"So who am I sleeping with tonight?" I asked, after we finished eating and cleaning up. I sat on the wooden chair at the table, the furniture Leon had built for us to gather around as a family, my body still humming with satisfaction from the meal.
The boys looked at each other, some silent communication passing between them, then turned to me as one. Ravin was the one who spoke, his voice carrying the weight of his position as first mate. "I will. We decided to go by order of who became your mate first. I will go first, then Leon, and last Soryn."
I nodded, considering the fairness of the arrangement. "I do not have an issue with that reasoning."
Leon had already warmed my bath, hauling heated water from the kitchen hearth and mixing it with cool stream water until the temperature was perfect. I soaked alone, washing away the sweat and dust of the day’s labor, my mind drifting to what awaited me. When I emerged, skin flushed and warm, I wrapped myself in a soft fur and made my way to Ravin’s room.
He was already there, waiting.
His hair was wet from his own bath at the stream, droplets of water clinging to the strands and running down his bare chest. His long torso was still damp, golden skin glistening in the firelight, every muscle defined and perfect. God... he looked magnificent. Like a god carved from marble and brought to life solely to torment me with desire.
His gaze locked on me as I entered, and he strode forward with purpose, closing the distance between us in three long steps. "Finally," he murmured, his voice low and rough with need. "It has been awhile since it was just us. You and me."
My face heated, and I knew he was not wrong. First with Leon and then with Soryn’s arrival and the chaos of building, our intimate moments had been rushed, always with the awareness of others nearby. I thought back to the first time we had shared a bed, how nervous we both had been, how careful and tentative. So much had changed since then.
"Yes," I breathed, smiling up at him. "It has been awhile."
He pulled me into his arms without another word, his heated body melding to mine, skin against skin, warmth against warmth. I could feel his heart hammering against my breast, his arousal pressing insistently against my belly, and I melted into him, letting him support my weight completely.
"Can I have you tonight?" he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and sending shivers down my spine. "All of you?"
I pulled back slightly, searching his face, my own insecurities rising unbidden. "Do you truly still find me attractive, Ravin?" I asked, my hand moving to the swell of my belly, now rounded with pregnancy. "I am so... fat. Changed."
He caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, his golden eyes burning with sincerity. "No," he said firmly, his free hand cupping my cheek. "You are not fat. You are radiating with beauty, carrying my cubs, our litter. You are perfect." He leaned in, his forehead touching mine, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I promise to be gentle. I would never hurt you, never hurt them."
I nodded, tears pricking my eyes at his tenderness. "Okay. But be gentle, okay?"
His answer was to claim my lips in a kiss that started soft and quickly turned hungry. His hands roamed my body with reverent possession, tracing the curves of my waist, the flare of my hips, and finally gripping my ass with a firmness that made me gasp. Then he hauled me up, his strength effortless, and my legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord, my ankles locking behind him.
He carried me to the bed like that, kissing me deeply, our tongues intertwining in a dance as old as time. When he laid me down on the furs, he followed, covering my body with his, his weight a comforting blanket that I welcomed. He kissed his way down my body with agonizing slowness, removing my makeshift gown inch by inch, worshipping each patch of skin he revealed.
His mouth found my breasts, swollen and sensitive from pregnancy, and he suckled gently at my nipples, rolling them with his tongue until I was arching off the bed, moaning his name. He continued lower, trailing kisses down the curve of my belly, murmuring soft words to the life growing there, before finally settling between my thighs.
When his tongue touched my core, I cried out, my hands fisting in the furs beneath me. He licked me with long, slow strokes, savoring me like a feast, before focusing on my clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth with gentle pressure that made my body hummed with pleasure. I pushed myself against his face, desperate for more, and he obliged, lapping at me continuously, relentlessly, until I shattered with a scream that surely carried through the walls.
He did not give me time to recover. Before the aftershocks had even faded, he was moving up my body, positioning himself between my thighs, the broad head of his large cock nudging against my slick entrance. He entered slowly, inch by torturous inch, his jaw tight with restraint, until he was seated fully inside me.
He hissed at the contact, his head falling back, his eyes closing in bliss. "Wow," he groaned, his voice strained. "You are so tight. So damn tight, gripping me so perfectly."
It felt so good. With each thrust, the pleasure built anew, my body still sensitive from my first orgasm, climbing higher and higher toward another peak. Ravin moved with deliberate slowness, fucking me deep and steady, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside me with every stroke. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust, lost in the sensation of him, the smell of him, the love that radiated from every touch.
"Ravin," I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, I am close..."
He increased his pace just enough, his hand slipping between us to find my clit, rubbing tight circles that sent me over the edge. I came with his name on my lips, my body convulsing around him, milking him with rhythmic pulses that triggered his own release. He buried himself to the hilt with a roar that seemed to shake the room, spilling inside me in hot, endless waves, marking me as his, claiming me once again as his first and truest mate.
We collapsed together, tangled in the furs, our hearts thundering in sync, our breath mingling in the cool night air. He pulled me against his chest, his hand stroking my hair, "I love you Krys."
I smiled and snuggle closer, "I love you too, Ravin."
---
The next morning, I woke with a smile curving my lips despite myself. Ravin had been such a gentle lover, so patient and understanding of my changing body, my insecurities, my needs. He had held me afterward until I drifted to sleep, his hand resting protectively over our growing cub. Now he was gone, out hunting with Soryn, leaving me with Leon, who stayed behind to help with the morning chores.
The day had progressed normally; breakfast, tidying, preparing herbs; until midday, when the door burst open and Rhonda stumbled through, her face ashen, her eyes wild with panic.
"Krys," she gasped, grabbing my arms with desperate strength. "Something is wrong. We do not know what to do. You have healing intelligence. You saved Leon with his wound. Maybe you can help Layla too."
She was not making sense, her words tumbling over each other in her distress. I grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet my eyes, to slow down. "What happened? Tell me clearly."
"Layla," Rhonda choked out, fresh tears streaming down her face. "She went into labor, but the baby is not coming out. She is losing strength. The Elders are with her, but they cannot... they do not know why..."
I did not think. My nursing instincts surged to the forefront with terrifying clarity. I grabbed my medical kit; the one I had assembled from my knowledge and the primitive materials available: a disinfectant liquid made from fermented berries and crushed antiseptic herbs, a small bone knife for cutting cord, a scalpel made from volcanic glass carved by Ravin, and bundles of healing herbs I had dried and stored; and followed Rhonda at a run.
Layla’s home was chaos. Her mates paced like caged animals, their faces twisted with helpless rage and fear. Her cries, faint and weakening, pierced the air like a blade.
When I saw her, my stomach dropped. She was pale, deathly pale, her skin waxy and damp with sweat. The fur beneath her was soaked with fluids, and her breathing was shallow, too fast, desperate.
She looked at me, and even in her agony, hatred flickered in her eyes. "What are you doing here?" she cried out, the words breaking on a sob.
"She is here to help," Rhonda said firmly, pushing me forward.
"Help with what?" Layla spat, then groaned as another contraction seized her. "Just leave. I do not want to see you... ah!" The scream that tore from her throat was inhuman, raw, the sound of a female being torn apart from within.
I shook my head, kneeling beside her despite her protests. I placed my hand on her stomach, feeling the hard, tight muscle beneath, and lifted the fur covering her. What I saw made my blood run cold.
A paw. Small, perfect, and entirely wrong. It was a front paw, protruding from her opening, and I knew with sick certainty what that meant. The cub was breech, or transverse, positioned wrong for delivery. Without intervention, Layla would die. The cubs would die.
"Trust me, Layla," I said, my voice steady despite the terror clawing at my throat. "I know you hate me right now. I know you blame me for your mate that died. But please... let me save your life. Let me save your cubs’ lives. Please."
She looked at me, fear naked in her eyes, the fear of death, of loss, of trusting the one she had cursed. For a long moment, she stared, and I saw the war within her, the desperate calculation of survival versus pride.
Slowly, trembling, she nodded.
I did not hesitate. The moment she gave permission; I snapped into the focused mindset I had learned during my training as a nursing assistant. I had assisted through countless emergencies in my old life, watched nurses handle crises, learned by observation and hands-on practice. "Clean water," I commanded, my voice steady despite my terror. "Now. Run to my home, ask Leon for the cloths tell them it’s for me. Get lots of them."
Her bear mate moved with surprising speed, returning with a basin of heated water and the cloths from my home. I washed my hands thoroughly, scrubbing under my nails, wishing desperately for the antiseptic soaps of my old world.
Then I began.
I placed both hands on Layla’s stomach, feeling for the position of the cubs, mapping their location through the tight muscle of her womb. I found the head, far from where it should be, and the body, twisted, trapped. I would have to turn it. From the outside and the inside simultaneously.
"Rhonda," I said, my voice clipped and professional. "Hold her shoulders. Keep her still. This will hurt."
I grabbed Layla’s stomach and began to rotate, applying firm, steady pressure, trying to coax the cub to shift, to turn, to present correctly. Layla screamed, her body arching off the furs, her hands clawing at anything within reach.
"I am sorry," I whispered, tears streaming down my own face now. "I am so sorry."
It was not enough. The cub was stuck, wedged tight in the birth canal. I had to go in.
I pushed my fingers into her opening, feeling for the cub’s head, trying to get purchase, to turn it, to guide it. Layla’s scream was unlike anything I had ever heard, a sound of pure, undiluted agony that seemed to shake the walls. Her mates roared, lunging forward, held back only by Rhonda’s mate and Leon who had come to see if I needed any help.
I worked fast, my heart hammering against my ribs, my own breath coming in ragged gasps. I found the head, cupped it in my palm, and pulled, slowly, steadily, rotating as I drew the cub toward the opening. Layla’s body convulsed, her screams becoming weaker, her strength fading.
"Push," I commanded. "Layla, push now!"
She gathered her remaining strength and bore down, and with a rush of fluid and blood, the first cub emerged into my waiting hands. A leopard, spotted and perfect, already wailing with indignation at being born.
But there was no time to celebrate. I felt for the next, and found it coming fast, positioned correctly now that the first had cleared the way. The second emerged, then the third, in rapid succession, a litter of three, mewling and squirming and alive.
The birthing was over. Layla collapsed, unconscious, her chest heaving with exhaustion, but she was breathing. She was alive.
I worked quickly, clearing the cubs’ airways, rubbing them with clean cloths to stimulate circulation, checking each one for defects, for injuries, for signs of distress. They were perfect. All three of them, perfect.
Then, acting on instinct, on memory, on the human practices of my old life, I placed each cub on Layla’s chest, arranging them so they could feel their mother’s warmth, her heartbeat, the rhythm of the body that had carried them. I did not know if beast men did this in this world, but I knew that in my world, skin-to-skin contact was crucial. That mothers needed to feel their children, and children needed to feel their mothers, in those first precious moments of life.
I would want my cubs on me, I thought, my hand resting on my own belly. The first moment they breathed, I would want them close.
Slowly, Layla regained consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then finding her cubs, then finding me. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, different from before, cleansing, grateful.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I am so sorry for what I said to you. I know deep down you did not do anything wrong. It was the cheetahs who killed my Rodrick, not you." Her hand trembled as she stroked the nearest cub, her touch gentle, reverent. "Thank you for delivering my cubs. For saving them. For saving me." She looked down at the spotted bundles on her chest, her face crumpling with grief and gratitude. "They are the only thing left of Rodrick. My leopard mate. The only piece of him I have left in this world."
She broke down then, sobbing over her cubs, grief and joy and relief all tangled together in an unbearable knot.
I squeezed her hand, my own tears falling freely now. "It is okay," I whispered. "I understand. I truly do."
And I did. I understood loss. I understood love. I understood that sometimes the people we blamed were not the ones who had truly wronged us, but the only ones left to bear the weight of our pain.
I sat with her until she slept, until her mates took over, until the cubs had nursed and the danger had truly passed. Leon had stayed during the chaos, and he waited patiently, silently, understanding that I needed to see this through. When I finally emerged, he fell into step beside me without a word, escorting me home through the gathering dusk. I walked with him, my hands stained with blood and birth, my heart heavy with the weight of life and death and the fragile, terrible beauty of both.
Leon saw the look on my face and pulled me into his arms without a word. I cried there, against his chest, for Layla, for Rodrick, and for the cubs who would grow up without a father. The reality of this world crashed over me in that moment; how brutal it was, how quickly happiness could be stolen, how fragile our lives truly were. If I lost my mates like Layla had lost hers, if I had to face childbirth alone, without their strength beside me, how would I survive? The thought terrified me more than anything I had face so far.