Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse

"You would bite," he said. His mouth found the tip of her ear and grazed it.

"You’d like it." She snorted, and the laugh cracked something loose in her chest, sweet and aching. "You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought."

"I have contingency plans for everything." His lips ghosted her temple. "Yours involves teeth."

"That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me."

"I know." His arm cinched tighter, caging her against the wall of him. "Sleep, little fox. I’ve got you; breakfast is coming."

And the terrible, wonderful truth of it was, he did. She pressed her cold nose to his collarbone just to feel him twitch, and grinned when he did.

Satisfied, he kissed her again, soft this time, barely even a kiss, just a warm press of lips that tasted like home. They lay like that for a while, the window open to the pale blue of morning, the jacaranda trees throwing leaf-shadows across the sheets. She ran her fingers over his hand, tracing the scars and calluses, letting her mind quiet for the first time since the sunrise.

"I don’t want to forget any of this," she said, voice so small she almost doubted he’d hear it.

He squeezed her hand. "You won’t." There was no room for argument in the way he said it. "Not with me around."

She breathed out, slow and shaky. "Good."

He let her rest, one arm curved over her ribs, his chin propped atop her head. She could feel the steady thump of his pulse, the way his body hummed with a readiness that never fully uncoiled, even in sleep.

After a while, she tipped her face up, studied the hard line of his jaw, the downturned corners of his mouth, the steady amber of his gaze fixed on the window.

"Are you waiting for something?" she asked.

He considered, then tilted his head to look at her square. "I am waiting for the others to finish arguing about breakfast so I can bring you food without interference."

She laughed so hard it startled even herself. "You’re such a sneak."

He arched one brow, unrepentant. "You said snake wrong, and I am efficient."

She let herself just look at him for a moment, the way he radiated calm even with menace coiled just beneath the surface. "I love you," she said, and the words came out truer than she meant.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. "I know."

She snuggled in closer, eyes drifting shut. "Maybe just five more minutes."

"I will allow it," he said, and for once she believed him.

They lay there, wrapped up together, for a slice of time that felt as close to forever as the world would permit.

When he judged her warm enough, Exile lifted her with a care that belied his size and strength, tucking the blankets so tight around her that she could barely move. Then, with a patience that matched her own, he simply waited, holding her in the hush, until her breath evened out and her face softened into sleep.

Only then did he slip free, gliding to the kitchen, where he began the daily ritual of coaxing food from the chaos of a house packed to bursting with predators, cubs, and the ever-present need for more.

She woke later to the scent of honey and coffee and the low rumble of Exile’s voice from the other room, and she smiled into the pillow, knowing that for all the world’s wildness, even with the craziness going on just outside the property line.

There were still mornings like this, and there would be more.

Exile’s comfort transitioned smoothly to the next necessity, as he returned with a tray and set it carefully on the nightstand. He eased onto the mattress beside her, watching with a soft patience as she struggled up on her elbows, hair wild and eyes still glazed from sleep.

He set a hand at the small of her back and kissed her shoulder, right at the curve where it met her neck. "Eat," he said, and when she hesitated, he just waited, thumb stroking a lazy path up her spine until she relented and picked up the mug of coffee, cradling it in both hands.

She managed three sips of the coffee before the floorboard outside the door groaned under weight it hadn’t been built to carry.

Dimitri filled the doorway a heartbeat later, hair still damp from wherever he’d washed up, red eyes sweeping the room once, the tray, the tangled sheets, Exile’s hand still resting low on her back—before he made a sound low in his throat that wasn’t quite a growl and wasn’t quite a word.

Exile went very still.

"My turn," Dimitri said, and though his voice stayed easy, warm even, there was no question buried in it.

She watched Exile’s jaw work, watched the muscle there tighten as he might argue, but he only exhaled through his nose and drew his hand back, slow, as it cost him something to peel himself away from her skin.

He didn’t look at Dimitri as he uncoiled from the bed. He looked at her instead, amber eyes lingering, and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile before he slid out the door without a word, his tail brushing the frame on the way past.

Dimitri didn’t wait for the door to shut before he was folding himself onto the mattress behind her, arms coming around her like he’d been starved for the shape of her.

"I missed you," he murmured into her hair, and then his mouth was everywhere: her temple, her cheekbone, the soft spot just behind her ear; kisses dropped like punctuation between words he didn’t bother finishing.

She laughed, breathless, tipping the coffee mug carefully out of the way. "It’s been maybe half an hour, you silly."

"Half an hour too long." He said it against her collarbone, like the words needed a place to land. "And you know it."

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