The tavern doors swing open to the Feisty Dwarf with a rush of warmth—light, laughter, song. Everything the slavers’ tent was not. The Busty Barmaid spots us instantly, her knowing smile flicking from Kit to Raka before she waves us toward our usual booth.
“Rough day?” she asks, already reaching for mugs.
“It’s been eventful,” I answer.
Her eyes linger on Raka a moment longer—not pity. Just recognition. Then she nods once. “An extra setting in your booth from now on?” she asks, already knowing.
“Yeah…” I rub at my stubble, meeting her gaze. There’s no judgment there.
We settle in—Kit on one side, Raka on the other.
Raka sits carefully at first, like she’s not sure the space is really hers. Then she exhales and leans back, shoulders dropping just a fraction.
Food arrives fast.
Raka stares for half a heartbeat… then dives in, licking her chops.
Meat, bread, stew—gone with real hunger. She pauses once to sniff a piece of fruit, then eats that too, a quiet sound of approval rumbling in her chest.
Kit watches her, smirking. “Careful,” she says lightly. “At this rate, we’ll have to order twice.”
Raka glances up, something like embarrassment flickering—then it fades.
“…Good,” she says simply, tearing another piece of bread. “I’d forgotten.”
I catch Kit’s eye across the table.
She arches a brow—slow, deliberate, playful. The impression comes through the bond more than words.
You seeing this? she doesn’t even have to say it.
I don’t even have to answer.
Raka huffs a quiet laugh, licking a trace of mead from her snout. “You two,” she rumbles, voice low and warm, “forget I can feel that.”
Kit leans back, completely unbothered. “Feel what?”
“The hum,” Raka says, tapping the table once with a clawed finger. “Before you even think about it.”
Kit’s tail flicks under the table, brushing my knee.
“Maybe,” she purrs, glancing at me, “we like being caught.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling.
“Eat,” I say, nodding toward the table, now heavily laden. “Both of you. No one’s going hungry here.”
Raka stills for just a second at that.
Then nods.
The noise of the tavern rolls around us—laughter, clinking mugs, the low roar of life.
For the first time since we stepped into that tent…
This feels normal.
Plates come and go. The table fills and refills—braised lamb glazed with honey and rosemary, slow-roasted roots, piles of seasoned rice and hand-cut flatbread, even a platter of candied figs and citrus dusted with crushed pistachio.
Raka eyes the figs with suspicion. She takes one, snorts softly at the sweetness… then reaches for another. And another. Soon she’s eating them by the handful, a low, satisfied rumble building in her chest.
Kit leans in across the table, catching a bit of syrup on her thumb and licking it away with deliberate flair. Her eyes flick to Raka, amused.
“Careful, wolf,” she murmurs, voice low and teasing, “you’ll get spoiled.”
Raka’s ears twitch. She smirks, showing a hint of fang. “Spoiled is new,” she murmurs, low and almost shy—but there’s a spark behind her eyes now, growing brighter with every bite.
I catch myself watching them.
Kit—feline grace, glinting eyes, curled into her seat like she owns the room.
Raka—broad-shouldered, powerful, silver fur catching the lanternlight, her grip on the tankard loose and easy instead of tight around a chain.
We settle into our own comforts without thinking about it.
For me, it’s spice ale and thick stew—warm, heavy, grounding.
For Kit, honeycakes and chilled wine, sweet and slow, savored between teasing glances.
And for Raka… anything with a bone and a tankard of amber mead.
She takes to it like she was meant to.
We indulge—more than we should—and somewhere along the way we realize we’re not just tasting our own choices. The bond carries it, bleeding flavors and warmth between us. Sweetness, heat, bite… all of it shared.
I glance over as Raka drains another mug, a low sound of approval rumbling in her chest.
“That mead’s good, isn’t it?” I call over.
I’ve never had it before.
But I can taste it anyway.
The evening stretches on. We eat too much, drink too much… but laugh and flirt just enough. I let the wine—and the bond—smooth the edges of the day, pushing darker thoughts somewhere quieter.
Something settles in my chest.
Not certainty.
But something close enough.
Kit catches my glance and smiles—slow, knowing, not coy. She leans in, shoulder brushing mine as she turns toward me.
“None of this works without you either,” she murmurs, echoing my earlier words.
The bond hums.
She already is.
Raka huffs a quiet laugh, a little flushed, a little softer than before. “You two are well past smitten, aren’t you?”
Kit’s eyes flick to me, smiling as she leans in, letting her crossed arms and the cut of her bodice do the rest.
“Smitten?” she purrs. “That was days ago.”
Between her teasing and something more genuine beneath it, I feel the last of the doubt loosen its grip.
The tavern thins around us. Candles burn lower. The world softens at the edges—warmth, wine, and something shared settling deep in my chest. The wine makes everything feel a little easier… and my judgment a little looser.
Kit is halfway through teasing Raka about her appetite when I cut in, quieter than before.
“Hey… Raka.”
Both of them look at me—Kit with a raised brow, Raka tilting her head, curious.
“There’s something you’ll need to get used to,” I say. “Figured I’d show you.”
A flicker of unthinking mischief… and something else beneath it.
I let the magic slip through.
Smoldering Gaze
The world narrows.
Not silence—just focus.
Kit’s smile falters—not discomfort, just… impact. Her breath catches, sharper this time, her body going still for a fraction too long. Amber eyes widen, pupils tightening, something deeper stirring beneath the surface.
The bond carries it.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Heat—warm, rising, and very much her own.
Raka stills.
Ears twitch. Shoulders tense. Her breath deepens, steadying instead of breaking. Her gaze locks on mine, something instinctive rising fast—something older, sharper.
Not submission.
A challenge.
Her claws press lightly into the table, not pulling back—but holding ground.
Neither of them speaks.
The bond pulses—warm, heavy, undeniable.
Kit swallows, lips curving into something quieter now. “Well…” she breathes. “That’s… a little dangerous.”
Raka leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes steady and burning.
For her, it lands differently.
Not submission—something closer to a challenge. Something she meets head-on… and doesn’t back away from.
Her gaze doesn’t waver.
“…Show me again.”
I feel it then—the shape of it. Not just heat, but something sharper. A challenge. Something in her that doesn’t yield… but bares its teeth, waiting to see if I will too.
And I realize… I might not be ready for that… yet.
I let it fade.
Maybe too quickly.
The feeling lingers anyway—caught somewhere between us.
The moment settles—not gone, just… changed.
Eventually, the fire in the hearth burns low and the tavern quiets. Patrons drift off one by one, voices fading into the night. The barmaid gathers the last of the empty mugs, pausing just long enough to flash me a knowing wink.
“Let me know if you need a bigger room,” she murmurs.
There’s no rush.
For now, the three of us stay where we are—settled into the booth, bellies full, laughter lingering in the air. Under the table, paws and hands brush now and then, small, quiet touches that don’t need to be acknowledged.
Not yet.
We’re still warm from the wine by the time we reach the room. I drop onto the bed with a groan, and Kit follows immediately, collapsing beside me in a tangle of white hair and laughter, her tail flicking lazily against my leg. Raka lingers near the doorway for a moment, eyes drifting from us to the bed as she steps forward.
Kit and I glance at each other. Smirks bloom—shared, immediate—and in perfect unison we both lift a hand and point.
“Bath.”
Raka freezes. Her ears twitch as she follows our gesture, then her gaze drops to herself—to the torn, stained, travel-worn rags still clinging to her frame. Not just clothing anymore. Weight. History. A low growl slips from her chest. Then she straightens, rolling her shoulders once before turning without a word and disappearing into the bath alcove.
A moment later, water pours. Wood creaks. Steam begins to spill out into the room.
Kit leans into me, resting her head lightly against my shoulder. “I like her already,” she murmurs, low and wicked.
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah. She’ll fit.”
The steam thickens, carrying the scent of mint and something woodsy—cedar, maybe. From within, Raka’s voice rumbles, low and full.
“Haven’t felt water like this in a long time.” A pause. “Didn’t care back then.” A breath. “Now… feels like I’m shedding something.”
I raise my cup—borrowed from downstairs—with exaggerated ceremony. “Well,” I say, smirking, “a bath can do wonders, but wait until you feel the magic of my—”
“—bed,” Kit cuts in instantly, shooting me a look. Then, quieter, to me, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
I grin wider.
“What? I was going to say Harem-bed ability.”
Kit rolls her eyes, dramatic even through the buzz.
From the bath, a soft snort.
“Careful,” Raka calls. “Didn’t hear it… but I felt it.”
Kit stretches out beside me like a cat in warm light, gaze drifting toward the steam. “Mmm. I’m curious what she’ll look like after,” she muses. “White and silver fur… probably all shimmer and moonlight once she’s dry.”
I chuckle, turning my glass idly in my hand. “Or just fluff.”
She purrs. “We’ll see.”
We give her time. Something about a hot bath after a day like that… it’s more than cleaning. It’s release. The room settles around us—the quiet pop of the hearth, the soft shift of bodies on linen. Through the bond, I can feel something in Raka unwinding, uncoiling, letting go.
Eventually, I push myself up—just a little unsteady—and grab a towel from the rack, still warm. I make my way to the bath screen and knock lightly.
“Brought you something,” I say, keeping it easy. An offer. Not a push.
There’s a brief pause.
“That was kind of you.”
A shadow moves behind the veil of steam. Lanternlight cuts across her silhouette—tall, powerful, unmistakable. She steps close enough to take it, and for a moment I catch just enough of her—no show, no hiding. Just… her.
Her fingers brush mine as she takes the towel. Warm. Damp. Steady.
“I didn’t like hot water before,” she says, her voice lower now. “Didn’t trust it.” A breath. “But tonight… it’s different.”
She pauses, then adds, softer, “I’m not hiding. Just… not ready yet.”
From the bed, Kit’s voice drifts over, warm with amusement. “Take your time, moonwolf. We’re not going anywhere.”
I hang a towel over the screen with a small smile, then drop back onto the bed. Kit shifts beside me, already half-curled into the pillows, her tail flicking lazily against my leg. When Raka steps out a few minutes later, steam curling behind her, she pauses in the doorway—clean now, damp fur catching the lanternlight in soft silver. I sit up slightly.
“Don’t even think about putting those rags back on,” I say, nodding toward the corner. “We’ll burn them.” I toss her one of my shirts. “This’ll do for now.” She catches it easily, huffing a faint laugh. I nod toward the room.
“Only one bed. Big enough if you don’t mind sharing. Or take the bedroll—your call. No expectations tonight.” Kit glances at her, quiet but open.
Raka stands there a moment, the shirt hanging loose on her frame, her eyes moving between the bed and us, then to the bedroll. A small breath leaves her. Then she decides.
She crosses the room and climbs into the bed, no asking, no hesitation—just instinct. Kit lets out a soft, surprised sound, and I blink once, caught off guard, but Raka doesn’t edge herself away like a guest. She settles in like she belongs there, turning slightly so her back eases against me, her head drifting near Kit.
Pack.
The warmth hits immediately. Not just bodies, not just blankets—something deeper. The bond hums, steady and grounding. Kit’s hand finds Raka’s arm, light and unsure at first, while mine settles at her shoulder. She doesn’t pull away. There’s no tension, no pressure—just stillness.
Raka exhales slowly, something in her finally giving way. “…I didn’t expect this,” she murmurs.
No one reaches for more. No one needs to. The warmth settles, the room quiets, and for the first time in a long time… everyone sleeps.