8:00 A.M. light poured through the tall window like warm honey, thick and gold stripes across the bed and the worn oak floor.
I woke slowly, eyelids sticky with sleep and last night's honey-wine, the room still heavy with the scent of crushed lavender, river water, and warm skin. The sheets had twisted around my hips sometime in the night; goose-down had puffed up everywhere, soft and smelling faintly of cedar from the inn's linen chests.
Then the bathroom door opened and every thought in my head short-circuited.
Rill stepped out first, steam rolling off her shoulders in slow curls. Water droplets clung to her calico ears and traced shining paths down the curve of her neck, over collarbones still flushed pink from the hot bath. Her breasts were medium, perfectly teardrop, nipples the color of fresh strawberries against warm cream skin. Lower, the soft fur of her lower belly gave way to smooth, bare lips (pale pink, delicate, glistening with the last traces of bathwater). The morning sun caught every bead of moisture and turned it into tiny prisms.
Lioren followed a heartbeat later, silver hair loose and dark with water, clinging to her back in wet ropes that reached the dimples above her ass. Her skin was moonlight-pale, almost luminous; her breasts were the same gentle handful, nipples a shade duskier rose, peaked from the cool air. Between her thighs the same flawless, petal-pink folds, glistening and perfect, framed by the faintest trace of silver down that caught the light like frost.
They padded across the floor barefoot, droplets pattering softly on the wood, leaving little dark stars that steamed into the boards. The whole room smelled of hot springs, jasmine soap, and something warmer (girl-skin after bath, clean and intoxicating).
My body reacted before my brain caught up. Blood rushed south so fast the sheet tented like a sail in a storm.
Lioren's green eyes flicked down, then back up, one elegant brow arching.
"No, Kael," she said, voice soft but firm, towel forgotten in her hand. "You don't get to have us."
Rill grinned, tail curling lazily, water still dripping from the tip. "Party members. Family. People you bleed next to, not inside of." She padded closer, breasts swaying gently with each step, and flicked my forehead with a damp finger. "If we let feelings get messy and someone ends up pregnant, the road ends. Elf clans don't abort. Beastkin litters are sacred. Journey over."
Lioren nodded, wringing her hair; water spattered across the floorboards like warm rain. "On the road we bathe in rivers, piss behind the same tree, share the same bedroll when it's cold. We can't afford modesty or lovers' quarrels. From today forward we're naked together a hundred times (washing blood off, stitching wounds, warming each other after snow). That's trust, not sex."
Inner me exhaled, half regret, half relief. *They're right, idiot. These two are forever war-sisters, not lovers. Keep it that way.*
The erection softened as quickly as it had risen, leaving only warm embarrassment and a deeper, steadier heat in my chest.
Rill's grin turned wicked. "But tonight? We're hitting the bars. One-night strangers only. No names, no feelings, just skin and goodbye by morning." She leaned in, breasts brushing my arm (accidental, maybe), and whispered, "With your face? The girls will line up, pretty boy."
Lioren laughed, low and musical, already pulling on a loose shirt that clung to every damp curve. "Come drink and hunt with us, Kael. Leave the family in this room. Take the rest of the city instead."
I flopped back into the pillows, laughing despite myself, the scent of jasmine and warm female skin still thick in my lungs.
"Fine," I groaned, voice rough with sleep and want and acceptance. "Lead the way, sisters."
They both flashed identical predatory smiles, sunlight sliding over bare hips and pink, perfect skin one last teasing second before clothes hid everything again.
The day stretched ahead bright and clean, smelling of river water, cedar sheets, and the promise of stranger lips by midnight.
Family by dawn.
Lovers never.
And somehow that felt exactly right.
The shower was a copper pipe bolted to the stone wall, fed by a rooftop cistern warmed by yesterday's sun. When I twisted the valve, water burst out steaming, smelling faintly of iron and river minerals. It hit my shoulders like hot rain and ran pink at first (leftover battlefield grime swirling down the drain in lazy spirals).
Rill padded in naked, tail high, still dripping from her own rinse. "Back and hair?" she asked, already reaching for the chunk of jasmine soap that smelled like last night's garden.
I nodded, too comfortable to pretend modesty.
She stepped behind me. The soap was slick and cool in her hands; when she dragged it across my shoulder blades it left trails of thick lather that tingled against the half-healed scratches. Her claws scraped lightly (never breaking skin, just enough to make every nerve endings sing). Warm water sheeted down my spine, carrying the soap's perfume and the faint copper scent of old blood finally, truly gone.
She moved up to my hair, nails raking my scalp in slow circles. Suds slid over my closed eyes, down my neck, between my shoulder blades like liquid silk. The steam was thick enough to chew, tasting of jasmine and hot stone.
Then her gaze dropped.
"Damn, bro," she whistled, voice low and teasing, water drumming on the tiles around us. "That thing's a weapon. Some poor bar girl's getting absolutely ruined tonight."
I barked a laugh, water spraying from my lips. "Jealous?"
"Please. I've seen bigger on a horse." She flicked soap suds at my chest; they burst warm against my skin. "Just wondering which stranger gets to find religion on it."
We cracked up, the sound bouncing off wet stone, echoing loud in the small room, pure and stupid and perfect.
Outside the bathroom door, Lioren was already dressing. I caught glimpses through the steam: silver hair being twisted into a high tail, linen shirt sliding over damp skin, the soft rustle of leather trousers being laced. She didn't even glance in (no embarrassment, no possessiveness). Just the quiet certainty of people who've decided naked is just another kind of uniform when you might have to stitch each other's guts back in before sunrise.
Rill finished rinsing my hair with a final cascade that felt like warm silk, then slapped my ass hard enough to sting. "My turn tomorrow, Red-Eyes. Fair's fair."
"Deal," I grinned, stepping out, water pooling around my feet in steaming puddles.
By the time we emerged, skin flushed, hair dripping, towels slung low, Lioren was fully dressed in new city clothes: deep green sleeveless tunic, silver belt catching the morning light, boots polished mirror-bright. She tossed us each a clean shirt without looking, already buckling her quiver.
"Breakfast," she declared, voice crisp with purpose. "Then shopping. Good food, good gear, and tonight (good strangers). Move it, family."
The word family landed warm in my chest, heavier than gold.
I pulled the shirt over my head; the linen was sun-dried and smelled of river wind and lavender sachets. My skin still tingled from Rill's claws, my stomach growled loud enough to rattle the windows, and the whole morning smelled like fresh beginnings and the promise of new scars.
We thundered down the stairs laughing, three half-wild things dressed in city clothes but still carrying the wild road in our eyes, ready to eat the day alive before we let the night eat us right back.