess it worked, because the guy looks like he came through it okay.”

Blay swore softly.

“Oh, and he got his ring just now. My father gave him…his ring.”

The signet ring with the family crest on it, the symbol that all males of good bloodlines wore to attest to the value of their lineage.

“I watched Luchas put it on his finger,” Qhuinn said, feeling as if he were taking a sharp knife and drawing it up the insides of his arms. “Fit perfectly. Looked great. You know, though…like, how could it not—”