The Goddess of Love - a Moonknight short story

1

Layla got out of bed, letting out a cry of annoyance. Steven – when they had gone to bed he was the one who had said good night to her and from his British accent she thought it was him lying next to her – mumbled some complaints and turned over to the other side.

Layla watched him smiling. Ever since she had first slept with him, she had found it cute the way Steven curled up, pulling his legs up to his chest. He reminded her of a frail child, which made her think Marc Spector was comfortable enough with her to show that part of himself.

With a yawn, she forced her gaze forward. She stared at her bare feet, which hadn't yet touched the floor, dangling on the edge of the bed.

There was complete silence in Steven's apartment.

After all that had happened in Egypt, those months of peace had seemed necessary. Layla wished with every part of her that their life could remain as peaceful as that summer morning.

Sighing, she stood up. Before heading into the kitchen, she took one last look at Steven, who was still sleeping. Since it was Sunday, she didn't have to wake him up and she was content to leave a kiss on his forehead.

She liked the serenity they had managed to create. Steven and Marc were taking turns at the new job they had found as tour guides in one of the London museums. Steven had made Marc promise to commit and Marc had sworn that he would do anything to keep them from losing their new job.

Since she had chosen to stay with them, Layla was considering going back to university to complete the exams she needed to become a professor. She could already picture herself in that role.

Smiling, she walked into the kitchen. She had learned to know the apartment by heart and, even if she could not yet define it as her home, she felt at ease within those walls.

She probably would have felt comfortable anywhere as long as she had Marc beside her.

A yawn stopped her for a few seconds, preventing her from seeing the shelf she had opened. With sleep still clinging to her eyes, she began to prepare something to eat.

She turned to put a plate on the table and nearly screamed.

"Shit, honey, I didn't hear you coming," she said, looking absently at Marc. He had sat at the head of the table and was staring at her intently. "How did you sleep?"

As she approached the table, she tried to push the sleep out and focus on her husband. His body was too stiff to be Steven and he always kissed her on the cheek when he woke up. But at the same time, she wasn't sure it was Marc.

She set the plate down on the table, wondering worriedly why Marc was being so cold towards her. Maybe something had happened that she didn't know yet.

"Are you all right, baby?" she asked, preferring a direct approach. They wouldn't have solved anything if they continued not to talk and not be honest with each other.

Marc tilted his head forward, still staring at her in silence. His hands were joined on the surface of the table.

Layla began to fidget and Marc seemed to notice.

No, Marc wasn't the person she was talking to. Marc had never smiled like that, taking pleasure in making her uncomfortable.

"Jake," she murmured.

She hadn't seen him for weeks.

The first time she had spoken to him, after Marc had confessed to her that he had another alter, she almost had a panic attack. Because Steven was nice and kind and easy to love. But Jake was a strange creature.