Page 101 of Starborn Husbands
Normally, it’s done at five in our family. Father almost made Treyu wait longer. He tried to, but see the thing about Treyu being a stubborn asshole. But this guy’s much smaller.
“Don’t know.” He shrugs.
“He asked Father about next year, Father said he’d see,” Antares says.
Huh. Looks like Father has a new favorite, too. Footsteps are approaching. I turn just in time to catch the telltale defensive rune on the shoulder, right where I land my new blade.
“Fucking, ow, what the fuck … Atlanta …?” Jericho doesn’t need to wait to be told to pull the blade out. Stuck into a rune like that’s gotta burn.
“I’d better never walk in to see the baby starlet with an unauthorized weapon again. Get him some pants.” I hold my hand out for the blade.
Jericho wants to challenge me. It burns behind his starry eyes. He knows better, though, and relinquishes the bloody blade. Two down. “Yes, sir.”
Antares laughs. “Gods, it’s like you’ve been living in a jungle or somethin’? Were you, Lanny?”
“Don’t call me that. I guess Earth is like a jungle in some ways.”
“Can I ask how you managed to get your star returned to you? I can figure out why you’re back well enough,” Antares says.
“I’ll do a tell-all. I’m not staying, but we have a problem.”
“No shit.” He’s referring to our planet’s visitors.
“Not that one. It’s Treyu again. His ex-boyfriend abducted him.”
“His angel ex-boyfriend? Though, was he really a boyfriend? I thought it was more like a situationship?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want to call it. Treyu’s archangel ex-fuck-buddy yanked him off to Heaven. We have to get him back.”
Antares—predictably—laughs his ass off. “I’m sorry, I care, I really do. But, man, the stuff that happens to Treyu. Archangel, though? Talk about fucking impossible.”
Jericho returns with pants for Trinket, a bandage around his shoulder, and a bandage for his triplet. I take the pants and help Trinket into them even though he could probably do it himself. I want to see if I still remember how to do this. I promised Gem starlets, after all.
“Did I hear you say archangel?” Jericho says. “Man, Trey might be in over his head this time. All we can do with archangels is ask really nicely.”
Jamie—the final triplet—saunters into the room. “Atlanta?”
“Oh, good. C’mere.”
“Oh Gods,” Antares says.
“It was me, okay?” Jericho says. “I was supposed to be watching the baby starlet. It’s my fault.”
“Tell him what I said, Antares. Jamie, put your hand on the table.”
His eyes widen, but Orions don’t back down from a little fear or a little punishment.
“Atlanta said, and I quote, ‘I don’t know which one of you idiots is to blame, and I don’t care. I’m giving you all a reminder’.”
It’s a fair impression of me.
Jamie slams his hand palm side down on the table, gritting his teeth. I make it quick—since it probably was Jericho—and sink my blade into his hand.
“Fucking Gods,” he says.
“You’ve had worse during practice. Give it back.”
He pulls it out, gripping his injured hand. “What the hell did one of us do?”
