It had been exactly six weeks since the world turned upside down, since Alara’s arrival and the revelation of Rina’s army, since I had chosen to trust my friends with my secret. Six weeks of preparation and planning, of messengers sent and alliances forged, of waiting for the storm that we knew was coming.
But today, the sun shone bright and warm, and winter was finally, blessedly gone.
We were enjoying some family bonding time at the stream, the first time in months we had dared to venture into the icy waters for anything more than a hurried wash. The snow had melted into the earth, feeding the current until it ran clear and cold and singing over the stones, and the world had exploded into green life almost overnight.
My older cubs loved it now. Atlas, Ryder, and Chase splashed through the shallows like creatures born of the water itself, their whoops and laughter echoing off the banks as they dunked each other and wrestled in the current. They were one year old in their cub forms but looked to be about six or eight in their man form, at that age where everything was an adventure, where every moment held the potential for wonder or mischief. They were all limbs and energy, their bodies still holding the soft roundness of early childhood but beginning to stretch and lengthen, gaining the harder angles of the boys they were becoming far too quickly.
But my two youngest boys, Niku and Sikai, wanted nothing to do with the stream’s embrace.
They clung to the muddy bank in their cub forms, small golden-furred lions with oversized paws and tufted ears, their little faces screwed up in identical expressions of disgust and betrayal, their howls of protest rising above the peaceful sounds of the water. They were still young enough to find the cold shocking, the current frightening, the whole experience an affront to their dignity.
And oh, how karma came into play.
Atlas, my responsible eldest, decided that his younger brothers needed to be taught the joy of bathing, whether they wanted to learn or not. He waded toward them with the determination of a predator, his hands outstretched, a grin splitting his face that was pure mischief.
"Come here, little fish," he called, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "Let your big brother show you how to swim."
Niku and Sikai shrieked in unison, a sound that could have shattered glass, and scattered in opposite directions. What followed was chaos of the most hilarious kind; Atlas lunging for one while the other darted between his legs, Ryder and Chase joining the fray, convinced that they could corner the slippery toddlers, and the cubs themselves fighting with a ferocity that belied their size.
Niku, in his cub form, latched onto Atlas’s hand with tiny sharp teeth, making my eldest yelp and shake his arm. Sikai kicked out with his back legs and caught Chase in the shin with surprising accuracy, his small paws surprisingly strong. Water flew everywhere, drenching everyone within range, and the peaceful stream became a battlefield of splashing and screaming and laughter.
Through it all, Jasper, my sleeping prince, simply watched from his perch on a sun-warmed rock, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of profound and utter disdain. He was already clean, having efficiently washed himself in three minutes flat, and he looked at his brothers’ antics with the weariness of a king surveying a peasant revolt.
He scoffed, a sound of pure adolescent judgment, and returned to his own bathing without a care in the world, scrubbing behind his ears with a thoroughness that suggested he was trying to wash away the indignity of being related to such chaos.
I laughed until my sides ached, leaning against Ravin’s solid warmth as we watched our sons wage war in the shallows. I supposed karma existed in every world; these boys had given their fathers such grief every time they were bathed as younger cubs, screaming and thrashing and making the simple task an ordeal of epic proportions. Now they were receiving their just desserts, attempting to corral two smaller versions of themselves and discovering exactly how much fun their elders had had.
My little Levy, of course, was easy.
She sat on a flat stone at the water’s edge in her cub form, her golden fur catching the sunlight, and let me wash her with the regal patience of a queen enduring a necessary indignity. She held her paws out when instructed, turned when asked, and accepted the rinse of her fur with only a small huff of displeasure. She was as regal as it gets, my daughter, already understanding that royalty did not fuss over such trivial things as cold water, even in her beast shape.
After the bath, we trailed back to the house in various states of dampness and exhaustion, the younger cubs finally worn out from their resistance, the older ones smug in their victory. I made some soup with crowhen as the main dish, the bird hybrid chicken meat rich and savory in the broth, and we ate together as a family, the warmth of the food chasing away the last chill of the stream.
While my mates were eating and the cubs were fed and put in their room for bedtime, I turned to my six mates, my heart hammering against my ribs with a nervousness that felt almost like excitement.
"So," I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. "My six weeks is over. And the window for my next conception is open."
The room went still, six pairs of eyes fixing on me with varying degrees of hope and hunger and careful restraint.
"We all agreed that it is Soryn’s turn to get me pregnant during that window of opportunity," I continued, looking at each of them in turn. "Aureon, I am still keeping my promise. Once the window closes, I will give you my attention. We can finally fully become bonded in all senses."
Aureon smiled, and there was no resentment in it, only understanding and patience. "I understand," he said softly. "I came last. I have to be considerate."
Soryn looked at Aureon, something passing between them, some acknowledgment of the sacrifice and the gift. "Thank you," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Aureon just smiled, and it was enough.
So there was no need for paper, rock, scissors, or taking turns for my favor. Until the end of my ovulation, Soryn would be my sole bed mate. We established who would sleep with the cubs; Leon promising to take the younger ones, to keep them occupied and give us the privacy we would need. Everything was set, the logistics arranged with the efficiency of a tribe preparing for war.
But when I walked to Soryn’s room that night, feeling jitters like I had never done this before, like I was a virgin again and not a woman who had six different males as I my mate and a mother to seven cubs, the nerves were real and trembling in my stomach.
When I got to Soryn’s room, he was waiting.
He stood by the small window, the moonlight streaming in to paint his sharp features in silver and shadow. He wore only his trousers, his chest bare, and I could see the rapid rise and fall of his breathing, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled slightly where they rested at his sides.
He was nervous as well.
I got in and closed the door behind me, the click of the latch loud in the silence. The room was warm, scented with herbs and the particular musk of Soryn’s skin, and my heart hammered so hard I was certain he could hear it.
His question stopped me before I could cross to him, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Are we actually doing this?" he asked, and there was such vulnerability in the question, such desperate hope. "Am I finally getting my chance to become a father?"
I softened, looking at him, at this serpent who had waited for someone to choose him, who had been patient and kind and endlessly gentle when he could have been demanding and cold.
"You deserve to be a dad," I told him, my voice thick with emotion. "I have seen you with Jasper, and even with the other cubs. You are more than great as a father. And I cannot wait to see you with ones to call your own."
He looked at me, his emerald eyes wide and uncertain, his throat working. "Thank you," he whispered. "For saying that. For believing that."
I crossed the space between us then, my bare feet silent on the stone floor, and placed my hands on his chest. His skin was cool to the touch, and I felt the muscle beneath jump at my touch. He was lean and hard, all elegant lines and coiled strength, so different from the bulk of Leon or the sheer size of Ravin.
"Touch me," I whispered, and it was both a request and a command.
His hands came up, tentative at first, resting on my waist with a gentleness that made me want to weep. But I could feel the restraint in him, the way he held himself back, afraid to hurt me, afraid to take too much.
"Soryn," I said, looking up into those kind eyes. "I am not made of glass. I want you. All of you. Not just the gentle parts."
Something shifted in his expression then, some restraint snapping, and his grip tightened. He pulled me flush against him, and I felt the hard evidence of his arousal pressed against my belly, two distinct ridges hot and insistent even through the cloth. I moaned softly, my hips rolling instinctively against him, eager for what I knew was coming.
"Both tonight," I whispered, my voice thick with need. "I want both of them inside me, Soryn. I want you to fill me completely, stretch me, make me take every inch."
He groaned, the sound torn from his throat, and his lips crashed down on mine in a kiss that scorched. His tongue swept inside, claiming, tasting, while his hands tore at my clothing with a desperation that matched my own. Soon I stood before him naked, trembling, and he stepped back to remove his pants.
I watched, hungry and impatient, as he revealed himself fully. His arousal never failed to make my mouth water, those two elegant shafts, pale and flushed with need, emerging from a single base, curved slightly and already weeping with desire. I knew exactly how they would feel, exactly how full he would make me, and the anticipation made my core ache with emptiness.
"Krys," he groaned, seeing my reaction, his hand moving to stroke himself, both shafts moving in tandem. "I have wanted this for so long. To breed you, to fill you with my seed, to know that you carry my child."
"Then do it," I commanded, reaching for him, my fingers wrapping around one heated length and then the other, feeling them pulse in my grip. "Stop talking, Soryn. Take me. Use both of them. Make me yours."
He scooped me up then, his strength surprising, and laid me on the bed with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his eyes. He crawled over me, his body a cage of lean muscle, and positioned himself at my entrance. I was already wet, soaked with need, and when he pressed the first head against my folds, I moaned at the familiar stretch, the perfect burn of him entering me.
He pushed inside me with the first, thick and hot and perfect, filling me in a way that made my back arch, my nails digging into his shoulders. I was panting, ready for more, when he began to work the second against my entrance, slicking it with my arousal, pressing insistently.
"Both," I gasped, spreading my legs wider, opening myself completely. "Give me both, Soryn. I need to feel you everywhere."
He groaned, a sound of pure animal need, and pushed the second inside me alongside the first.
The sensation was overwhelming, two thick shafts moving in tandem, stretching me deliciously, rubbing against each other through my walls, creating friction that made me sob with pleasure. He was everywhere inside me, filling every space, hitting every sensitive spot with every stroke.
"Move," I begged, my voice broken. "Please, Soryn, move. I need you."
He began to thrust then, slow and deliberate at first, both lengths sliding in and out in perfect synchronization. The feeling was exquisite, fullness beyond anything else, the way he hit my depths with every stroke making me see stars.
"So tight," he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine, his hips picking up speed. "So perfect around me. You were made for this, Krys. Made to take my seed, to bear my young."
I could only moan in response, my body moving with his, meeting each thrust, taking him deeper. The bed creaked beneath us, the furs bunching, and the room filled with the sounds of our joining, the wet slap of skin, my broken cries, his guttural groans, the slick sounds of him moving inside me.
He shifted his angle, hitting that place inside me that made lightning shoot up my spine, and I screamed, my orgasm building with terrifying speed.
"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing rhythm as his own pleasure mounted. "Come on my cocks, Krys. Milk me dry. I want to fill your womb, want to plant my child deep inside you."
His words pushed me over the edge. I shattered, my orgasm crashing through me like a storm, my body clamping down around both his lengths, milking him with rhythmic pulses that made him roar. He thrust deep one final time and held there, his body rigid above me, and I felt the hot flood of his release, two streams filling me, marking me, claiming me completely.
He collapsed on top of me, his weight welcome, his heart hammering against my chest. For long moments we simply breathed, joined in the most intimate way possible, his warmth still pulsing inside me.
"I love you," he whispered against my hair, his voice thick with emotion and exhaustion. "I love you, and I will love our child, and I will spend every day of my life proving that I deserve this gift you have given me."
I held him tighter, tears pricking my eyes, and whispered back, "You already have."
We stayed like that, tangled together in the dark, his warmth still filling me, our breathing slowly synchronizing as we drifted in the aftermath. But the night was young, and my fertile window demanded more than once. After what felt like mere minutes, I felt him stir against me, his shafts still sensitive, still eager, beginning to harden again where they rested inside me.
"Again?" he murmured, his voice rough with surprise and renewed hunger.
"Again," I confirmed, rolling my hips to take him deeper, feeling the stretch reignite my own desire. "And again. We have all night, Soryn. I want every drop you can give me."
He growled, a sound of pure masculine satisfaction, and began to move once more. This time was slower, more deliberate, his hands roaming my body with worshipful care, his lips tracing every curve and hollow. He took me from behind the second time, my face pressed into the furs, his grip on my hips possessive and primal as he drove into me with both shafts, the angle hitting new places that made me scream into the bedding. I came twice before he finally spilled inside me again, his roar of completion echoing through the room.
We rested briefly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my sweat-slicked skin, his lips pressed against my shoulder. But I was not finished with him. I pushed him onto his back and climbed atop him, taking control, sinking down onto both his lengths with a cry of my own. I rode him slowly, torturously, watching his face contort with pleasure, his hands gripping my waist with desperate strength. The third time was as intense as the first, our bodies moving together with the desperation of two people who knew this was their chance, their moment to create life.
Only after the third completion, after I had collapsed onto his chest and felt his seed dripping from me, hot and copious, did we finally surrender to sleep. The fire had burned to embers, the moon had crossed the sky, and our bodies were spent, satisfied, thoroughly used.
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