"It looks so much better now," I said, running my fingers over the neat line of stitches that had transformed into a pale pink scar. It had been two weeks since the confrontation at Rina’s house, and the peace that followed felt like a gift I was almost afraid to unwrap. No threats. No attacks. Just the rhythm of daily life, and the work that kept my hands busy and my mind calm.
"I can move more now, it does not hurt too bad," Leon smiled.
"That is really good. Soon you will be healed. And the scar will fade eventually. So no worries there," I told him.
"You are truly a miracle the beast Gods sent to me, Krys. Thanks for everything," Leon smiled warmly.
"Shh, I am no miracle. I am just an ordinary per— beast." God, how do I even get used to calling myself a beast? When in fact I am a human? And not of this world?
I spent my mornings in the fields beyond the village, gathering more flax to add to my storage of linen. The tall, blue-flowered stalks were heavy with dew as I pulled them from the earth, my hands knowing the motion now, muscle memory guiding me. I bundled them and dried them in the sun until they turned from green to gold, then set them to retting in the stream, the water softening the outer layers until the strong inner fibers were ready. The smell was still terrible, like decay and earth, but I barely noticed anymore. The results were worth it, every time.
I broke the dried stalks with stones, crushing away the woody bits, then combed the fibers with a rough carding tool I had fashioned from bone and wood until they lay parallel and soft. The spinning took hours, the spindle dropping and twirling between my fingers until my hands ached, but I created thread, strong and even, that I could weave into cloth on the simple loom I had built from branches and sinew.
The first thing I made for myself was a pair of makeshift panties. I could not go commando, not in this world which consist of fur and leather and constant movement. I had tried it for one day, one single day, and the friction and the constant awareness of my own exposure had been so embarrassing that I had retreated to our den and refused to come out until I had fashioned something, anything, to cover myself. The linen was rough compared to the cotton I am used to, but it was mine, made by my hands, and it felt like civilization.
I made extra linen for everything. Soft squares to clean Leon’s stitches, cloths for washing, for drying, for wrapping food. I made bar soap from rendered fat and wood ash and lavender, a crude but effective cleaning supply that actually lathered and smelled better than animal. It was not fully modernized yet, but it was getting there, one small creation at a time.
Ravin helped me when he could, his large hands surprisingly gentle with the delicate work. Leon protested constantly, insisting he wanted to help, that he was bored lying still, but honestly he was not much use. Not with his arm still healing, not with the stiffness that bothered his shoulder. He could barely lift the spindle, let alone weave, and his attempts at carding fibers had ended in a tangled mess. I kissed his forehead and told him to rest, that his job was to heal, and that was help enough.
I turned my attention next to light. Fireflies in jars had been charming at first, romantic even, but they died too quickly and gave barely enough glow to see anything. Fire sticks were dangerous, prone to sparking, filling the room with smoke that stung our eyes and coated our lungs, the embers threatening to catch on our furs and bedding. I needed candles. Real candles.
I collected beeswax from the hives Ravin found in the forest, melting it down in a clay pot over the fire, straining out the impurities until it was pure golden liquid. I made wicks from twisted cotton fibers, dipping them again and again until the wax built up in layers, until I had tapers that would burn for hours. I made oil lamps too, shallow clay dishes filled with concentrated fat, the wicks floating and glowing steady and bright.
Lisa came to our den one evening and stopped cold in our doorway, her eyes widening at the sight of our den glowing with soft, steady light. "What magic is this?" she breathed, touching the flame of a candle with reverent fingers.
"It is not magic," I laughed, showing her the process, the melted wax, the dipped wicks. "It is just... knowledge. From my home."
She learned quickly, her clever hands mastering the technique, and soon our entire home was filled with candles and oil lamps. Even Lisa and Raon’s chamber glowed at night with the warm golden light. Lisa looked at me sometimes with something like awe, like I had brought the stars down from the sky just for her.
I also met a wolf female named Layla, and she taught me something I had not expected to learn. She was plump, round and soft in a way that would have made her invisible in my old world, overlooked by men who preferred sharp angles and visible bones. But here, in this world where women were treasures regardless of shape, she had five mates. Five. All devoted, all doting, all competing to bring her the best gifts, the finest foods, the softest furs.
Rhonda, who was conventionally cute by any standard, had only two mates and one cub. But Layla, with her dimpled smile and her generous hips, had five mates and was on her fourth litter. Four cubs in total, each from a different father. Two from her first mate, a burly bear beast who carried her everywhere she asked. One from a tiger beast, striped and fierce, who purred when she scratched his ears. And the last, a tiny golden cub from a lion beast who looked at her like she had hung the moon.
Meeting these females, Rhonda and Layla and the others, feeling their babies squirm in my arms, hearing their laughter, watching their mates tend to them with such worshipful care, it filled me with a feeling I could not name. Hope, perhaps. Or belonging. Or the dawning realization that I had found my place, not just as a mate to princes, but as a woman among women, creating, building, living.
The babies were so cute, so impossibly soft and warm, their tiny paws kneading at my chest, their milk scent filling my nose. I held Layla’s newest, the golden cub, and felt something twist in my heart, something that wondered, that wanted, that whispered maybe, just maybe, I was ready for one of my own.
I knew if I had a cub now, it would be Ravin’s. He was my first mate, the first to claim me in every way, and he deserved that gift. Besides, he spoke about cubs constantly, his eyes going soft and distant when he saw them, his hands itching to hold them. The man was practically begging for children with every longing glance.
I found Layla in the communal garden one afternoon, her belly rounded with her newest pregnancy, her mates hovering nearby like anxious bees. Rhonda was there too, and I settled beside them on a stone bench, watching the children tumble in the dirt nearby.
"Hey Layla," I said, trying to sound casual, as if I were not contemplating the complete upheaval of my body and life. "Maybe because I am still not a mother yet, but how long does pregnancy last for all of your cubs? For each type, I mean."
Layla smiled, her hand resting on her stomach, her expression serene. "For my bear cubs, it was seven and a half months of pregnancy. Heavy and slow, like carrying stones." She ticked off on her fingers. "For my tiger cub, it was three and a half months. Quick and fierce, he practically clawed his way out." She laughed, the sound rich and warm. "And for my last cub, the lion, it was about four months. Manageable. Intense, but manageable."
"Wow," I breathed, my mind racing. "So bear beasts are much longer."
That was almost the same as a human child. Nine months I had been prepared for, nine months of growing and waiting and doctor’s visits and ultrasounds and knowing exactly what was happening inside me. But four months? Four months for a lion cub? That was not bad at all. Practically a vacation.
But then reality crashed down on me like a bucket of cold water. Was I ready to give birth in their way? No midwives with sterile instruments. No doctors with emergency procedures. No hospital with pain medication and incubators and teams of professionals ready to handle complications. Just me, in a stone cave, with beast women who had never even heard of a C section.
"Uhm, Layla," I said, my voice smaller now, trembling slightly. "Rhonda too. Has there ever been a case where cubs or their mother did not make it through the birth?"
Layla and Rhonda exchanged a look, and I saw it, the sorrow that passed between them, the shared grief of women who had witnessed loss.
"Yes," Layla said softly, her hand tightening over her belly. "We have known a few females who lost their cubs. It happens. The cub is too small, or turned wrong, or something goes wrong inside." She shook her head, her ears flattening. "No female has died during the birth though. Not in our lifetime. We are built much stronger than that. Our bodies know what to do."
"But it is always sad to see cubs dying," Rhonda added, her voice gentle. "The mother grieves deeply. Sometimes she does not recover from the loss."
I nodded, my throat tight, my hands clenched in my lap. Well, they might be strong females, built for this, their bodies designed by nature or evolution or whatever force governed this world to handle pregnancy and birth without medical intervention. But I was just a human. Soft, fragile, breakable human. I wasn’t born to this world, had not grown up with these instincts, these biological imperatives. I’m playing at being a beast man’s mate, pretending I could survive things my species had never evolved to endure.
I looked up at the sky, at the strange constellations that were not my own, and I wanted to scream. Geez, whoever threw me into this world, I thought with sarcasm. Could you not have at least given me a basic instruction manual? A pamphlet? A quick tutorial on beast man pregnancy and how to survive it without modern medicine? Maybe a cheat code for super strength and unbreakable bones while you were at it? No? Just dropped me in, three stories down, no prep, no warning, no survival skills? Great. Thanks. Really appreciate it. Love the customer service here. Ten out of ten. Would not recommend.
The sun was setting, so I said my goodbyes to the ladies and made my way back through the village to our den. My feet knew the path now, my body relaxing as I approached the familiar stone entrance, the scent of cedar and home welcoming me.
Ravin met me at the curtain, his golden eyes darkening the moment he saw me. He did not speak. He simply reached for me, his mouth claiming my lips in a kiss that was pure possession, hot and demanding and hungry. His hand found my ass, cupping me, pulling me flush against him so I could feel exactly how much he had missed me, how much he wanted me.
"I want you," he growled against my lips, his voice rough, his fingers digging into my flesh. "Just the smell of you gets me all riled up. Makes me hard enough to pound nails."
I gently pushed at his chest, my heart hammering, my face flushing despite myself. "Behave, Ravin. Leon is just inside. He can hear you."
"It is fine," Ravin whispered back, his thumb tracing the curve of my hip, his eyes burning. "Leon will understand. He knows what mates do. He knows what I want to do to you right here, right now, against this wall."
I tsked at him, extricating myself from his grip with effort, and walked into our den. My cheeks were burning, my body already responding to him despite my protests.
Leon was sitting up straight on the furs, his posture too rigid, his ears perked and alert. He must have had a conversation with his brother while I was gone. His face was carefully neutral, but I could see the pink staining his cheeks, the way his eyes avoided mine.
"What did you two do before I got back?" I asked, suspicion curling in my gut.
Leon blushed instantly, the color spreading from his cheeks down his neck, his ears flattening against his skull. Whatever they had talked about, it was about me. Definitely about me.
"So?" I pressed, crossing my arms, my eyebrow raised. "What was it about?"
Leon stammered, his hands twisting in his lap. "We were talking about our sleeping situation. When I am healed." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I told him about the promise you made me. About us becoming truly bonded. When I am healed." Leon finished.
My eyes widened, my mouth falling open. Oh my god. What the heck, Leon? You basically told your brother I am going to sleep with you, to make love to you, to claim you fully when you heal. Did you not think about your brother’s feelings? About how awkward this would be?
Ravin stepped into the den behind me, his hand finding my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Do not look so shocked," he murmured, his voice warm against my ear. "I am okay with it. He is your mate too. I will never be against my brother having what I have. What we share." He paused, his hand tightening on my hip. "But if you ever want anyone else, I will not get in the way. I want you to be happy, Krys. Above all else."
I sighed, turning to face him, my hands coming up to cup his cheeks. "I told you both," I said firmly, looking from his golden eyes to Leon’s dark ones. "I will not have any more mates. You two are enough. You two are everything."
Ravin smiled then, a slow, satisfied thing that made my toes curl. "Then do not mind me," he said, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Once Leon heals, I will give you two the privacy to truly become mates. I will hunt, or train, or find something to occupy myself. You will need time. Space. It should be special."
"Brother..." Leon’s voice was barely audible, his face red as a ripe tomato, his eyes wide with mortification. Poor guy was shy, painfully so, and the frank discussion of our impending intimacy was clearly overwhelming him.
"How do you expect to please Krys if you are this shy, Leon?" Ravin laughed, his voice teasing but not cruel. "You will need to be bold. To take what you want. To make her scream your name. She likes that, you know. She likes when I am bold."
"Ravin!" Leon’s voice cut in, sharp with embarrassment, and Ravin laughed even harder, the sound rich and infectious filling our den with warmth and brotherly affection.
I stood between them, I should be shy and embarrassed too, but my heart was full and ready to burst, my face burning, and I realized that this was love. This strange, complicated, beautiful thing. Two men, so different, both mine, both willing to share, to give, to love without jealousy or reservation. I was the luckiest woman in any world, and I would spend every day proving I deserved them.