Things had gone well for us. The days had settled into a rhythm that felt less like survival and more like living. I had started to become comfortable with our arrangements, the strange polygamous life that had once seemed so foreign. Every night I slept between them, their bodies bracketing mine like living walls of warmth and safety. I was starting to get used to the idea of having two mates, two hearts beating in time with mine, two sets of hands that reached for me in the darkness.
I had only been intimate with Ravin. Our bond was sealed in flesh as well as spirit, and the memory of his touch still made my skin flush. But Leon was patient, so endlessly patient. He waited without complaint, his dark eyes following me with a hunger he never forced, a desire he kept carefully leashed. I was thankful for the time he gave me to get used to the idea of a poly relationship, to expand my heart to hold them both without breaking.
But that time was about to be tested.
The king, Ravin’s father, had to travel to the tiger tribe to negotiate a trade agreement and build alliance. The winter had been harsh, and the stores were low. They needed grain, medicines, and strong timber from the southern forests. In exchange, they offered furs, meat, the protection of lion warriors. It was vital, this journey, vital for the survival of the pride.
And Ravin was the heir, the golden prince in line to take over after the king relinquished his rights or passed into the next life. Even if he was young in my eyes, Ravin still had to attend the delegation. He had to learn how to speak in the careful language of alliance, how to bargain without offending, how to lead.
So that morning, we stood at the edge of the village, the sun barely cresting the mountains. He kissed me, his lips brushing my cheek first, then finding my mouth, the kiss deep and desperate and tasting of goodbye. His arms came around me, his hug almost suffocating in its intensity, but I welcomed it. I buried my face in his neck, inhaled the scent of him, tried to memorize it.
"Be safe, Krys, my mate," he murmured against my ear, his voice rough with emotion. "Leon will take care of you. Please stay within his reach. I will come back as soon as we finish with the delegation. Father said it should take no longer than two weeks. And I will rush back to you. Please be safe."
"You be safe as well," I whispered, my voice thick with tears I refused to shed. "Please do not do anything that can harm you. I will be waiting here for you with Leon."
I watched him go. He kept turning back to me, his golden hair catching the light, his eyes finding mine even as the distance grew. And I watched him; my hand pressed to my chest where my heart ached. I watched until he got smaller and smaller, until from where I was standing he looked like a little ant, until the trees swallowed him and he was gone.
"I will be here to protect you," Leon said softly, his hand finding mine, his fingers threading through my own. "You do not have to worry, Krys."
"I know, Leon," I said, turning to look at him, this dark prince who had become my anchor. "And thank you."
The smile I attempted for Leon’s sake shattered before it could fully form my face crumpling despite my efforts to be brave. A crushing weight settled on my chest, heavy and suffocating, pressing down until each breath felt like drawing air through mud. I pressed my hand to my heart, as if I could physically hold myself together, but it was no use.
This was the first time since I had died and been reborn in this world that Ravin would not be within reach when night fell. The first evening I would watch the stars without him beside me, the first dawn I would wake without his warmth at my back, the first night his hand would not seek mine in the darkness. The absence of him was already a gaping wound, raw and bleeding. I missed him with an intensity that terrified me, as if he had carved out a piece of my soul and carried it away with him, leaving me hollow and aching and desperately, hopelessly incomplete.
The days without Ravin stretched long and hollow, each hour marked by the absence of his voice, his scent, his presence. I tried to fill the emptiness with work, with purpose, with the small magics of creation that reminded me I was still myself, still capable, still alive.
I decided to make the lotion for Lisa, Ravin and Leon’s mother, the woman who had shown me such kindness when I had none to give. I gathered my materials with desperate focus, needing the distraction. Almonds I had shelled and crushed into a fine paste, their oil rich and fragrant. Beeswax from the hive Ravin had found for me, melted down and purified until it was golden and clean. The wildflowers I had pressed and steeped, their essence extracted into sweet almond oil. I worked in the small chamber we used for storage, the stone cool against my skin, the smell of almonds and honey filling the air.
I made two batches. One for Lisa, scented with lavender and something citrus I had found growing near the stream, a fragrance that spoke of calm and strength and maternal warmth. One for myself, lighter, sweeter, something that made me feel like the woman I had been before all of this, before the fall, before the reincarnation, or is it transmigration? I poured them into small clay pots I had shaped and fired myself, sealing them with wax, labeling them with careful scratches of a fish bone. Then after that, I even attempted to teach Lisa some basic stitches for repairing furs. But the boredom was a living thing, gnawing at my edges, reminding me that I was a woman from a world of constant stimulation now trapped in a place where silence reigned supreme.
I needed a project. Something big. Something that would actually change our daily lives.
That morning, watching Leon scratch at his fur wrap, watching the way the leather stuck to his skin in the heat, I realized what I needed to make. Linen. Real cloth, woven and soft, breathable against the skin. Something better than fur and leather for the warmer days.
I remembered the process from a documentary I had watched years ago, back when I had a television and endless hours to fill. Flax. I needed flax. And luck, or perhaps fate, smiled on me, because Leon knew where it grew, tall and blue-flowered, in the meadows near the eastern cliffs.
We harvested it together, Leon and I, pulling the whole plants from the ground so the long fibers stayed intact, the roots coming free with satisfying pops from the earth. I laid the stalks out in the sun on flat stones, watching them dry over two days, turning from green to straw-gold, the fibers inside hardening and strengthening.
Then came the retting. I soaked the flax stalks in the stream, weighing them down with stones, leaving them in the cool water for days. The smell was terrible, like rot and decay, but I checked them daily, pulling one out to test, until the outer plant parts softened enough that I could scrape them away with my thumbnail.
Leon helped me break the dried stalks next, using two flat stones to crush and beat away the woody pieces, the brittle parts shattering and falling away until only the long, strong inner fibers remained. They looked like pale gold threads, rough and tangled.
I combed them next, using a rough comb I had fashioned from bone and wood, working the fibers until they lay parallel and soft, the rough bits caught in the teeth, the good long strands slipping through like silk. My hands ached. My back screamed. But I was making cloth. Real cloth.
Then came the spinning. I made a spindle from a whorl of clay and a straight stick, and I sat by the fire for hours, twisting the fibers into thread, the spindle dropping and spinning, the thread growing longer, stronger. It was meditative, hypnotic, the work filling the hollow space inside me where Ravin’s absence lived.
Finally, I built a simple loom from wood and sinew, stretching the warp threads tight, and I began to weave. The weft thread passed over and under, over and under, the fabric growing inch by precious inch. It was rough, imperfect, full of mistakes, but it was linen. Real linen.
When I held up the finished piece, a square of fabric, Leon stared at it like it was magic. "It is so soft," he breathed, touching it with reverent fingers. "And light. Like wearing nothing at all."
"This is just the beginning," I told him, my heart swelling with pride as I held up the finished square of fabric. "We can make cloth for washing, for drying, for cleaning. No more scraping with rough hides. No more drying with furs that never quite absorb."
Leon looked at me like I was speaking in riddles, his head tilting in that adorable, confused way. "Cloth? For washing? But we use moss and leather for that."
"For now," I said, smiling mysteriously. "These are just the start. Trust the process, Leon. One day I’ll make us real clothes from this. Light and soft and nothing like fur."
I cut the fabric into squares that night, my fingers working by firelight, hemming the edges with neat stitches so they would not fray. By morning, I had a stack of soft linen cloths, absorbent and gentle, nothing like the rough hides we had been using.
When Leon woke, I handed him one. He touched it, felt its softness, its absorbency. His eyes widened as understanding dawned. "This is... this is better than fur. Better than moss."
"For washing," I said. "For drying. For all the things we need to keep clean." I folded another carefully, setting it aside. "And when I’ve mastered this, I’ll make us clothes. Can you imagine? Fabric that breathes, that moves with you, that doesn’t itch?"
He used it that morning to wash his face, the linen soaking up water without scratching, drying without leaving bits of fur behind. He marveled at it, showing Lisa, showing the servants, his movements lighter somehow, as if this small comfort had lifted a weight he did not know he carried.
And for a few hours, I forgot to miss Ravin. I was too busy creating. Too busy bringing my world to his, one thread at a time.
Over the days that followed, Leon and I fell into an easy rhythm. We talked as we worked, our voices low and intimate in the small space of my workshop which was technically our bedroom our den. He told me about his childhood, about growing up in Ravin’s shadow, but how he never felt lacking. His parents had loved them both equally, had shown them both the same devotion, yet there was still a weight to being the second son, an expectation that he would always follow, never lead.
I told him vaguely where I had come from, fabricating most of it since he would never believe the truth. I spoke of a family that kept to themselves, that rarely ventured among others, that lived isolated and apart. "That is why I am so naive," I said, my voice soft with false confession. "Why I do not understand your ways, your customs. I was sheltered, kept apart from the world. I am learning, but I have so much to learn."
Then we walked outside, into the twilight, to check the perimeter as Ravin had asked. The air was cool, the sky painted in shades of purple and orange, the first stars beginning to prick through.
"Tell me about the tiger tribe," I said, my hand finding his arm, seeking comfort in his solidity. "Will Ravin be safe there?"
"The tigers are..." Leon paused, his ears twitching, his body suddenly going rigid. "Krys. Get behind me."
I froze, following his gaze. A figure emerged from the tree line, massive and striped, orange and black in the dying light. A tiger beast man, his shoulders broad, his eyes glowing amber in the shadows. He walked with a predator’s grace, each step deliberate, silent. And his eyes, those burning eyes, were locked on me with an intensity that made my blood run cold.
"Leon?" I whispered, my hand clutching his arm.
"I know him," Leon growled, his voice low and dangerous, his body shifting, muscles coiling, ready to spring. "He is one of Rina’s mates. The tiger she took after she could not have Ravin."
The tiger stopped, ten paces away, his tail lashing, his teeth gleaming white in the twilight. "Krys," he said, my name a rumble in his chest, foreign and threatening. "Rina sends her regards. And a message. It is time to pay up, with your life."
"Leave, Boris," Leon said, his voice calm and even though I could see the tension coiling through his shoulders. "You do not want to die a meaningless death. Rina does not care for you. She basically sent you here to die."
"This has nothing to do with you, Prince Leon," the tiger sneered, lips peeling back from dagger teeth. "Once she dies, Rina said she has a place for you and Prince Ravin."
"You know it does not work like that," Leon replied, his dark eyes never leaving the tiger’s face. "If our bond is severed, the consequences are much more complicated. We would die, or lose ourselves to our animal state, which is practically the same thing as death."
"Then you will just have to die with your mate, Prince," Boris laughed, and it was the ugliest sound I had ever heard, sinister and menacing, scraping against my nerves like claws on stone.
"Go behind the tree," Leon instructed me, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"But Leon..."
"Go. Please. I will not let anything happen to you."
I forced myself to move, my legs trembling, and hid behind the largest oak I could find. My heart hammered so hard I could hear it in my ears. Could Leon take him? Boris was massive, larger than both Ravin and Leon, bulkier and taller, his stripes stark against orange fur that seemed to glow in the dying light. How could Rina even mate with something so terrifying?
The air shifted, crackled with energy. Both men began to morph, bones popping, muscles swelling, fur erupting from skin. Leon became the lion I knew, his coat a rich warm brown, his mane black as night, sleek and deadly. Boris transformed into a tiger the size of a horse, his stripes burning black and orange, his eyes pits of amber malice. Both were large. Both were dangerous. My body went numb seeing them in their original states, these beast men who could tear me apart with just a swipe of their claws.
Leon was on the defensive, circling, his tail low, his muscles coiled tight. Boris attacked first, a blur of orange and black, claws extended. He hit Leon hard, a swipe that should have opened his throat, but Leon twisted, dodging, going for the tiger’s neck. Leon was quick, lightning fast, but Boris was no pushover. When Boris lunged again, Leon deflected with a swipe of his own claws, ripping across Boris’s shoulder, drawing first blood. The tiger roared, the sound shaking leaves from the trees, and attacked again.
The fight went on, a brutal dance of death that turned the clearing into a killing ground. Fur flew in clumps, black and orange, blood sprayed in arcs that painted the grass and stone, the copper scent thick enough to choke on. They rolled across the earth, crushing plants beneath their weight, each seeking the other’s throat. Leon bit, his teeth finding purchase in Boris’s shoulder, and the tiger roared in pain and fury. Boris clawed back, his massive paws raking across Leon’s flank, opening gashes that spilled red onto his dark fur.
They separated, circled, then crashed together again with a force that shook the ground. The sounds of their battle were terrible and wet, the snap of jaws closing on empty air, the thud of bodies colliding, the screams of rage and pain that tore from both their throats. Leon was smaller, leaner, but he was faster, more agile. He darted in, struck, retreated before Boris could counter. But the tiger was stronger, his blows heavier, and each hit that landed made Leon stagger.
Boris caught him with a swipe that opened Leon’s shoulder. Leon answered by sinking his teeth into Boris’s foreleg, crunching bone. They twisted together, a tangle of claws and teeth and killing intent, rolling toward the tree line. Leon was bleeding from a dozen wounds now, his dark fur matted and slick, but his eyes were fierce, burning with a determination that would not die.
Then, in a moment of desperate opportunity, Leon found his opening. Boris lunged too far, overextended, and Leon struck with the speed of a striking snake. He lunged upward, his powerful hind legs propelling him, and his jaws closed around Boris’s throat. His teeth, long and sharp as daggers, sank deep into flesh, finding the artery, crushing against the vein. The tiger thrashed, massive claws raking at Leon’s sides, but Leon held on. He held on with a tenacity that was terrifying to witness, shaking his head, tearing deeper, his growl vibrating through both their bodies.
Boris’s struggles weakened, his thrashing slowing, his eyes glazing. Blood poured from his throat in a flood that soaked Leon’s muzzle, his chest, the earth beneath them. The tiger went limp suddenly, his massive body stilling, his breath coming in wet, rattling gurgles. He seemed done, defeated, incapacitated by the terrible wound, lying in a growing pool of his own blood. Leon released him, backing away, his sides heaving, thinking the fight finished.
As I tried to go to Leon, to run to him, another pair of arms grabbed me from behind. I smelled rabbit, musky and terrified, and I remembered him, another of Rina’s mates, the one with the long ears and the nervous hands. He grabbed me, hauling me backward, and I screamed, a sound of pure terror.
Leon was there in an instant. He practically ripped me away from the rabbit beast, his jaws closing around the smaller man’s neck with a crunch that I felt in my own bones. The rabbit beast fell, his throat torn out, landing in his own pool of blood. Dead before he hit the ground.
But Boris was not finished. The tiger rose behind Leon, silent, deadly, his jaws wide. I saw it happening in slow motion, the inevitable, the death blow.
"Watch out, Leon!" I screamed.
Too late. Boris bit into Leon’s shoulder, his massive jaws locking on, shaking his head like a dog with a toy. Leon roared, a sound of agony that tore at my heart, his blood spraying across the clearing, painting the grass crimson.
Leon was bleeding, badly, trying to shake the tiger off, but Boris would not let go. He was going to kill him. Right here, right now, because of me. Because I was too weak, too human, too useless to help.
What could I do? What should I do? I looked at the rabbit beast man who laid in his own pool of blood. Dead. Useless. And Leon was next.
"Hey Boris!" I shouted, my voice cracking, desperate. "With that small cock between your legs, how do you even pleasure your mate? You sure she sent you here to kill me, or to get you killed because you are worthless in bed?"
I had not seen his cock. But what male liked being ridiculed about their manhood?
It caught his attention. His ears flattened, his grip loosened, just for a second. But a second was enough.
Leon twisted, his body moving with desperate strength, and got a good hit in, his claws raking across Boris’s already wounded throat. Boris fell with a growl, but he rose again, enraged, blood pouring from his neck. The fight continued, but Leon was weakening, his blood loss too great, his shoulder mangled.
I had to do something. Anything. I looked around wildly, my eyes finding a fallen branch from the oak tree, snapped and jagged, one end sharpened to a cruel point. It was not much, but it was all I had. I ran forward, my heart hammering, knowing that if Boris caught me, if those massive tiger jaws closed on my fragile human body, I would be dead in seconds, torn apart like paper.
Boris was focused on Leon, his massive tiger head shaking as he tried to finish the kill. I did not think. I lunged, using my small size to slip beneath his guard, and drove the jagged and sharpened branch upward with all my strength, aiming for the soft flesh beneath his jaw, the vulnerable spot where fur grew thin. The wood pierced, not deep, but enough. He roared, a sound of pain and surprise, his head jerking back, his grip on Leon loosening.
It was enough. Leon struck.
What happened next would haunt my dreams. Leon moved with a speed I did not know he possessed, fueled by rage and pain. He went for Boris’s throat, his jaws locking with terrible finality. He bit, and he pulled, his whole body wrenching backward, muscles straining. The wet sound of tearing flesh, the snap of bone, the gush of blood that sprayed across Leon’s face, across the grass, across me. Leon tore Boris’s throat out with his mouth, ripping the tiger’s neck open, severing artery and vein and spine in one brutal motion.
Boris went slack instantly, his body hitting the ground with a thud that shook the earth. His eyes, those terrible amber eyes, went dim. He was no more.
I slumped to my knees, the branch falling from my numb fingers. Leon stood over Boris’s body, his lion form trembling, then the air shimmered and he morphed back, collapsing to his knees as a man. His left arm was a ruin, the shoulder mangled and gaping, flesh torn so deeply I could see the white of bone. Blood poured down his chest, his side, pooling beneath him. It looked like it needed stitching, like it needed a surgeon, like it might never heal right.
He came to me anyway, limping, dragging his ruined arm, his body pale from blood loss. He was injured, terribly, yet his first concern was still me.
"Are you hurt?" he rasped, his voice barely human, thick with blood.
I could not answer. I could only stare at him, at what he had done, at what he had become for me.
"Let us go," he said, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Rina will come. We need to go back where we are around our clan. She will not try anything with others around. Even if my father is not here, my mother is no pushover."
I nodded, even with my legs feeling like spaghetti, even with my stomach churning with bile and horror. I got up. Leon made no sound, though I knew he must be in agony, his shoulder ruined, his body torn. He walked beside me, protecting me still, his blood dripping a trail behind us.
We walked quickly, silently, back toward the den. I looked up at Leon, and he gave me a smile, bloody and broken, as if nothing was wrong, as if he had not just killed two men for me, as if he was not dying on his feet.
And I felt it then, the guilt, crushing and absolute. Because of me, he was hurt. Because of me, he had killed. He was not even my mate in the full sense yet, not bound by flesh as Ravin and I were bound, yet he had been willing to risk his life, to tear out throats, to become a monster of blood and death, all for me.
I did not deserve him. I did not deserve any of this. And as we stumbled back to safety, I swore to myself that I would find a way to be worthy of his sacrifice, or I would die trying.