Artifice - Man x Man - Book Six

Chapter 37

Verando's hand rests on her head, gently brushing back the tangle of tangle pale locks. Helen's eyes soften, almost seeming to darken as she drops to her hands and knees, panting as if she's breathing for the first time. I quickly crossed the yard and fell to my knees beside her, glancing up at Verando to thank him as I tried and comfort the frail girl. 

Her body is trembling, relaxing from months of tension from the first time. Tyler is there to meet me, practically throwing himself to the ground as he yanks her into his lap and hugs her so tightly I'm afraid he might crush her, yet she seems just as relieved as she hugs him back.

"Helen." He murmurs over and over as if he can't believe the woman in front of him is genuinely in her right mind. "Helen, is it truly you?"

After a long moment, she nods. "I think so. It's... it's quiet. It hasn't been quiet in a very long time."

I note Verando's eyebrow twitch, "What does the other voice sound like?"

"A man... an angry man." 

His jaw tightens, but he forces a small smile.

"Interesting. Well, get inside; Marisol can prepare you some lunch, you need to eat. There's hardly a scrap left of you." '

The event was not what I expected; I observed him as he put his shirt back on. I had anticipated a brawl, a display as I had seen in the lycan army, where the Alpha male commands the other wolves into submission, and yet, he reasoned with Malka. 

I think back to riding her down the beach, how she turned on me in the end and was uninterested in my safety. Understanding had made her resend; it would seem she was indeed just terrified. She wasn't evil; she wasn't a raging male on the brink of self-destruction; she was only a frightened young female. 

My time surrounded by male lycans had damaged me; I was unsure of how to act around a female, let alone one so young yet thinking back, Tonic was somewhat timid in his youth as well.

We pile into Marisol's home, and I see how different it looks: plush furniture and various wall colors that look strange. I take in all the contrasting, warm colors and the variety of furniture. I'm shocked as my feet touch the carpet and quickly step back off, yet no one else seems perturbed. 

All the other places I have been having had tile. The walls have big oil paintings that encourage me to pause and observe; I can almost smell the freshness of the paint and absorb the warmth they bring. How I missed oil paintings, how I missed my home. 

I cross my arms over my chest, taking in the stilled scenes that a photograph can't seem to capture. Photographs remind me of corpses, frozen stills of moments that will never be again, while paintings feel more like memories. Someone had to love it or feel it enough to devote the time to recreate it in their perception. Paintings were alive, someone's essence brought into your home by meer canvas. 

My poetic monologue pauses as I hear Tyler laugh; he hugs Helen, kissing her cheek as she eats fork after fork of rice and begins work on what Marisol calls a 'taco.'

"Oh my gosh, this is amazing." Helen groans.

"That's a good girl, much more polite." Marisol praises, setting down a glass of water in front of her. The slender female flushes and takes a long gulp of the water.

"Baby girl, it's so good to see you eating..." Tyler can't take his eyes off of her, can't release her, can't be removed from her side. 

She gives him an innocent glance before cramming the remaining bit of taco into her mouth. As much as she tries not to, her expression is grateful as Marisol sets another plate in front of her. Seeing them together strikes me on such a painful chord that it almost takes my breath away; there was a time when Verando and I were like that.