Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’re roused from dreamless slumber by a gentle hand on your shoulder. With a great amount of effort you manage to blink tired eyes open—always tired, no matter what you take—and glance around. A familiar face frowns sadly down at you. It was one of the other maids, waking you to begin your duties.

Quietly, she pads away to wake the others. You can hear the few that were already awake getting dressed, their movements slow and apathetic. None of them wore smiles or had any light in their eyes. None of you wanted to be here. None of you wanted to awake at sunrise every morning and fulfill the wishes of the rich and wealthy.

Then again, none of you had a choice. You were driven by fear and fear alone. That’s what made you rise every morning, pull on clothes, fill wine goblets, cook food you’d never be able to eat, and smile as wrinkly old fingers reached up your skirt. It was better to feel nothing than pain.

The phantom sting of a whip burns as a reminder against your back.

With a sigh, you roll out of bed and get ready. You’ve found that mornings are your favorite part of the day. They’re quiet and peaceful, and if you pretend hard enough, you could be a normal woman who’s getting ready for work in a much better place. You pretend to have a loving husband and perhaps a few children running around.

It’s not real, you know it’s not, but it’s nice to think about.

“Big day today,” one of the other women mumbles, breaking the silence. All of you let out a collective groan.

Though, you suppose someone had to admit it. Big day was an understatement. This place will be crawling with nobles near sundown. Men with gold teeth and glittering rings; women donned with jewels and stinking the place up with expensive perfume. And it was all for one reason.

Auction day. God, did you hate auction day.

And it wasn’t just because you’d have to deal with snobbish bureaucrats. It was because you’d have to see them. Those pitiful, miserable hybrids.

Many people of the kingdom seemed to despise them, claiming that they were feral beasts and didn’t deserve the rights pureblood humans have. You know it’s a lie, because you’ve seen them. You’ve seen the humanity in their eyes as they stare at you from their cages. You’ve seen them sob and plead with you to let them out and save them from their fate.

All you could do was tell them, “I’m sorry,” as if that could fix any of it, as if that would miraculously relieve them. You know it wouldn’t. Maybe it’s for your own peace of mind.

What you really want to say is, I’ll help. I’ll let you out. I’ll burn this place to the ground and every piece of shit in it who thinks they have power just because they play people’s lives like bidding cards.

But, you don’t. You go back to your cleaning, because you’re just a maid who has nothing but her life as a maid.

Their eyes still haunt you at night.

Like a pack of show horses, you exit your quarters in unison. Each of your postures is rim-rod straight, hands folded neatly in front of you, faces perfectly blank. There was no room for mishap.

The headmaster awaits you at the end of the East Wing. It’s always an unhappy sight to see the plump man every morning. He’s always upset for some reason, impatiently tapping his shoe like your group is late, even though you never have been.

He curls a lip at the sight of you, eyes narrowing. With one hand he pushes greasy hair out of his face, then fixes his glasses. “G’morning,” he grunts at you.

“Good morning, headmaster,” you all repeat back in perfect sync.

“Lotsa things to do today,” he huffs, waving the list in his hands. “They better be done by the time the nobles arrive, else I’ll have your heads.”

“Yes, headmaster.”

Then he starts pointing and listing off different tasks. Preparing the dining room, readying the guest bedrooms, etc, etc. All you hope for is anything but hybrid care. Please not hybrid care, please not hybrid care, please not hybrid care . . .

“You,” he points at you. “Hybrid care.”

Fucking damnit.

The other women shoot you pitying looks. Obediently you bow your head, hiding the pained look in your eyes. You quickly scurry off after that.

Of course it had to be hybrid care. The universe didn’t want to allow you to live in blissful ignorance. No, you were forced to once again witness exactly how cruel the world was. Like you haven’t already seen it enough.

Some time later you’re walking down the halls, wheeling a cart with plates full of piss-poor food. You enter the large auditorium, where some of the other maids were dusting and moving tables around. It was a grand room, with high ceilings and glittering chandeliers and marbles carved from statues. At the front was a stage where massive curtains sat.

Behind those curtains was where the hybrids were kept. You pause in front of them, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. Taking a deep breath, you step inside.

The room is quiet and dark. There were cages lined up against every wall; you could make out the forms of the hybrids inside, though you try to ignore them. Not one of them dared move or dared to breathe as you stood there, quietly making your presence known.

Only after a few moments of tense silence do you begin to move. Cautiously, you begin to slide plates into the slots of their cages. As you do, you skim briefly over their appearance.

A hare, a bull, a ram, a sniffling dove hybrid. You accidentally make eye contact with a sharp-eyed lizard hybrid and quickly avert your eyes. Your heart is like thunder in your ears and you count down from 100 just to calm down. Just, focus on dolling out the rest of the plates.

But then you pause on the last cage. Slowly, horror creeping up your spine, you glance up.

Wide, terrified brown eyes stare back at you. The girl is shaking so hard you think she may be having a seizure, but you think she’s just petrified. Little arms wrap around her legs as she rocks back and forth, back and forth . . .

That was a child. A child who couldn’t be older than ten, given how little she was. Based on the fluffy ears atop her head and the tail curled between her legs, she was most likely a wolf hybrid.

Wolves usually sell for an adequate amount. But this is the first child hybrid you’ve ever seen come through here. She’d be a rarity.

They would bid high on her.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to stop the bile rising in your throat. Just the thought of what grimy hands would do to her has your stomach clenching. They would not be kind. They would not show mercy. They’d ruin the light she still has in her eyes.

In a flurry of panicked limbs, you burst through the curtains. You find the nearest trash can and promptly throw up.

~~~

One of the maids comes to visit some time after you’ve been admitted to medical. You lay on the cot furthest from the door, numbly staring at the wall. Even after emptying your breakfast composed of stale bread and cold corn, your stomach was still queasy. You couldn’t get her eyes out of your head.

“How are you doing?” She asks kindly. It’s Sarah. You wouldn’t call her a friend—you weren’t allowed to have friends—but you would say that she’s the closest you’ve got to one.

For several moments, you remain silent. You don’t want to say it out loud. That would force you to admit the truth, and you’re not entirely sure you want to do that. You’re also not entirely sure you won’t throw up again. But you can’t lie either: Sarah would know instantly.

You opt for the truth. “There was a child in there, Sarah,” you utter brokenly. Your voice sounds unfamiliar to your own ears. Finally, you turn to meet her gaze. Your eyes were wet with unshed tears. “A child.”

Sarah flinches, dropping her eyes. “ . . . Oh.”

“I—“ You clench your jaw and take fistfuls of your own hair. Suddenly your vision was fuzzy and unfocused. “I can’t do this anymore.”

She eyes you carefully. “What are you saying?”

Defeated, you throw your hands in the air. “I can’t do it! You . . . you know what they’re going to do to her. She’s going to be ruined, pranced around on a leash and forced to fulfill their every sick desire. I’m—“

You take in a shuddering breath, dropping your head into your palms. You shake your head back and forth.

“They’ll kill you,” Sarah reasons.

More silence. You lift your head, face blank. “I’d rather die than live with the guilt any longer.”

Admitting it feels like a burden is lifted from your shoulders. Because it’s the truth, one you’ve thought of for a while now. You’ve never had the courage to act on it. But this . . . this is the final straw. You wouldn’t stand by any longer.

Could you die for nothing? Yes. But at least then you’d be free.

Sarah places a warm hand on your shoulder. You look up at her. “I’ll help you.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“I’ll help,” she repeats. “I can cause a distraction while the ceremony is going on. You can sneak out then.”

“But the guards—“

“They rotate. We can do it just as they leave. That way you can also sneak down to the stables and steal a horse. I can ask the stablehand to have one ready,” she reasons. You simply stare at her, mouth agape in disbelief.

“Sarah.” You take her hands in yours, squeezing tight. “They’ll suspect you. You’ll be—“

You’ll be whipped.

You swallow the words. She knows what you mean.

Her eyes are hardened with determination. “I know.” Now she’s squeezing your hands. “But you’re right. I can’t live with it.”

Your mouth trembles. You pull her into a bruising hug, sobbing into her shoulder. After a few seconds you feel warm droplets hit your back. You don’t let her go for a long time, knowing it would be one of the last times you would ever see her.

The nobles’ mistake was hiring people who had nothing to lose.

~~~

The lock-pick sits heavy in the waistband of your underwear, hidden out of sight. You won’t ask how one of the other maids came into possession of it, but you’re eternally grateful for it. You’ve never used one, but you can’t fret about that.

It came to you that this whole plan would be ruined if they auctioned the girl first. But, to your relief, they seemed to be saving her for last. The thought makes you unreasonably angry.

You hope the nobles don’t notice if your hands are trembling when you pour their wine, or if your smile is a little strained when they murmur hey sweetheart, how much are they paying you here? We could pay you so much more.

Lying bastards. You know they wouldn’t pay you a dime. Nowhere does.

The crying dove hybrid wails harder when she’s sold off. The man who bought her grins sadistically. You try to tune it out, knowing full well her cries will haunt your nightmares.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a hand brushes your arm. Panicked, you spin around, only to be met by Sarah.

“Sarah,” you deflate, relieved.

She offers a reassuring grin. “It’ll be happening soon. You should go wait in the corridor for the guards to leave. When they do I’ll make a commotion to distract the announcer.”

It all feels like it’s happening to fast. Your head feels like it’s spinning, thoughts and worries running laps in your brain. What if you can’t pick the lock? What if she fights you? What if you get caught? What if the horse isn’t ready? What if—

“Okay,” you manage to mumble despite all the words clogging your tongue. She nods, starting to walk away. “Wait, Sarah—“ You reach out and snag her elbow. There are so many things you want to tell her, and yet you have no time. You hope she can see the sincerity in your eyes. “Thank you.” A beat. “I won’t forget you.”

Her smile is only half-genuine. That, too, will haunt you for the rest of your life. And it may end soon.

Fighting tears, you make your way to the corridor. When you get there you pretend to be dusting off the marble statues whilst trying to quell the anxiety brewing in your chest.

The sound of metal clanking is both nerve-racking and a reassurance. The guards, clad in shining armor, pass by without a second glance. Their swords glint dangerously in the light. You swallow thickly, thinking about how easily they would slice through you. Once they’re around the corner, you rush into the room through the back door.

It’s now or never. Now on a time crunch, you drop down on your knees in front of the little girl’s cage. She makes a noise of terror, huddling against the back wall. The other hybrids watch what you’re doing with interest.

Outside, you hear the clatter of trays falling. The announcer cuts himself off, commenting on the mess. Sweat drops down your brow as you try to follow the maid’s instructions.

In each gap push up until you hear a small click, then slide to the next gap. Do this until you reach the end of the lock, then turn and open the door—

Miraculously, the door swings open with a creak of its hinges. The girl whimpers, pressing further away from you. The auctioneer returns to describing the hybrid, meaning your time was nearing its end.

“Hey,” you try, voice shaky. You clear your throat, trying to bring your tone down to something softer. “I want to help. I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” She blinks at you, lifting her head a little. “There’s not much time, little one. They’ll be back soon. I swear on everything that’s holy that I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “P-papi told me not to trust humans,” she whispers.

You breathe in deep. They were starting the biddings now. Quickly, you offer your name. “See? Now we’re not strangers anymore.” Still, she hesitates. “Please, they’re going to hurt you if you don’t come with me.” A breath. “I’ll get you back to your papi.”

That seems to get her moving. In an instant she’s suddenly pressed up against you, her claw-like hands digging into your skin.

“He’ll tear you apart if you’re lying,” she murmurs against the fabric of your dress. You don’t doubt her.

With one hand supporting her, you rise off the ground. As you head to the door, you make eye contact again with the lizard hybrid. She cocks her head at you, eyes flickering between you and the trembling girl in your arms. You glance at the lock-pick in your hands before tossing it to her.

“Give them hell.” And, you quickly add: “But not the maids.”

She smiles toothily at you, snatching the tool.

You swiftly make your exit. After working here for so long, you have the entire building memorized. You know which halls the guards frequent and take the time to avoid them. You keep the girl’s head pressed into your dress, hands gently smoothing her brown hair. Not once has she stopped shaking.

Just as Sarah had promised, there’s a steed saddled and waiting for you down at the stables. There were still no guards out, but that would change soon, so you had to hurry. With a low voice, you urge the girl onto the saddle. You follow after her, swinging a leg around the large mare.

Then you click your tongue, and you’re off. You opt for the back entrance of the estate, knowing the main gate was too risky. The universe seemed to be in your favor today, because the guards had still not yet returned.

Then you hear a scream and glass shattering from inside the building, and you suddenly know why.

A strong kick of your heels has the horse speeding to a canter. With darkness masking you, you ride into the night

~~~

Even after putting a significant amount of distance between you and the estate, your mind refuses to slow. If the other hybrids did manage to escape, and word gets out about it, then the king will send the royal army. This side of the kingdom will be crawling with knights bearing the royal crest possibly by tomorrow.

You hated those knights more than the ones at the estate. They were so much more egotistical: much more accustomed to getting what they want.

The young girl doesn’t so much as make a peep. At one point during the ride she had wordlessly turned around—much to your dismay—and buried her face in your dress. It can’t be comfortable, given the slope of the saddle, but she hasn’t complained.

She stirs suddenly, drawing your gaze downwards. You use one hand and place it on her back to make sure she doesn’t fall off. With tired eyes she glances around, cataloguing the surroundings. Her eyes narrow, and she tentatively sniffs the air.

“You need to go that way,” she informs, pointing East where the sun was just beginning to rise. You probably should have asked for her input much sooner, but you were more focused on being as far as possible from the estate.

“Thank you,” you murmur. The horse snorts in irritation when you change directions. You’ll have to take a break soon. “Where exactly do you live?”

Despite clinging to you like a lifeline, she still eyes you warily. “ . . . Forest Opaque.”

Ah. What some called, ‘The Cursed Forest.’ You’ve heard it’s so dense with trees and shrubbery that it’s impossible to ride a horse through. Apparently it’s impossible to cut down because of the impenetrable thorns that clung to everything. There are rumors that hybrids have fled to live there. It seems they were true.

“Well . . . “ you trail off, thinking back to the maps you’ve seen. “It may be a a few days worth of travel, okay?”

She nods, staring at the ground beneath you. “Mhm.”

You tilt your head. “Are you okay?” You ask, eyes reassessing her for any injuries. “Did they hurt you at all?”

“No, I’m tired,” she immediately complains. “And my legs hurt.” It’s probably from the saddle. Neither of you are exactly dressed for horse riding.

“I’m sorry,” you soothe, gently patting her head. “We’ll take a break soon and then you can take a nap. I’ve even got some spare food that you can have.”

Her brown eyes light up. But then they dim again, that suspicious look returning. She doesn’t say anything more, letting her head rest once more against your stomach.

After some time, the sun finally crests over the horizon. Dawn paints golden and orange streaks of light against a midnight-blue sky. And for a second, all you can do is stare, the beating of the mare’s hooves fading.

This is the first time you’ve witnessed sunrise out of the estate. For the first time in an uncountable amount of years, you were finally experiencing a morning where you didn’t have to wake up dreading another day of slavery. For the first time, you were living a morning that you got to choose.

You take in a shaking breath, breathing in the cool misty air.

“You’re crying,” the girl tells you.

When you look down at her and feel wet staining your cheeks, you realize that she’s right. You quickly wipe them away. “Guess I am, huh?” You chuckle weakly. She narrows her eyes. “Sorry, I’m just happy.”

She studied your face. “But you’re only supposed to cry when you’re sad.”

“You can cry for a lot of reasons. Some people cry when they’re angry or scared, or even happy,” you explain. This seems to intrigue her. “I’m sure your dad will cry when he sees you again.”

She huffs. “Papi never cries. He’s tough.”

You smile down at her. “I’m sure he is.”

“And I’m tough too. I—“ A yawn. “I never cry.”

“Uh huh.”

“Because I’m . . . not a baby anymore.”

“Mm.”

“And . . . I . . . “

She snoozes softly into your dress.

~~~

You’re careful not to wake her when you finally stop for a break. You find a river some ways away from the road and allow the horse to eat and drink and rest. As you sit in the shade of a willow tree, she mumbles incoherently where she’s curled up in your lap. Her fuzzy ears flick every now and then.

Her little face looks so peaceful sleeping in your arms. If only you could take a snapshot of this moment and shove it in the face of every person who dared call a hybrid a beast. This poor little girl is someone’s daughter. She probably had dinner with a family every night and played with friends during the day. How does that make her a monster?

You know who the real monsters are. The woman who stole you from your future. The guards that would have their ways with the servants. The man who bought that crying dove hybrid, grinning wildly.

The girl’s stomach rumbles so loud that it wakes her up. She startles awake, sitting up in your lap. She glances at you, noting the proximity and tilting her head in confusion.

“Hungry?” You ask.

It takes her a second to nod in affirmation. You reach into your bag and fish out a pouch of jerky. One of the cooking maids had been kind enough to spare you some morsels before you left.

It’s surreal to think about how many collaborated, all to get this one little girl out of that god-forsaken place.

You offer the pouch to her. She takes a tentative sniff before grabbing a piece and crunching down. She chews in thought for a moment before swallowing.

“This tastes like butt,” she declares.

Perhaps it’s the confidence in which she says it or her choice of words. Either way, you instantly burst out laughing, body shaking from the force of your delight. She stares at you, surprised. But then she joins in.

“I’m sorry,” you chuckle, still giggling. “Really, I am. But trust me when I say there wasn’t anything better to take. The options were either butt—“ you lean in, eyes twinkling with mischief, “—or ass.”

She gasps as though you’ve committed a dreadful sin. “You can’t swear! Papi gets really mad when grown-ups swear around me. He’s always yelling at Peter for doing it. When I tell him, he’s gonna be so mad at you!” She teases, jabbing a finger at your sternum.

“Hopefully I won’t have to meet your dad. I’ll get you to Forest Opaque and close enough to your home, and then I’ll be on my way,” you remind.

Her expression falls. “Oh.” She takes another bite. “Where will you go?”

You shrug, ruffling her wavy brown hair. “Not sure yet. But I’ll figure it out, you don’t have to worry about me.” Your stomach chooses this exact time to make itself known. The girl glances at you and the pouch of jerky. She offers you a piece, only for you to push it back towards her. “No no, I’m okay. You should eat all you can.”

She blinks at you, perplexed. “I don’t get it,” she mumbles. “Papi’s always saying that humans are mean and do terrible things. But you’re so nice. Why?”

Nice? You don’t think you’re nice. This is the only good thing you’ve ever done in your life. That doesn’t make you a saint.

“There are some good people out there,” you murmur. “But your dad’s right. For every good person there are a lot of bad ones, and they do really horrible things that overshadow all the things the good people do.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Like the people who took me.”

You frown. “Yeah.”

Her hands start to tremble. “I just wanted to show him that I was brave. He’s always watching me. Peter says it’s because of how Mami died.” Big, fat tears start rolling down her face. “I should’ve listened to him,” she sniffles. “I miss him so bad.”

She promptly starts sobbing in your lap, burying her head in your dress. You tug her close, hugging her tight. You can’t even begin to imagine how scared she must’ve been, and you’re sure the comfort you offer her now won’t even begin to make her forget about it.

“It’s alright, you’ll see him again soon.”

She raises her head, eyes red and puffy. “I hope.” She sniffles. “My name is Gabriella, by the way.”

“Gabriella,” you try, smiling. “That’s a pretty name.” You gauge the position of the sun in the sky. “Well, we’d better head off.”

You stretch out your limbs and stand, Gabriella doing the same. As you make your way to the horse, she doesn’t stray far from your side.

~~~

Gabriella manages to fill the silence for the rest of the trip. She mostly talks about her father and what he’s like and all the things he has to do. You get the impression that he’s a very busy man, but still loves his daughter.

She talks about others too. Like a woman named Jessica Drew who’s always working with her dad. There’s Peter who’s always running around with his baby. Hobie seems to be a trouble maker and always instigating fights. Then there’s Gwen and Miles, who never spend that much time apart from each other. It seems like a nice community.

Before you know it, you’re almost at Forest Opaque. As you get closer, Gabriella begins to direct you to a specific part of the forest. She says it’s marked with a tree that’s bigger than the rest. All the hybrids where she lives know about it in case they need to find their way back.

The only problem? There are guards lined up in front of the forest, because of course there are. You hide a fair distance from them, away from the roads and out of sight from the guards. Once more does Gabriella talk for the both of you as you wait for night to fall.

You listen to every word, at the same time formulating a plan for when darkness falls. As the land turns quiet, you hush Gabriella as well. The stars shine brighter and brighter the longer night goes on.

“Gwen and I look at the constellations together,” she mentions after she catches you staring at them.

“Constellations?” You wonder.

She tilts her head at you. “Yeah, when the stars make specific shapes in the sky.” At your confusion, she points to a cluster of stars. “See that? It’s the Capricorn constellation.”

“I mean, it’s pretty, but it just looks like a random shape.”

“You have to be creative.” A few moments pass. “You didn’t know what a constellation was?”

“All I ever did was work.”

“That’s sad.”

You huff. “Tell me about it.” Then you scan your surroundings. “Alright, I think it’s time.”

Instantly, her smile falls. Her eyes widen a bit. “Are you sure?” You nod. She grips her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turn white. “I’m scared.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you murmur, lifting her head. “The horse will distract them. We can run then.”

“What if they see us?”

“Gabriella, I’m sure you’ll be faster than all those guards combined. Once you get to the forest, you’ll be safe. Just keep running and don’t stop.”

She still doesn’t look convinced. “What about you?” She asks seriously.

You take a deep breath, putting on a brave face. “I told you that you don’t have to worry about me,” you remind, patting her head. She doesn’t respond, staring at the grass. “Alright, get ready, I’ll tell you when we run.”

With trembling legs you stand, gathering the mare and leading it to the edge of the hill you were sitting on. All you had to do was cross the prairie into the forest, and you’d be fine.

You take a deep breath, and with all your strength, you smack the mare’s behind as hard as you can. The horse whinnies, taking off into the field.

“Damnit Adam, your horse got out again!” You hear one of the guards call.

“How do you know it’s my horse?”

“It’s always your fuckin’ horse.”

“Can’t you see that’s a bay? Mines a chestnut! That’s probably David’s!”

“I know you’re not bringing me into this.”

“It’s blacker than my big toenail out here, I can’t see shit!”

“We did not need to know that.”

Slowly, the guards peel away from the forest to examine the mare. She trots off, the guards and their bantering following.

“Okay.” You push at Gabriella’s shoulders. “Go.”

You both stay hunched as you run, trying to stay as low to the ground as possible. Though as you near the forest, you both start to run a little faster. The tree Gabriella mentioned looms in front of you, its branches reaching for the sky.

“Hey! You two, stop!”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. “Go Gabriella, go!” You scream. Forgoing stealth, you start sprinting. “Don’t look back!”

“Archers, release!”

The whizz of an arrow, and the unnatural feeling of something sharp and jagged embedding in the muscle of your thigh. You crumple to the ground immediately as pain flares bright and hot. Every little movement has the arrow scraping at more flesh, making you groan.

There’s the pounding of footsteps behind you. You glance back, seeing the guards closing in. They held torches in one hand, swords raised high in the other. Swords that could slice your head clean off your neck.

All you can hear is your heartbeat drumming in your ears. It feels like it’s in your mouth and your fingertips and pulsing around your now—oozing wound.

Gabriella appears in your vision, her mouth moving, but you can’t hear anything she’s saying. Then, with surprising strength, she’s pulling you up and tugging you towards the forest. Each step makes you whimper.

All you can do is limp as fast as you can, all the while the shouts grow louder behind you. And then—darkness.

Gabriella’s hand is the only thing that keeps you grounded. You can’t see anything as you stumble through the forest. Thorns scrape over your skin and tear your dress. Vaguely you can make out the trunks of trees and have half a mind to avoid them. The other half of your mind hasn’t returned from the ether yet.

Your eyes eventually grow accustomed to the darkness. You look up, and realize you can’t even see the moon through the canopy of trees.

Your hand is being squeezed. You look down, watching as Gabriella mouths things at you.

Oh, you think. You should probably pay attention to her.

Slowly, the ringing in your ears fade. “—okay? Do you hear me? Are you okay?” Her voice comes back to you. You take a shuddering breath in as your conscious returns to you.

“Oh,” you gasp as the stinging of your leg returns full-force. Your leg gives out, rendering you unable to stand. “Where . . ?” The forest. Gabriella must’ve dragged you in. You’re about to say more, and then you hear voices. The guards. “Gabi, you have to go.” You try pushing at her shoulders.

“I can’t leave you, they’ll kill you!”

“Over here!”

“I’m not asking, I’m telling you to go.” She hesitates. “Go, Gabriella!”

“Well, well, well.” Gabriella gasps, spinning around as a guard approaches. He swings at the thorns around him, prowling closer. “What do we have here?”

You can see the exact moment she freezes. Her eyes go blank and her jaw slackens, like she’s remembering a different memory entirely. You reach for her and drag her into your arms, using your body as a shield.

“Stay back!” You snarl at the encroaching guard, mustering every ounce of rage you can.

“Hmm.” He runs a finger down the length of his blade. “I don’t think so.” He lets his sword drop so that it drags in the dirt, the sound of metal scraping filling the air. He positions himself right in front you. “Filthy fucking animals,” he growls, raising his sword high. “Makes me sick.”

The tip points down at you like a promise. This is it then. You tried to do a good thing—tried to protect this little girl and that light in her eyes—and you failed. You wonder if anyone will remember you when you’re gone.

It all happens so fast. There’s a roar that sounds like thunder splitting the sky, and something large slams into the guard. There’s a guttural snarl, a yelp, and then a sickening squelch. Someone gasps for breath and all that comes out is a bubbly wheeze.

You look up, and your body freezes on instinct.

Someone—something—is hunched over the guard’s twitching body. Whoever it was radiated danger, danger, danger.

And then they turn around.

Blood covered their face and their chest, dripping down their chin. Red eyes filled with pure fury pinned you in place. Lips curled back to reveal pointed fangs.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s the fear that seizes your nerves. Maybe it’s all three. All you know is that, exactly four seconds after you make eye contact with it—him?—you pass out.

Chapter Text

It feels like you’re sleeping on a cloud itself. That’s the first thing that comes to your mind as you start to wake. Slow like molasses, your thoughts drift around in your brain, but you push them back into nothingness. You don’t want to rise yet. This—wherever you are—feels like heaven.

You roll over, noting that your thigh aches, but you don’t care. The mattress beneath you dips and molds to accommodate the curves of your body. That’s something the cot at the estate never did, the old wooden thing.

Sighing, you bury your cheek in a divinely-soft pillow. You must be dead. That has to be it. There was simply no other explanation as to why you’re sleeping on a soft mattress and feeling like you’ve just gotten the best sleep of your life.

Then everything comes rushing back. The auction. Gabriella. Running. The arrow.

Blood.

You shoot up, immediately regretting it as fresh pain blooms in your thigh. There’s a gasp, and the sound of something falling. Glancing up, you meet a fearful gaze. You blink at the woman, studying her, and then your jaw falls.

It’s a bunny hybrid. One that wasn’t in a cage or kneeling at the heels of a nobleman, but standing a few feet from your bed. She seems healthy, her body filled out and no sign of scarring on her skin. But she was definitely scared—of you, you realize.

“Um,” you try, but your voice comes out as a croak. You cough, clearing your throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She slowly lowers her hands away from her face. Long ears twitch atop her head, sprouting from pale, fuzzy blonde hair. “Where am I?”

Bright green eyes blink at you. “I . . . can’t tell you.” You furrow your brows, wondering what she meant. She avoids your stare, meaning you won’t be getting answers from her. Instead, you take to surveying your surroundings.

You’re in a log cabin. A small one, with other beds like yours lining the walls. You see some bandages and scissors laying out, so this must be some kind of medical house. A breeze blows through the open window, carrying the sound of voices outside.

So you must be where Gabriella lives.

You push the soft blankets over your body. The dress from the estate was now tattered and dirtied. You pull it over your legs, revealing the bandages wrapped tightly around your left thigh.

“Did you do this?” You inquire, finding her eyes again.

Her nose twitches. “Yes.” So she must be their doctor.

“Thank you,” you reply. She merely blinks at you. You’re about to say more, but the door to the cabin suddenly swings open.

A dark-skinned woman steps in. She wore a red tunic with a leather vest overtop it, as well as dark trousers fastened with a belt. Black eyes lock onto your form. Striped ears perk from under a mass of frizzy hair.

She was a tiger-hybrid.

The new woman approaches, boots clacking against the cobblestone floor. Her eyes don’t leave yours for a second.

“She’s awake,” she remarks pointedly, tail flicking in agitation.

The bunny hybrid’s ears flatten. “Only recently. I was going to come get you,” she responds. The tiger hmphs, very obviously scrutinizing you. You find yourself shrinking under her cutting gaze.

You get the impression that this woman must be important. “Have you told her anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.” It’s weird for them to talk about you while you’re right there. But you don’t have the courage to speak up, especially when you’re too busy staring at the woman’s obviously pregnant belly. “Is there a problem?” She huffs, drawing your gaze back to her eyes.

“No, uh—“ you reply quickly, unknowing of what to say. “Um, congratulations.”

The woman raises an eyebrow, mouth ticking up in a disbelieving smirk. “Huh. You are strange.” You’re not sure if that’s a compliment. “Can you walk?”

To test it, you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You step with your right foot first, then your left, wincing as dull pain flares. The two hybrids are watching you though, so you bite your lip and ignore the discomfort.

“Good enough.” She starts to walk away, beckoning you with your hand. You move to follow, but you pause, and stare at the unmade bed. You’ve never left a bed unmade. So, by sheer habit, you start fixing the sheets, pulling them up and setting the pillows on top. When you turn around, both hybrids are watching you curiously. Your face flushes, and you hurry out. “You know she’s going to clean those sheets anyways, right?” The tiger tells you.

Your face flushes deeper. “Oh.” The woman snorts.

Then you step outside, and all the breath is stolen from your lungs. When Gabriella had told you she lived in a community of hybrids, you had thought she meant a small village. But this was no village, this was practically an entire city.

The cabin you were in was built on a hill. Other cabins covered the entirety of the slope, as well as in the valley below. You turn around, and there are even more buildings further up the hill. Gabriella had seriously made it sound underwhelming; this place was massive.

Carts drawn by horse hybrids pass through the streets, their hooves clop-clopping against stone. Laughter fills the air as children chase each other around. Passerbys idly chat with one another, wearing smiles. This place was just filled with life in a way that you couldn’t even begin to describe.

“This way, little human,” the tiger calls, walking downhill. You trot after her, still marveling at everything.

People stare openly as you pass. They don’t bother to hide their interest and—in some cases—their disapproval. Mothers steer their children away from you. Others give you a wide berth. Some even cross to the other side of the street.

They’re afraid of you. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

The tiger continues to direct you through the streets, leading you further into the heart of the city. Your thigh protests with every step, but you squash it down. They took you in despite their obvious distrust, and you weren’t going to start whining.

A wide building looms in front of you. It looks important, and you take a guess that’s where you’re headed. When the woman pushes the large doors open, you know you’ve guessed right. The room you enter is large, with seats filling the entirety of the space. There was a small stage and a podium at the front of the room.

So it was some kind of meeting hall then. You walk down the center, your footsteps echoing. Next to the stage is another set of doors, and you hear muffled voices on the other side. The woman knocks only once before opening the door.

Inside are four figures standing around a table. Well, five, if you count the gurgling baby.

There was a fox, who seemed to be the father of the mentioned baby. A tall, lanky raccoon hybrid leaned up against the wall. Next to him was a coyote, eyeing you distrustfully.

And then at the center of the room was . . . oh.

You were willing to bet both of your arms that was Gabriella’s father. She was the spitting image of him, from her tan skin to the slope of her nose to the brunette hair. And he was a wolf, a massive one at that. His biceps were like the size of trees, and you have no doubt that he could snap you in half. From the look he’s giving you, you get the impression that he wants to.

But what surprises you the most is how handsome he is. This was no light statement. You genuinely think that this man may be the most attractive you’ve laid eyes on, even if he is looking upon you with scorn.

Brown ears flatten against his skull. “Hobie, Gwen, leave,” he orders in a rumbling tone. The coyote obeys, casting you one more glare. The raccoon is slower to follow suit, eyeing you lazily.

“Be seein’ you around, little human,” he remarks as he passes. What is with everyone calling you that?

The doors close with a heavy thud, enveloping the room in a tense silence. Gabriella’s father continues to glare at you, though his demeanor was incredibly calm. His red eyes . . .

Wait.

Red eyes like the figure who was hunched over, crimson staining sharp fangs.

Your body stiffens. The fox hybrid glances between you and the wolf before taking a deep breath. “Okay, so we just going to stare at her all day?”

The wolf’s barbed glare cuts to him. “Peter—“

Your eyes widen. Peter? The Peter Gabriella was telling you about??

“What? It’ll be sundown soon if this continues. Here,” Peter crosses the space to you, offering a clawed hand for you to shake. “My names Peter, that lady over there is Jess, and my friend here is Miguel. All bark and no bite, I promise.”

Miguel curls his upper lip. All you remember is red. “I . . . don’t believe you,” you murmur.

Jess snorts, and Peter’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, well, you may have a point.” The baby attached to his front gurgles, reaching for you. “And this is my daughter Mayday!”

Mayday squeals happily, tiny fox ears folded back playfully. She was precious. It warms you knowing that she’ll grow up in place surrounded by love, hopefully never having to experience the hate from the outside world.

“She’s cute,” you tell him, smiling down at her.

“Thank you! I made her myself.”

“I know you did not just say that,” Jess huffs.

“All of you,” Miguel growls. “Enough.” His voice is thick with a foreign accent. Red eyes rake over your form. “We have more important matters.”

Peter sighs. “I know, but can you stop looking at her like you want her head on a pike? She saved your daughter’s life!”

“Something I was planning on accomplishing myself,” Miguel argues hotly.

“But now you don’t have to!”

“Peter,” Jess interjects. “You, of all, people, should know that humans are dangerous.” Her dark eyes rest on you. “Even if they’ve done good things.”

“She could be sent to infiltrate,” Miguel adds. Your heart starts to pick up in speed. “She could poison our water supply, or run away and tell them our whereabouts, or give up our secrets.” He leans forward on the table, claws digging into the wood. “She can’t be trusted.”

“I know, I get it, I’m not saying I trust her. But she did a good thing. The least you could do is say thank you.”

“No.”

“Okay, fine. Then my question is: what are we doing with her? You obviously don’t want her here, and you don’t trust her enough to send her back,” Peter points out. You swallow thickly, not liking what options were left.

You had to say something. “I—“ Three pairs of eyes snap to yours, one hostile, one neutral, one sympathetic. “I wasn’t planning on returning to the kingdom, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Miguel lifts his lips humorlessly. “That’s something you can lie easily about,” he scoffs.

“The guards saw my face. I’ll be wanted. I might as well be a dead woman walking if I go back.”

Jess crosses her arms over he chest. “Then what were you planning on doing?” She prods, not gentle, but not rough either.

“I was going to drop her off—“ Her, Gabriella, you hope she’s okay. “—and then leave. I was thinking maybe I could move kingdoms, or go overseas, but . . . “ you shift your leg “ . . . things changed.”

“What about family? Friends?” Peter asks.

You stare at him blankly. “I don’t have any.” His expression falls. He hugs Mayday just a little tighter.

Miguel stares at you for a long time, his frown deep. “Who are you, exactly?”

Honestly? You don’t know. “I was maid at the Johnson estate,” you answer. “They . . . held auctions frequently.” You take in a shuddering breath. “I saw her.” Another breath. “They would’ve hurt her.”

Something flashes in Miguel’s irises. Fear, maybe, but it seems implausible for a man like him. “That’s an understatement.”

“I know.” But you don’t want to think about those things. She’s safe, you remind yourself. She’s safe, she’s safe. “I know,” you repeat, softer this time. “But that’s who I was. All I am now is a threat to you, it seems.”

Quiet falls over the room. You stare at the floor, wringing your hands together. It’s not like you want to be perceived as a threat, but you know they have every right to see you that way. If it means that more babies like Mayday can grow up in peace, then you will leave.

“We can blindfold her,” Jess suggests, breaking the silence. “Or knock her out and take her away. She’s barely seen anything of the society, so there won’t be much for her to tell, if she’s lying.”

She’s looking at Miguel for his response. And then, something occurs to you. All three have authority, you can tell. But this entire time, both Peter and Jess have been answering to Miguel like he’s the one who makes the final decisions.

Is Miguel the leader of this massive city?

He’s regarding you cooly, obviously considering Jess’s words. “Knocking her out would be safer.” Somehow, even though you’ve just met him, you figured he’d go with that option. “And having her gone as soon as possible would be as well.”

“What about her injury?” Peter asks.

“It’s fine, I’ll manage,” respond, still not liking that they’re talking about you while you’re right in front of them.

Peter sighs, running a hand down his face. He approaches you once more. “Miguel won’t say it, so I will.” He squeezes your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Saving Gabriella was not something you did to be considered a hero. But you won’t deny the fact that it’s nice to be seen.

“Thank you,” you tell them. “For saving me when you didn’t have to.” You meet Miguel’s stony gaze. His jaw ticks.

“You’re leaving?” A new, yet familiar voice asks. You all whirl around, finding Gabriella peeking inside. Something inside you settles upon seeing her.

“Gabriella,” Miguel says lowly. “How long have you been here?”

She ignores her father, fully stepping into the room and approaching you. Her brown eyes were full of denial. “You’re not leaving, right?”

You stare down at her, your heart tight in your chest. “I have to.”

“No!” She’s launching herself at you as soon as the words leave your mouth. You barely have time to catch her as she collides with your sternum. “You’re not leaving!” She insists vehemently, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“Do not touch her!” Miguel roars when you try to support her. You throw your hands in the air, surprised by his sudden rage. “Gabriella,” he warns, rounding the table. “Let go.”

“You can’t send her away!” She argues, only clutching you tighter.

“She’s dangerous!”

“No she’s not!” Gabriella shakes her head. “She saved me!” Then she turns and buries her face in the crook of your neck. “And she gave me jerky.”

Miguel stands there, stunned into silence. Than his face contorts in anger. “You want me to risk the community just because a human gave you jerky?!” He hollers, incredulous.

“Gabriella,” Jess cuts in, her tone serious. “Did you pack-bond with her?”

Nobody dares breathe. You have no idea what that statement means, but with the way Miguel’s eyes widen with disbelief, it must be important. He stares at his daughter, who only looks away guiltily.

“No me lo creo,” he utters in a foreign language. He takes a step backwards, turning around. “Mierda!” He picks up a chair and is about to smash it against the wall, but stops himself just in time. His chest rises and falls rapidly.

“What is a pack-bond?” You dare to ask.

Jess rubs her temples. “It’s a certain bond formed between animals that are pack animals.” She gestures to Miguel and Gabriella. “Wolves are pack animals.”

Oh. You stare down at the little girl in your arms. She meets your eyes. A warm, fuzzy feeling encases you.

“Bri,” Miguel starts. He turns back around, his expression pained. “Why?”

It takes her a few moments to respond. “She was nice to me,” she mumbles.

“Cristo, you can’t go around bonding with anyone who’s nice to you míja. I taught you better than that,” he pleads gently.

“I know.” A pause. “But I’m not letting her leave.”

Miguel curses under his breath, pinching between his eyes. His tail thrashes angrily as he paces. He covers his mouth with his palm.

Peter whistles. “Well, there goes that plan.”

“Peter, shut up,” Jess scolds.

“Shutting up.”

“Alright.” Miguel plants his feet. “New plan. Jess, she stays with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s final. No arguing.” He strides up to you, eyes fixed on his daughter. He holds out his arms, and after some hesitation, Gabriella transfers over to him. He holds her close, one hand on her head. His eyes were filled with something tender and soft. Then they cut to you, and they harden. “If you try anything funny, I will drown you in the lake myself,” he snarls.

You shudder. “Understood.” He rises to his full height, huffing in satisfaction. Then he heads to the door and throws it open with more force than necessary.

As they’re walking away, Gabriella cups her hands over her mouth and calls out to you. “You were right by the way!”

You blink, confused. “About what?”

“He cried when he saw me!”

Miguel’s ears immediately flatten, and he turns his daughter so that she’s not facing you anymore. Her giggles carry through the building until they eventually fade. Now it was just you and the other three.

Mayday yawns. Peter ruffles her ginger curls. “Well, I’d better be getting her home. It’s nap time. See you Jess, and, uh—“ you give them your name, “—right, goodbye.”

That left you and Jess. She grimaces, crossing her arms. Her tail flicks with annoyance. You play with a hole in your dress.

“Is a pack-bond really that important?” You ask.

She sighs. “Unfortunately, yes. Separating two people with one would result in depression and anxiety. In this case you would be fine, but Gabriella would not.”

“Oh.” You rub your nape. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“No, you didn’t. Well, first things first, you need a bath,” she comments as she strides past. “You reek.”

Your cheeks color. “That’s hardly my fault.”

So that’s how you find yourself at the river. You had first visited her house, where she supplied you with a pair of fresh clothes, now bundled in your arms. Jess leads you downstream, the crystal-clear water rushing next to you.

There’s just . . . There’s just so much to see. Where they live, they’ve managed to get rid of the thorns that inhabit the rest of the forest. You want to ask how, but you’re very certain she won’t tell you. With the absence of the thorns, it allows for other life to flourish.

Birds dance amongst branches, whistling melodies as they chase each other. Every now and then you’ll spy other wildlife like boars and deer and rabbits. Fish swim along the stream, their scales glinting underwater. It’s all breathtaking.

“Hey,” Jess calls, startling you. “Make sure you keep up.”

“Sorry,” you apologize, hurrying after her.

She glances at you over her shoulder. “Why do you stare at everything like that?”

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

“Like you haven’t been out much.”

“Probably because I haven’t.”

Dark eyes regard you. “Hm.”

Eventually you stop at an area where the river widens. You look to Jess, and she raises an eyebrow at you. You suppose you’re not completely uncomfortable undressing before her—you bathed all the time with the other maids—but she’s still a stranger. Though you suppose you’re not in a position to be making demands.

You find a nearby rock and set the clean clothes on it. Then you start to peel your ruined dress off, wrinkling your nose at the dirt and blood staining it.

Jess takes a sharp intake of breath when you reveal your torso. You look to her quizzically, but she’s staring, slack-jawed, at your back.

Oh.

You spin around so that you’re facing her, so that she can’t see anymore. Slowly, she meets your eyes.

“How did . . . “ she starts to ask, then the words die as she realizes she doesn’t know how to phrase her question.

Memories flash behind your eyelids. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you tell her stiffly. She merely nods, gaze falling to the ground.

She doesn’t bother you as you bathe, though you do catch her eyes lingering every now and then. To distract yourself, you focus on scrubbing the grime from your skin and digging the dirt from underneath your nails. The water is chilly, but it’s nice once you get used to it.

Your reflection stares back at you from the water. Everything from the day starts to settle as you rest in this quiet forest, submerged in cool water. This is not where you imagined you’d be after all this.

Do you feel any different?

. . .

No, you decide, as you stare into your own eyes. You don’t. You still feel like that maid back at that estate. You just feel . . . numb.

Then you remember Gabriella. How she held you tight. How she slept against you. His she laughed with you. She had formed a bond with you.

The fuzzy feeling returns once more.

And, for some reason, Miguel’s face flashes in your mind.

You sink under the water to hide your burning face.

After some more time thinking—definitely about normal things—you finally emerge from the water. Jess hands you a towel and you dry yourself. The new clothes you slip into are soft and warm. It’s a simple light brown dress with a dark vest wrapped around your upper half.

New clothes, and yet, you don’t feel different. But you want to feel different. You want to be someone, not just a maid who lived her life for others.

You think of Gabriella’s eyes looking up at you.

You want to be someone worthy of her pack-bond.

~~~

Apparently, the community has bonfires every week. And apparently, today just happened to be the day it was taking place. And apparently, you have to attend because Jess and her husband are going and they have to keep an eye on you.

Her husband didn’t seem to like you. Not at first, at least. He had grumbled about making dinner for an extra mouth, and glared daggers at you from across the table. But then you took one bite from his cooking and softly proclaimed it was the best meal you’d ever had.

He didn’t seem to mind you after that.

The bonfire in the East Section—the side of the city Jess lives in—is enormous. It’s the biggest fire you’ve ever seen, red spirals reaching to the sky. You’re several meters from the fire, and still the heat licks up your back. You can even see the fires from the other sections of the city. Part of you wonders how they don’t worry about the kingdom seeing the smoke.

Then you realize that they must live so deep into the forest that it doesn’t matter.

Thankfully, Jess allows you to sit on the outskirts of the group, one of her ears angled towards you at all times. She’s in the middle of the group, right next to the fire, surrounded by chattering hybrids. You really didn’t feel like being the center of attention after today.

Though, it seems it didn’t matter what you wanted. “Heard you got saddled with the human, Jess,” you hear someone remark. You can feel stares burning into your back. “You have my condolences.”

There are a few mean snickers. Your mouth twitches. Just ignore them. Why was it so hard to ignore them? You dealt with comments like this daily back at the estate.

Your hands grip your dress tighter. Why was this different?

“Just because O’Hara’s brat got attached doesn’t mean we should have to suffer for it,” another grumbles.

Something in the air shifts. “That’s enough,” Jess cuts in.

“Come on Jess, we—“

“I said—“ her voice is colder than ice, “—that’s enough. I don’t want to hear another one of you talk about the human. And if I hear any of you refer to Gabriella as a brat again, I will not hesitate to correct you myself.” You glance over your shoulder. She’s glaring at the crowd around her. “And that’s a mercy compared to Miguel’s punishments.”

The crowd falls quiet. Something in you warms. You meet Jess’s gaze, her dark eyes unreadable.

Then a few nervous murmurs break the silence, and after a few moments the regular chatter returns. You tune it out, staring up at the night sky.

Stars. They were so pretty. It’s a shame you haven’t gotten to appreciate them before. There are some bigger, some smaller. Some brighter, some dimmer. And even the space between them was beautiful. Purple and blue bleed against black.

You find the Capricorn constellation, then look around to see if you can find other shapes. Too busy craning your neck to the sky, you miss the little form creeping under your legs. Something brushes your calf, and you startle, looking down.

Gabriella stares back up at you, hiding under your legs. She smiles. “Hi,” she whispers.

A fond smile stretches your mouth. “Are you supposed to be here?”

Her tail wags in excitement. “I got permission.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Did you find Capricorn?” She asks instead, pointing at the sky. You follow her finger back to the stars.

“Sure did. I’m a master of constellations now.”

She giggles, the sound akin bells in the wind. “Liar. That’s the only constellation you know.”

“How do you know?” You ask, raising an eyebrow playfully. “You should tell me all the ones you know just so that I know you’re a master.”

“That’s a trick!” She accuses. “You can’t fool me. I’m smart.”

You pat her head, scratching the base of her ears. She leans into your touch happily. “Yes you are.”

“Come on,” she takes one of your hands and tugs. “I’ll show you the rest.”

With that strength she somehow possesses despite being so young, she yanks you out of your seat. “Oh, Gabi, I really don’t think I’m allowed to.” But then you look back at Jess, and she’s watching you go. She’s not moving to stop you. You tilt your head at her, and she nods.

Gabriella leads you from the crowd and the fire. It’s so dark out, but you realize that it makes the stars shine even brighter. She forces you to sit in the sidewalk before curling up into your side.

She points out different clusters of stars like the Scorpion and Hercules. Her favorite is the Triangle. When you ask why, she responds that it’s a cool shape. You laugh.

Everything’s still so surreal. You can’t really comprehend the fact that you’re here, you’re free, looking at the stars because you actually have nothing else to do.

It doesn’t seem real. But the little girl at your side is, and that grounds you.

“Gabriella?” You find yourself asking. “Why did you pack-bond with me?”

Her breathing falters. You keep your eyes focused on the sky. She buries her head into your side and breathes deep—something you realize she does often.

“I can’t tell you yet,” she murmurs.

“Yet?”

“Yet,” she confirms. You sigh, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

“Gabriella,” a low voice breaks your peace. You sigh, turning around and facing her father. Miguel had his arms crossed over his broad chest. He glares at the arm you had pressed against her. You unwind it, folding your hands in your lap. “You said you were going to be with your friends.”

“I am,” she huffs. Okay, well now he was glaring at you like it was your fault.

“I think I should be heading back to Jess,” you tell her. She looks up at you, brown eyes pleading.

“Yes,” Miguel agrees meanly. “You should.”

Gabriella stands, crossing her arms defensively. She scampers past her father without so much as a glance. He watches her go, then turns his scorching glare to you.

“I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, but knock it off,” he growls, stepping towards you. You shoot up to your feet, backing away from him.

“I’m not playing games,” you insist earnestly. “She was just showing me the stars.”

“What? You’ve never seen stars before?” He taunts. You fall quiet. After a few moments, the hardened look in his eyes softens, like he realizes that maybe he messed up. But then that stony look returns. “Keep playing dumb, if that’s what you want.” He spins on his heel, stalking away. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

Now you’re alone, wondering again why it hurt so much.

Chapter Text

“So do you have some kind of currency here?”

Jess glances at you out of the corner of her eyes, arms crossed over her huge belly. She studies you for a few seconds before her mouth ticks up in a small smile.

“We barter.”

“Ah, so like, two chickens for one duck kind of thing?”

Her smile grows. “Exactly.” She turns her attention back to the scuffling hybrids before her. “Why?”

This is how it’s gone for the past week. You work up the courage to ask her a question about the city or their lives—do you refer to your lover as a mate or a husband/wife, how was the city created, is Miguel really the leader—and she’ll humor you with an answer while also questioning why you want to know. Apparently it’s both, Miguel started it before Gabi was born, and yes, he is.

Perhaps she responds to you because she realizes that you truly cannot do anything, even if you were to escape. Or maybe she trusts you a little bit. You find it unlikely.

Sometimes you’ll catch her staring at your back.

Before your questions started, you spent the first few days of following her around like a little duckling, learning the city’s roads and layout. Though you’ll admit that you’re still lost sometimes, even with Jess guiding you. Right now you think you’re in the West Section, though you’re not sure.

“Just curious,” you mumble, leaning against the wooden fence. It’s been your answer every time she’s asked. And it’s been true enough, however, there’s a deeper reason to this question. One that’s been weighing on your mind every time you’re cooked for, given new clothes, or sleeping in a bed in someone else’s house.

You’re not doing anything here. You’re just drifting, mooching off of people who only take care of you because they have to. It’s an awful feeling, one that makes your skin crawl when there’s nothing there.

All you’re doing is taking up space, but you want to contribute. The problem is you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to. You want to talk to Miguel about it, but you’re certain he wouldn’t listen.

He’s such an ass to you. Every time you’ve found time to speak with Gabriella, he ends up whisking her away. You can’t really be angry at him—he is her father after all and just got her back after losing her—but it makes you . . . nervous. You miss Gabriella. You’re anxious when she’s not near you.

And it makes your thoughts spiral whenever Miguel forces you apart with that cold look. If you’re staying because of the pack-bond, yet you aren’t allowed to be with Gabriella, then what was the point?

You sigh heavily.

It would be so much easier to hate him if he was truly a jerk (and if he wasn’t so handsome), but he’s not. You’ve caught glimpses of him smiling with his daughter when no one’s looking. And he’s a good leader too. He’s good . . . just not to you.

“Shafer, either I’m going blind or that was the sloppiest recovery I’ve ever seen!” Jess hollers at one of the sparring hybrids. It’s a young deer hybrid, his antlers small and immature. “If I see that again you’ll be running laps ‘till you’re dizzy!”

“Y-yes ma’am!”

You huff, playing with some fraying splinters from the fence. “I don’t think you have to terrify them that bad, you’re already scary enough.”

She chuckles. “Yeah well, it’s kind of funny to watch.” You hum, your smile slipping back into a frown. Jess eyes you cautiously. “Why don’t you go, uh, check on the animals? The goats might need more water.”

Both of you know they don’t, because you just gave them water yesterday. And you also fed the chickens yesterday. And washed their eggs the day before. Yet, you still make the trek back to her house, because it gives you something to do.

Maybe Jess can pick up on your restlessness and that’s why she asks you to do basic tasks to help around the house. Perhaps it’s also a way to see if she can trust you. Either way, you appreciate her a little more for it.

People still stare as you pass. Their gazes feel like little needles digging into your skin. You walk faster.

You pass a large field with laughing children. A rubber ball rolls to a stop in front of you, and you blink at it for a moment and then back at the children. They were looking at you. With a small smile you kick it back to them. None of them smile back. You frown, continuing down the road with hunched shoulders.

The goats, of course, have plenty of water. You’re not ready to return and do nothing just yet, so you spend some time petting the goats. You rest your forearms against the fence, smushing your cheek on top of them. Your thoughts continue to spin.

Sometimes it feels like you’ve given up one prison for another.

Then you don’t see Gabriella at all the next day. That’s not rare; sometimes she’s simply busy with school or other activities. But then you don’t even catch a glimpse of her the day after that. That was odd, because she usually made an effort to come see you, even if your interactions were brief. It’s on day three that you start to worry.

The thoughts keep you up at night. Is she sick? Kidnapped again? Is Miguel stepping in further to make sure you don’t interact? That last one seemed to be the most likely.

You’re worried. But why? Why are you worried about her so much? You’ve known her for, what? Barely three weeks? That shouldn’t be long enough for you to get attached. So why?

These thoughts keep you up at night, too.

On day six of not even briefly seeing her does Jess finally say something. Emotions have been running high for you, making it difficult for you to focus on basic tasks. The current basic task you were failing at was eating dinner.

You hadn’t even taken a bite of the soup yet. Your hand is gripping the spoon so hard your knuckle was turning white. Unfocused eyes blearily stared at the bowl in front of you.

“Is it not good?” Her husband asks, the slightest bit of an edge to his tone. You blink back into focus, looking up and finding them both staring at you. Then you look back down at your soup.

“Oh, no, sorry.” Immediately you bring the spoon to your mouth, taking a large bite. “It’s very good,” you mumble around a mouthful. “I like what you’ve done with the . . . uh, oregano?”

Her husband smiles, slow blinking at you. You sigh in relief, knowing you’ve guessed right.

Jess sets down her utensil heavily, the metal clanking against wood. “Alright, what’s going on with you?”

Your eyebrows raise in shock. “Nothing, I think?” You respond meekly.

Her frown deepens. Wrong answer.

“Don’t you lie to me,” she threatens. Her spoon suddenly reappears in her hand and she waves it around in your face. “You’ve been out of it for the past few days. Yesterday you were trying to wash the dress you were wearing in the river!” Well, she didn’t have to bring that up. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

You meet her concerned stare. The question was: did she actually care? How real was the look in her eyes?

“I . . . “ you break eye contact, looking down at your hands. “I haven’t seen Gabriella in a while.”

One of her eyebrows raises. “And?”

You let out a long breath. “And I’m worried about her. A lot. Is she okay?”

Jess tilts her head in confusion. “Yes, she’s fine. But . . . “ she trails off. She studies how you nervously play with the hem of your vest, how your hand runs through your hair, and how you keep glancing at the door like there’s somewhere you needed to be. Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Oh no,” she mutters “Oh no no no.”

Her head drops into her hands. She groans into her palms. You exchange a look with her husband.

“Jess . . ?”

She raises a hand to silence you. “I’m going to ask a question, and I want you to be very truthful with me.” She commands, tone serious. Your back straightens. “Are humans pack animals?”

Silence.

Your eyes widen, realizing what she was getting at. Her real question was: have you pack-bonded with Gabriella? But . . . how? You never made the decision to. Is it a decision at all? And it’s not like you’ve done this with anyone else. Not even with Sarah. You’ve never felt so strongly about being near someone.

But maybe it’s because you have the freedom to now. You’re not on an invisible chain, being led around by fear of punishment.

“I think—“ you shrink back into your chair, fearing her response, “—maybe?”

For several long moments, she simply stares at you. Then her head drops, her wild hair moving as she shakes her head back and forth. “Just . . . great.” Suddenly she stands, her chair scraping against the floor. “You, with me.”

“But, the soup!” Her husband protests as you quickly stand to follow. Jess doesn’t listen, slamming the door behind you.

“I’m sorry!” You rush out as she stalks through the streets. The night air is cool against your flushed skin. “I-I didn’t know! I don’t know how, I just-“

She spins around. “You’re not—“ Then she cuts herself off, realizing her tone was too harsh. Slowly, she takes a breath in, and out. “You’re not in trouble.”

Your breathing calms. “I’m not?”

“No.” She turns back around, walking at a slower pace. “Just need to make some changes very quickly.”

You don’t ask her to elaborate, afraid of what ‘changes’ she’s talking about. With neither of you saying more, she leads you across town. She heads towards the center, somewhere you haven’t been often. Then she’s walking up the steps to a large, daunting house. After some hesitation, you follow.

Jess knocks in rapid succession. There are some footsteps inside, and then someone’s opening the door. It’s a cat hybrid, a candle held in her hands. She blinks at both of you, ears perking in interest.

“Jess.” Her slitted eyes travel to you. “Little human. What brings you here?”

“Evening, Lyla. Just need to speak with Miguel.” Jess answers. You startle, reassessing the building. This was Miguel’s house?

Is Gabriella here?

“Ah, you’ll find Miggy in the meeting hall. Careful, he’s extra grumpy today.” She points down the road, leaning on the doorframe.

“When is he not?” You mutter under your breath. They both stare at you. Oh, right, sensitive hearing.

Lyla cracks a smile. “Amen to that.” You smile with her, deciding that you like Lyla. She waves you goodbye and you return it.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the meeting hall. The inside is empty and dark, moonlight serving as the only light source. The back door is ajar, light flickering from the inside.

Jess taps on the door once before slowly opening. Miguel is revealed to be hunched over the table, a book clutched in his hand. His hair was a bit unkempt and you could see shadows under his eyes. He looks up upon your arrival. Of course, he glares at you.

“Midnight reading?” Jess drawls.

He sighs, eyes flitting back to the book. “Why are you here?”

“We need to talk.” She steps forward to the table, standing across from Miguel. “Were you aware that humans are pack animals?”

So, so slowly, his eyes retrace back to you. His face was blank, but you could see his jaw tick. It’s quiet for a long time while he just stares.

“What—“ his voice is low, dangerous, “—are you implying.”

You’ll give Jess credit, because she doesn’t waver under his silent fury. “I don’t think it’s just Gabriella who’s pack-bonded.” His nostrils flare. “We can’t keep doing what we’re doing.”

What does she mean? “I don’t see any reason why we can’t,” Miguel retorts.

“We shouldn’t separate them—“

A bolt of lightning fries your nerves, freezing you in place. “You’ve been purposefully separating us?” You stare at Jess’s face in shock. She doesn’t meet your gaze.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Miguel mutters. But you’re not looking at him. You’re still staring at Jess.

Betrayal burns like acid against your tongue. It washes over you, carrying through your blood, making your heart pump faster. Betrayal turns to rage that scorches hot throughout your body.

The emotions that have been building for the past few days are like kindling to your wildfire. But it’s not just those emotions. It’s ones that have been festering for years at the estate, finally burning bright and hot.

“It was the right thing to do at the time,” she states firmly, though her tone wavers. “Now I don’t think so anymore.”

“But—but why do anything, decide anything, about me without me?!” You exclaim, struggling to get your thoughts out. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

Miguel stands upright, chair screeching. He pins you with a glare, but this time you don’t falter. This time, with a fire behind your eyes, you meet his glare with your own.

“Fair?” He snarls, approaching you. You plant your feet, refusing to move. “What isn’t fair is letting an outsider in against the will of my society,” he seethes.

You place hands on your hips. “Is that it then? It’s not fair so you have to be unfair to me? That’s just petty,” you growl out. “You’re hurting Gabriella.”

Something dark flashes in his eyes. “Do not speak about her.”

“She’s apart of this, though!” You cry. “You call yourself a father, but you’re hurting her!”

“I’m protecting her!” He roars back.

“From what?! What have I done to you?!”

“You chose a job where all you do is lick the nobles feet, for one!”

It feels like your breathing has stopped. All the air is suddenly stomped out of your lungs, and all you can do is stare. Miguel has a smug look in his eyes, like he thinks he’s won.

He has no fucking clue, does he?

“You think I had a choice?” You utter quietly. Miguel blinks, expression faltering as your words sink in. But you don’t want them to just sink in. You want them to stab, you want them to hurt, you want them to bleed.

You’ll make it bleed.

“No, you’re right.” You step forward, voice raising. “Maybe I should’ve chosen a life where my father didn’t go into debt—“

Memories of your dad, so many papers splayed out in front of him, and all he could do was sob.

“—maybe I should’ve chosen a life where he didn’t die and leave his debt to us—“

Lifeless eyes stared at you. You held onto cold fingers, but they didn’t squeeze back.

“—maybe I should’ve chosen a life where I wasn’t ripped from my mother’s arms—“

She was reaching out for you, but men clad in metal held her back. You wailed for her.

“—maybe I should’ve chosen a life where I wasn’t worked half to death everyday for no money—“

Aching, cold fingers. Exhaustion settling deep in your bones.

“—maybe I should’ve chosen a life where I wasn’t whipped for every mistake I made—“

White hot pain searing against your back.

“—and maybe I should’ve chosen a where I wasn’t assaulted when I was sixteen!”

A condescending, coaxing voice. Tears rolling down your face.

You jab a finger into Miguel’s chest, pressing hard, pressing until you knew it hurt. “Saving your daughter—“ you take a deep breath “—WAS THE ONLY CHOICE I EVER MADE FOR MYSELF!”

Quiet, except for your shallow breaths and blood roaring in your ears. You meet Miguel’s wide eyes. In their reflection, you see yourself crying. “And look where that got me.”

More quiet. And then you realize—

—You can’t breathe. Each breath you take isn’t going to your lungs and your vision around you is blurring and your ears are ringing. The walls were closing in on you. So in a split-second decision, you flee from the room.

Miguel moves to follow, but Jess holds him in place. “Don’t.”

“She’s having a panic attack,” he argues.

“And what are you going to do?” She questions. “Calm her down?” He blinks, looking down at himself. Was that what he was about to do? His body moved on its own. “You’ll only make it worse.”

With a scowl, he rips his arm from her grasp. “She’s not very happy with you either,” he reminds. Jess’s expression crumbles and she stares at the floor. Miguel finds himself doing the same thing, looking down at his boots. “That . . . was that true?”.

Ripped from my mother’s arms.

Whipped for every mistake I made.

Assaulted when I was sixteen.

Jess clenches her fists so hard her claws threaten to break skin. “I’ve seen the scars on her back.”

Scars. Fuck.

He runs a frustrated hand through his brunette hair, gritting his teeth.

Miguel O’Hara hated to admit it, but—

—he made a mistake.

~~~

The unwanted memories that play out in your mind are like the dead rising from the grave. They force themselves out of the place you buried them and run rampant. You can’t see anything in front of you except for the images flashing in your mind.

And they scare you. They terrify you. Your mom’s scream rings in your eyes, as do the cruel laughs of the nobles. The eyes of every hybrid you’ve seen get sold off stare through your soul. A man stalks closer and closer, your blood glinting on his walking cane.

It’s a torrent of everything you’ve repressed—been repressing—and you can’t stop it. All you can do is try to escape from them.

You have no idea where you’re running to, and in your delirious state, have no idea what you’re running from. You can’t remember anything, can’t even stop to think because—because you still can’t breathe.

Every shallow breathe you take burns your lungs, yet it doesn’t replenish you with oxygen. Your vision starts to blur. Fatigue settles in your muscles. Your knees buckle, and—

—And you’re caught in steady arms.

“ . . sy . . ittle human . . “

“I-I c-can’t—“ you grip something hard, feeling fabric in your palms.

“Breathe, you have to breathe.”

“I can’t,” you repeat with a tremor to your voice.

“You can.” A hand soothes your back. “It’s okay. You’re safe. But you need to breathe.” Was it really safe? You blink rapidly, your senses finally returning. Your breathing begins to slow. “There you go. In . . . and out.” You follow the instructions as best as you can. After some deep breaths, your lungs feel relieved. “Good. Now look around and tell me five things you see.”

You glance at your surroundings. “Um. There’s a sign, a house, stars, the moon, and . . . “ You finally look up at the person who caught you. Eyes framed by a dark mask stared back down at you. “Hobie . . ?”

The raccoon hybrid smiles. “There you go.”

Gently, you push off of him, standing on unsteady legs. “What happened?”

“You were having a panic attack,” Hobie answers. “Dunno from what, though.”

“I . . . “ You furrow your brows, trying to remember. As it comes rushing back, a stone sinks in your gut. “I was having an argument with Miguel.”

Hobie whistles. “That would do it.” He studies your hollow expression. “Should I take you back to Jess?”

“No,” you answer immediately. Thinking of her made your heart hurt. “No, just, anything but that.”

For a long moment he remains silent. “Alright, come on then.” He beckons you as he starts to walk away. You slowly follow, your arms crossed over your chest.

Part of you wants to ask where you are and where he’s taking you. But the other, more prominent, part of you feels broken and numb. It feels like you’ve been ripped apart and bled dry. That part of you simply wants to bury everything under lock and key and forget it all again. But you can’t, especially when anger still thrummed beneath your skin.

He leads you to a small cottage. Wordlessly, he climbs on top of the roof. You stare at him, and after a moment, he offers his hand and helps you up.

“Is this allowed?” You mumble.

“I would hope, ‘s my house.” The sarcasm in his voice makes you smile.

Both of you end up sitting on his roof, your legs dangling over the edge. Your legs swing back and forth, and you stare at them with disinterest. Hobie remains silent, giving you space and allowing you time to process things. And are there things to process.

Jess and Miguel were just one thing. All the injustices of your past were now floating in your mind, sometimes making themselves known with a sharp stab to your cranium. And above all that—you still hadn’t seen Gabriella in a long while.

With a sigh, you suddenly straighten. Hobie’s eyes flicker to you, awaiting your words.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” you blurt. And it’s the truth, plain and simple. You have no purpose here. Everyone hates you. You’re clearly not wanted. You’re not living. And yet you’re still here.

Hobie leans back, staring up at the stars. “It’s cuz of the little one, innit?”

“What?”

“Gabriella,” he clarifies. “You have a bond, yeah?”

You huff in frustration. “Yeah, but it doesn’t even seem like that meters anymore.” Your anger returns, not quite as strong, but still warming your blood against the cool night. “Miguel and Jess were keeping us apart, even though they knew she wouldn’t be okay.”

And that’s what angers you the most. You could care less about your pain, but something hurting Gabi was a whole different story.

He takes a deep breath. “Then ignore them,” he states firmly. “They can’t decide what you can and can’t do, despite whatever they’ve told you.”

“It’s not that easy. No one else welcomes me here.”

“So?” He looks at you, something fierce in the look he gives you. “Who cares what they think? If you’re here for the little one, then be there for her. What anyone else thinks can go straight to the gutter.” His large hand clasps around your shoulder. “Don’t be here for anyone’s reasons but your own.”

His words take a moment to sink in. And when they do, it feels like a weight has finally, finally lifted from your shoulders. Your jaw drops a little.

You don’t have to exist to serve anyone else anymore. You’re free.

“You’re right.” Then, with more conviction, “you’re right.” He smiles, something mischievous in his eyes. “Thank you. You’ve been one of the few to be kind to me so far.”

“S’all any of us can do. It’s a messed up world.” He eyes how you blink tiredly. “You want to crash at my place?”

You sigh in relief. “Hobie, I think you may just be my new favorite person.”

~~~

You wake with an aching and burning head. All the high-strung emotions from last night have accumulated into a strong fever that leaves you bedridden.

Hobie is nice enough to let you rot away on his couch, smirking as you complain about your misery. He provides you with some much needed company, and you share light-hearted conversation. He shares his distaste with Miguel. You agree with him.

“You don’t like him?” He asks, surprised.

You raise an eyebrow. “Thought that was obvious. He’s nothing but mean to me.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I’ve seen you staring at him.”

Your face flushes and you blame it on the fever.

More talking. You open up a little about your life at the estate. Just small things, like how you miss Sarah and how you’re glad to be gone. He tells you he arrived here when he was young, but doesn’t elaborate.

Around noon there’s a knock on the door. Hobie goes to answer it and returns with a grimace.

“Miguel wants to know if you’re willing to talk.”

You narrow your eyes. “No,” you seethe, venom lacing your tone. He nods, disappearing around the corner. This time when he comes back, he’s wearing a smirk.

“Don’t think I managed to capture your immense dislike, but he got the picture.” You smile devilishly, sinking into the cushions.

Sometime after that, your eyes start to feel heavy. Hobie departs to hangout with a red panda hybrid named Pavitr. It gives you the opportunity to nap, and you quickly slip into a dreamless slumber.

In the midst of your sleep, you vaguely hear the door open and close. You briefly register that Hobie must be back. But then something’s climbing on top of you. Blearily, your eyes open, and you glance down at the young wolf hybrid snuggling into your stomach. A sleepy smile graces your face, and you wrap your arms around her. It isn’t long before you’re asleep once more.

Gabriella is still tucked into your side when you wake again. It’s almost dark outside now, meaning that your sleep schedule is thoroughly screwed up. You sigh, listening to the sounds of the voices coming from the kitchen.

A low, sluggish voice. Hobie. But also, a deep, gruff voice. Your eyes widen.

“Hobie?” You call. The talking ceases. “I hope that’s not who I think it is.”

Silence, followed by quiet footsteps. Your friend appears around the corner. “Sorry, love. We were just having a chat.” Then Miguel comes to stand next to him, in all his glory. It’s hard to describe, but his presence is simply enough to fill an entire space to the brim.

Well, you decide, you’re not going to make room for him today. He stares at you with an unreadable expression. Then his eyes drift to his daughter. With a scowl, you hug her tighter. His brows furrow.

“About what?” You question, sitting up.

“Nothing in particular.” Hobie stares at Miguel pointedly. He frowns a little deeper.

“Have you eaten?” He asks gruffly.

One of your eyebrows raises. “No.”

He grunts, then he turns and heads down the hallway towards the door. “That means he wants you to follow,” Hobie informs, leaning up against the wall.

You huff. “I’m not going anywhere until he marches himself back in here and tells me himself,” you tell him loudly, loud enough for Miguel to hear. Hobie grins at you with pure, chaotic pride.

A pause. Then Miguel reappears, scowling at you. “Come with me.”

“Ask nicely.”

He fumes quietly. “Will you please come with me?”

Without another word, you stand, holding Gabriella tight to your body. She mumbles incoherently in her sleep and burrows further into you. Then Miguel leads you out, you trailing after him with a frown.

You’ll humor whatever he’s trying to do here, but you’re still upset with him. Very, very upset. Him and his stupid, brooding attitude. Stupid stupid stupid.

The walk to his house goes fast with you silently cursing him out. He holds the door open for you, but you’re not sure if it’s out of kindness if obligation. Either way, you don’t thank him. You stand in the middle of the large hallway, waiting for him to say something else.

His eyes drift back to Gabriella. He points down the hall. “Hers is the first room on the right.” Then he pushes past you. You watch him go with a confused expression.

Gabriella’s room is messy. You wonder, fondly, if it’s always like this. She certainly entered your life like a storm, heavy and without warning, so it made sense for her room to reflect that. You cross the space to her bed, gently tucking her into the mess of blankets and pillows.

She frowns in her sleep, clutching at your sleeve adamantly. You chuckle, prying her fingers from you. Her frown turns into a sleepy smile when you pat her head. Quietly, you leave and shut the door.

You find Miguel in the kitchen, chopping up some kind of meat into bite-sized pieces. Potato slices were already sizzling on a pan over the fire. You lean against the doorway, watching him work. His black cloak was thrown over a chair, brown bushy tail swishing absentmindedly behind him.

Finally, after a few moments have passed does he speak. “I’d like to apologize.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then apologize,” you snap, annoyed. “And look at me when you say it, too. Don’t half-ass it.”

He drops the cutlery, whirling around to face you. “I don’t half-ass things,” he growls, crossing his arms. You mimic his stance, waiting expectantly. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Dios mío, why are you so demanding now?”

Your chin lowers; you level him with an irritated look. “I’m tired of the way you’re treating me.”

His jaw ticks. The potatoes pop on the pan. “I’m sorry for treating you unacceptably.” It’s a massive understatement, but you’ll allow it for now. You nod in satisfaction, finally stepping further into the kitchen. Once more, he turns his back to you. “But . . . you can’t just expect me to trust you.” You eye his back carefully. “Humans took Gabriella’s mother away from her. My wife.”

So it’s true, then. Your gaze drops. “I’m sorry.” A breath. “But I never asked for you to trust me. All I’m asking for is a bit of hospitality,” you tell him earnestly. “I’m not the humans who took her from you.”

He’s watching you over his shoulder. Then, slowly, he nods, and no more words are exchanged. He finishes dinner and you eat in the seats furthest from each other. It’s delicious, but you’re not about to admit that to him.

Afterwards, he walks you back. Still, he remains silent. He decides to speak just as you’re entering Hobie’s house.

“I’ll try,” he tells you, making you face him again. “But I can’t guarantee the rest of the society will.”

You shrug after a long moment. “That’s fine.” You smile. “I don’t care what they think.”

The last thing you see before you shut the door are his eyes, widened a little in surprise.

Chapter Text

In the end, you decide to stay at Hobie’s for the next indefinite amount of time. He’s easy to live with and his presence feels natural to you. You don’t feel like you’re constantly awaiting orders or wondering what he’s thinking at every twist and turn. It’s calming.

Things just flow effortlessly with him. Not in a romantic way—most definitely not—but in a companionship sort of way. You’re not sure what it’s like to have a sibling, but you think this might be it.

“You know, Hobie,” you mention while you’re eating dinner. “You’re technically my first friend, ever.”

He chuckles. “That’s unfortunate.”

Living with Hobie means you have to get the few things you had from Jess’s house. That’s how you find yourself at her doorstep, tentatively knocking at her door. After a few moments it opens. Jess’s eyes widen when she sees you.

“Um, hi,” she greets awkwardly. She tries to smile, but it comes off as a constipated look. “Are you coming back?”

“Not exactly.” You rub your nape. “I’m moving in with Hobie, so I just need to grab my clothes.”

Her face falls. “Oh.” She stands aside, holding the door open for you. “Well, you know where it’s at.”

You thank her under your breath and step inside. The guest room is just as you left it. Jess watches you from the doorway as you gather the belongings she gave you. Even though you feel her stare, you don’t turn around.

You’re not sure what to say. She never became your friend. However, she had been close to it, and maybe that’s what hurts the most. And it wasn’t like she truly betrayed you, she was just following her duties. You can respect that, but you can’t live with it. Her loyalties are not with you.

It doesn’t take long for you to compile all your clothes. Finally, you stand and face her. She looks both ashamed and resigned.

“I won’t apologize for my decisions,” she informs you firmly. “I still believe I was doing the right thing, even if it didn’t seem right to you.” Then her gaze wavers. “But I am sorry for all that’s happened to you.”

Your mouth feels dry; you swallow thickly. You’ve yet to unpack everything your trauma entails. It’s still a fresh wound and touching it stings. You’ll have to clean it eventually, though for now you’ll bandage it up and move on with your life.

“It’s . . . I understand,” you mumble. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me. Tell your husband I’ll miss his soup.”

She smiles, but it’s bittersweet. “I will.”

Determined to start living your life as a member of this society, you start to contemplate what it is exactly you want to do. You and Hobie go back and forth talking about it. He gives you suggestions, and you bounce ideas off of one another

“So, I’ve noticed that everyone has their own personal gardens,” you comment, lounging upside-down on his couch.

He sits on the other side, clutching an instrument he called a lute in his hands. You’ve never heard of one before, but it sounds nice. “Yeah, mostly just for small stuff like herbs.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s dead, but I have one.”

You snort. “So that’s why . . . never mind.”

“No, go on, finish that sentence.”

“I wasn’t going to comment on the state of your cooking.”

A pillow is thrown at your face. “Watch yourself.”

Chuckling, you throw it back at him. “So, I guess when I get my own place I’ll start my own garden. Fall is almost here now, so I’ll have to wait until Spring to start things.” You hum, thinking. “Maybe I could do a second garden and plant produce that I can trade?”

“If you do, then focus on growing on growing one crop. Creates reliability. People will always know what you have,” he suggests.

“Makes sense. I definitely want animals too. Chickens, for starters. Then sheep and goats,” you ramble. “Let’s see, I really have no skills when it comes to hunting or fishing. I wouldn’t make a good butcher . . . What other things can I do?”

He plays a few chords on the lute. “A lot of newcomers start by offering services. Cleaning, watching kids, running deliveries.”

You suck in air through your teeth. “I’m good at cleaning, but I’m not fond of it. Deliveries on the other hand,” you trail off thoughtfully. “I could do that.”

“You’d have to know the streets really well, though.

“Well then I guess we have a new mission, don’t we?”

The next day finds you and Hobie mapping the streets together. He reluctantly follows you around as you try to memorize roads and intersections. After the first day you could confidently say that you retained absolutely none of the information.

On the second day, you happened across the school as it was letting out. Amongst the flock of children running from the doors, you catch a glimpse of Gabriella. She sprints across the grass, leaping into Miguel’s waiting arms. He spins her around before allowing her to sit on his shoulders. You watch the whole interaction, transfixed.

Miguel’s smile was so wide. You’ve never seen him smile like that, nor look so relaxed. It suits him, you think. Makes him more handsome.

Hobie leans next to you. “Distracted, are we?”

You shove him away.

You feel bad for dragging him around, so the following days you venture out on your own while he hangs with his group. You’ll admit, they seem like a fun bunch. There’s the sweet Pavitr, the comedic Miles, and the quiet Gwen. They seem mostly okay with you given that Hobie is.

Then something happens. One day as you’re strolling through the streets (Were you on Mulberry Way or Main Street? You think Mulberry . . . okay looks like you were right. See? You’re learning) you notice a commotion. There’s a crowd gathering in the Square, and even from where you’re standing there are still hybrids flocking to join in.

After a moment of debate, you decide that you have nothing better to do. When you reach the edges of the audience, you begin to walk around, searching for a better view. You finally find a place where you can clearly view what’s going on.

What you see what’s causing the clamor, your jaw drops.

There’s a whole group of new hybrids. You can tell because their clothes were ragged and they looked utterly exhausted. Based on everyone’s reactions, it must be rare to see a group this large arrive.

But that’s not what caught your attention. It’s the hybrid at the head of the pack, currently conversing with Miguel.

It was the lizard hybrid from the estate. The one you gave your lock-pick to when you were escaping. She . . . she had made it. And she brought the rest with her. They seemed a little skinny and a few were even injured, but they were alive.

Miguel’s face is serious as he speaks with her. She seems disinterested, her yellow eyes sweeping over the crowd that’s formed around her.

Her eyes fall on you. You suck in a breath. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she studies you. Then you see recognition flash across her face, mouth dropping in a silent ‘oh.’

She makes her way towards you. Miguel cuts himself off, his lips pulling downwards in annoyance. The hybrids around you give her space as she prowls closer, perhaps put off by the determined glint in her eyes. But you’re not afraid, you’re just relieved.

She stops a few feet from you, staring at you with unbridled (and feral) delight. Around you, everyone murmurs in hushed whispers, brimming with anticipation.

“I see you managed to make it out safely,” she comments, smiling to show off sharp teeth. “Is the little one here too?”

It takes a second for words to return to you. “I—yes, she’s here.”

“That’s good. I—“

“Hey.” Miguel appears at her side. He doesn’t put himself between the two of you, but he does tilt his shoulder towards you as if to put you somewhat behind him. Your eyes widen a little. Was he protecting you? “She’s not a threat.”

The lizard hybrid crosses her arms. “I never said she was. In fact, this human is the only reason we were able to make it here in the first place,” she declares for everyone to hear. There’s a few surprised mumbles from the crowd.

Your ears heat at the attention. “It wasn’t—I didn’t do much.”

“Of course you did. I believe this—“ she fishes something out of her pocket, “—belongs to you.”

She drops something into your palm. It’s your lock-pick. Or, well, the one given to you by one of the other maids. The memory makes your heart squeeze. You clutch it tightly.

“How come it took so long for you to get here?” You wonder, remembering the journey had only taken you a few days. It’s been weeks now, and they were only now arriving.

Her expression darkens. “Royal Army showed up. We had to lay low for a while.” She glances back at the rest of them. “Not all of us made it.”

Your heart clenches. They had been so close to freedom, only to be ripped away before they got the taste. The thought has your lungs aching. You take in a shaky breath. “And the other maids?”

She frowns. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.” You nod, staring at the cobblestone beneath your feet. You wonder where Sarah is right now. You hope, wherever it is, that’s she’s happier. “I owe you my sincerest gratitudes. We all do.” She beckons for the other hybrids to come forward. “Come and say thank you, she’s the reason you’re here right now.”

Slowly, cautiously, the other hybrids approach. They murmur their thanks, some even shaking your hand. The dove hybrid goes as far as to hug you, sniffling quietly. Unsure of what to do, you pat her head.

You look at the audience gathered around you. They weren’t staring at you with distaste or fear. Rather, they seemed to look at you with newfound respect and some were even nodding in approval. All the attention made you nervous.

Then you lock eyes with Miguel. And for once, you didn’t see the coldness that you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead, he seemed to be considering you now. He raises an eyebrow when he notices you staring. You quickly avert your eyes.

Something shifts in the days that follow. The rumor of you being a hero spreads like fire, and hushed murmurs follow where you go. But after some time, the talk dies away. And what follows is . . . peace. You’re not the person children run from or the person who’s given dirty looks anymore. Instead, you’re someone who flows with the crowd like you belong.

It feels like you’ve finally slotted into place within the society. You’re not hated, yet you’re not loved. You’re simply there, existing with everyone around you. The feeling it gives you is like a breath of fresh air.

Things are finally starting to look up for you.

~~~

For the first time since you’ve first gotten here, you decide to attend the weekly bonfire. In the past you had avoided them due to the tension your presence caused. But that doesn’t seem to be an issue anymore, so today you decide to treat yourself and have some fun.

Hobie had hooked you up with a farmer who dismissed her old delivery guy. Apparently she suspected him of stealing and decided to replace him. She had seemed wary of you at first, but seemed satisfied after witnessing your determination. After your first day, you had successfully received a batch of eggs. You insisted on cooking them for dinner.

That was a few days ago now, and everything was going great. Perhaps that’s why you’re in such a good mood.

The gathering is in full swing by the time you arrive. Little groups of hybrids converse amongst themselves while the fire burns bright and hot. Fall is slowly creeping in, making the air chillier. Shivering, you search for a spot close to the fire.

Then you see Gabriella waving you over. She was sat next to Miguel, who regarded you cooly. You make your way over to them, stepping over tails and scooting past wings. Just as you’re about to reach them, someone quickly stands from their spot, knocking you over.

You’re about to fall flat on your face when Miguel’s arms shoot out, catching you. It takes you a second to register what’s happened, and when you do, your face flushes profusely. You knew he was strong, but right now he’s holding you like you’re nothing.

You look up, meeting his eyes. They’re as unreadable as ever.

“Um . . . thank you,” you manage to stutter out, hoping the cold was enough to explain your red face.

He merely grunts.

“You have to be careful!” Gabriella scolds, guiding you to sit next to her.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you chuckle. Her hair was tied back and her knees were a little dirty, leading you to believe there must’ve been a game today. “So, did you win?”

Her face lights up. “Yeah! We kicked their butts!” In her excitement, her tail wags rapidly. It repeatedly thwacks Miguel in the side, and you struggle to contain your smile.

“Bri. Your tail,” he reminds, something fond in his tone.

She looks at him for a moment before purposefully hitting him harder. She grins mischievously up at him. He raises an eyebrow down at her. Then, he—gently—bops her on the head with his tail.

“Hey!” You snort before you can stop it. Gabriella notices you failing to contain your amusement and turns her wrath on you. “Traitor!”

As she scolds both of you, you notice the lizard hybrid—you learned her name was Cecil—joining the group. “Hello everyone!” She announces loudly. Everyone responds, despite her only being here for a few days.

“You’re the one who escaped from the humans?” An old bull hybrid asks.

She clicks her tongue. “That would be me.”

“Certainly there’s a good story in there. Come on, tell us!”

The rest of the crowd whoops in agreement. Cecil smiles, her eyes flickering to you. “Well, I suppose you are right.” She leaps to the center, everyone turning to face her. Once she has all eyes on her, she starts. “Imagine. A dark room, filled wall to wall with cages, and in every cage there were hybrids.” Gabriella stiffens next to you. You rub her back soothingly. “We had all lost hope. We had tried everything to escape to no avail. And we were about to be sold off like animals. I thought we were truly done for.” She looks to you once more. “And then someone entered. An itty-bitty little human. And she was terrified, too. Looked like she was about to piss herself.”

“That’s because I was,” you add. There’s some laughs from around you.

“And what does she do? She immediately starts picking the lock to one of the cages. I thought to myself, ‘no way this is happening. I must be dreaming.’ But I wasn’t. She was actually helping. She picked the lock and took the wolf-pup that was inside. Then she starts to leave, and I thought maybe she was leaving us behind. But then she stops. She throws the lock-pick to me, looks me dead in the eyes, and says—“ her eyes lock onto yours, “—give them hell.”

There’s a few oohs from the crowd.

“I can’t even describe how excited I was. I could barely contain myself. After I freed myself, I started freeing the others, but I just couldn’t wait anymore. I leapt from the curtains!” She jumps towards a group to emphasize her point. “And I sank my fangs into the auctioneer! It was like a fountain of bloo—“

Miguel clears his throat pointedly, cutting her off. He had his hands clasped over Gabriella’s ears. He glares at her, unamused. Cecil chuckles nervously.

“It was like a fountain of . . . bloody good fortune,” she corrects hesitantly.

“Good save!” Someone calls out, causing a few chuckles.

“I suppose I can’t really disclose the rest of the story. But I assure that we did indeed give them hell.” She snaps her fingers. “Oh! And I bit the—“ she looks at Gabriella warily, “—genitalia off the head of the estate. The end.”

You snort. “Well, there wasn’t that much to bite off in the first place.”

Silence. Then laughter erupts from everyone. You’re sure the ruckus could be heard across the city. Even Miguel was smiling, just the tiniest bit.

“You’re right!” Cecil hollers, holding her stomach. “There wasn’t!” It takes a long time for the wheezes to cease. The group continues to buzz after her story is done, and you can’t help but watch everyone conversing with a huge smile on your face.

Some time later, Gabriella begins to nod off, held in Miguel’s arms. He stands, presumably to take her home, but she reaches for you sleepily.

“Walk with us,” she demands. And, well, you can never say no to her.

It’s a comfortable kind of silence as you and Miguel walk back. Where it was once tense between you, things have been better ever since he apologized to you. Maybe it’s because he understands you now, on some level.

Gabriella dozes off, her head rested against Miguel’s chest. He’s cradling her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, and it does something funny to your heart.

“They see you as some kind of hero,” he remarks idly, breaking the silence. You eye him, wondering what he was getting at. Your eyes trail to the stars.

“I never wanted to be a hero,” you respond honestly. “Just wanted to do something good and live a real life.”

He nods, falling quiet. When you finally reached his house, though, he asks, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, but Hobie said he was making something.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t have food poisoning yet.” Then he steps inside, purposefully leaving the door open.

You eye it for a few seconds, the invitation tempting. “Okay,” you relent, stepping inside. “But don’t tell him I chose your food over his. I think he might actually kick me out.”

You sit at the table while he cooks. A savory smell wafts through the air, and your stomach growls embarrassingly. You hope he didn’t hear it, but with the way his ears are tilted towards you, he must’ve.

“So are you doing it, then?” He asks.

“Doing what?”

“Living a real life.”

Is he . . . asking if you were doing okay in a roundabout way? Your lips tug into a small smile.

“Yeah, I am. I’ve started running deliveries. Hoping to get some animals soon. And I noticed that there’s a library too. Maybe I can see some books,” you ramble.

“Library’s good,” he says.

“You go often?”

“When I have the time.”

Your eyes drift to the hallway, where Gabriella was sleeping. “Do you have a lot of time?” He doesn’t respond, placing a plate in front of you.

This time you sit diagonally from him. Not close, but not far either. You eat in silence, still refusing to admit to him that it was really good. After that he bids you goodnight and you head home.

For some reason, you can’t get the image of him smiling next to the fire out of your head.

~~~

Fall finally settles over the land. Trees have lost their colorful leaves, children building piles and romping around in them. The days start to get shorter and colder. You start wearing thicker dresses with stockings underneath and a wool scarf hugging your face.

You never liked fall and winter back at the estate. It always meant sleeping on a cold bed and waking up with numb fingers. But here, you always know that there’s always someplace warm waiting for you. The current warm place you’re headed is Miguel’s house.

Yesterday, Gabriella had informed you of a secret mission that you were required to attend. Base of operations was at her house and you had to show up before sun-high or else. She had been very serious while telling you; thinking back on it makes you chuckle. Knowing her, this ‘secret mission’ was probably just her usual antics.

When you arrive, Lyla is the one to greet you. You give her a friendly smile and she returns it. You’ve found yourself becoming closer with the feline hybrid each time you visit. She’s funny and sarcastic and doesn’t hesitate to poke fun at Miguel. You should ask if she would like to hang out soon.

“I’m here for the secret mission,” you attempt to tell her seriously, but you fail at keeping the smile off your face.

She doesn’t even bother to hide hers. “Ah. The secret mission. Come on, you’re going to love this.” You follow her inside, filled with anticipation.

“What, exactly, does this mission entail?” You ask, giddy.

“Torturing Miguel.”

“Today is a good day.”

Gabriella’s door is slightly ajar. On the other side, you can make out both her’s and Miguel’s voices. Lyla pushes it open, revealing Miguel sitting cross-legged on the floor while Gabriella circles around him.

Her face brightens upon seeing you. Miguel, however, looked a little horrified.

“What are you—Bri, what is she doing here?” He questions. The alarm in his voice and the panic on his face makes you grin.

There’s a wicked glint in her eyes as she runs up to you. “You made it!” She whisper-yells, as if it were a secret. “Our secret mission is to prettify my papi!”

You look to Miguel, then back at Gabriella before descending into a fit of giggles. You hold onto Gabriella’s shoulder as you crouch down. Your body shakes with the force of your snorts. Miguel simply glares at you.

“Told you you’d like it,” Lyla remarks before turning and heading back down the hall.

“Oh, oh my god, just give me a minute—“ You manage in between breaths. You wipe a few stray tears from your eyes. “Okay, okay. Let’s see.”

Faking a serious expression, you place your hand under your chin and study Miguel’s face. Gabriella copies your movements. He rubs his eyes and temples, exasperated.

“Gabriella, I have to admit. I don’t think we can make him pretty,” you inform her solemnly. It’s not entirely a lie. You can’t make him any prettier than he already is.

She gasps. “Don’t say that! You’ll hurt his feelings.” He didn’t seemed fazed. “Here, I have all of the necessary equipment.” She gestures to a pile of bows and ribbons and clips sitting on the floor.

“Good, very good. Now all we need is a dress,” you tease.

“Absolutely not.”

Gabriella gets to work immediately, tying segments of his hair with brightly colored accessories. You sit on the ground near them, simply observing. You’re not too sure Miguel would appreciate you messing with his hair, despite how much you want to.

“Hold still,” Gabriella orders in the background.

“Sorry, sorry.”

God, he’s such a good dad. This was a gruff, stoic, absolutely colossal man. Yet here he was, hunched over, sitting completely still as his little daughter fussed over him. And even though he seemed disinterested on the outside, the tip of his tail was ever-so-slowly swishing back and forth.

Your heart does another one of those funny flips.

“You have to help too,” Gabriella insists when she notices you sitting still.

“I don’t know, Gabi, you’re doing pretty good by yourself.”

“But I need your expert advice,” she insists.

You shoot a wary look at Miguel. He huffs. “It’s fine.”

Cautiously, you scoot closer. Your eyes flit between the pile on the floor and back to his brunette hair, deciding what to do.

Your palms were sweaty. Why were you so nervous? Stop being nervous. There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re just playing dress up . . . on a very attractive and respectable guy.

Nothing weird about that.

An idea pops into your mind. Slowly, you reach out and gently separate three segments of hair below his right wolf ear. He twitches a bit when your fingers brush against his scalp, but he says nothing. Then, you start to weave his hair into a braid.

His hair is soft, you note, as you work the strands together. Gabriella halts what she’s doing to watch. Miguel’s tail twitches back and forth.

When you finish, you motion for Gabriella to hand you a hair tie. The braid is small, only just poking out of his locks, but you think it looks good on him. Miguel reaches up to feel it with his hand.

“Me next, me next!” She insists, completely forgetting about her original plan. You chuckle and move behind her. She continues to play with his hair, moving bows around and putting clips on his ears.

At one point, you make eye contact with Miguel. He holds your gaze. You offer him a small smile. And you swear you see the corners of his mouth twitch up before it disappears.

You don’t want this moment to end, you think. If you had the decision, you would stay like this forever.

~~~

Later, when Gabriella takes you outside to play, Miguel begins to pull his daughter’s accessories from his hair. There’s a small, fond smile on his face as he does so. When he thinks he’s gotten it all, he runs a hand through his locks just to make sure.

And then he feels the braid you gave him.

His hand pauses. He stares at himself in the mirror, assessing how it looks.

He decides to leave it in.

~~~

The streets are busy today. Unfortunately, it made deliveries slow, but no one seemed to be upset by the delay. If anything, they were understanding. Luckily, you had just finished with your last delivery. All you had to do was bring your employer her goods. With the aid of your little helper, of course.

“We’re almost done, right?” Gabriella inquires, a box of vegetables clutched in her hands. She had been insistent on helping. Though you could tell she had become tired at some points, she powered through without complaints.

You smile down at her. “Yup, just have to bring these back.”

She grins. “Then we can play?”

“Then we can play.”

Although, it doesn’t end up going that smoothly. When you arrive at your employer’s house—a cow hybrid—she’s conversing with a bear hybrid. Conversing isn’t the right word though. They’re arguing back and forth, his voice loud and angry, hers low and frustrated.

You stand awkwardly off to the side, glancing between them. The bear hybrid notices you first, furious eyes trailing to the boxes in your hands and back up to your face.

“The human?!” He snarls, pointing a claw at you. “You traded me for the human?”

Oh. This must be her old delivery guy. You clutch the boxes tighter and push Gabriella behind you protectively.

Your employer glares at him. “She’s more reliable than you ever were, Boris. Now quit complaining and go find someplace else to work.”

“I can’t because your loud mouth told everyone I’m a thief when I’m not!”

“Things were going missing! I’m not blind!”

“I think you are, you oversized, stupid—“

“Hey!” Gabriella shouts at him. Your heart plummets, face going pale. What was she thinking? “You can’t say that! It’s rude!”

“Gabi—“

Boris cooes condescendingly. “Ohh, is it? Oh I’m sorry.” He lifts his lips to reveal sharp fangs. “What are you going to do about it, brat?”

She glares at him, little fists balling up. “I’ll tell me dad.”

“Gonna tell your dad, huh? Gonna run home to daddy? He won’t be here when I—“

You yank Gabriella behind you once more. The danger of a threat makes the fear turn to courage in your blood. The bear hybrid stands to his full height, glaring down at you. You glare right back, fury carved into your expression.

People walking past stop to stare. They whisper anxiously to each other.

“You threaten her again—“ you snarl, standing on your toes to get in his face “—and you won’t like what happens next.”

He growls lowly. “Think you’re so tough, huh? All high and mighty just because O’Hara thinks you’re special.” He raises a large hand. “I could crush your skull with my—“

A green, scaled tail wraps around his wrist. His hand jerks, and Boris punches himself in the face. He stumbles away, holding his nose and groaning. Cecil crouches low, baring her teeth at him.

“If you even think of laying a hand on her, I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it,” she promises vehemently. Boris glares at her, blood dribbling down his face. He spits a mouthful of crimson onto the ground.

His eyes turn to you, and you can’t help but freeze. There’s a delirious sort of rage in his irises. It’s a look that turns your blood cold.

“This isn’t over,” he snaps. “Watch your back, human.”

And then he’s turning and leaving. But you’re still stuck in place, your eyes a little wide. He means it, you think. Somehow, you knows he means it. And it terrifies you.

“Hey.” Cecil shakes your shoulder. Your wide eyes flit to hers. “You alright? He’s gone now.”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you manage to croak. “Gabi?”

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, staring at the ground. You swallow thickly, glancing down the street. Your hands were trembling.

Even after his form disappears, you can’t get rid of the danger, danger, danger plaguing your mind.

Chapter Text

“ . . . but then the farmer and his wife had a thought. If the goose was laying golden eggs, then that must mean that there must be more inside of her! They killed her and cut her up, only to find that she was just like every other goose. There were no golden eggs inside of her. Because of their greed, there would never be any more golden eggs.”

Gabriella frowns. “That poor goose.”

“Indeed. But it serves to teach us that greed leads to loss.” You lean forward and bop her nose. “So think carefully next time you try to eat a cake before finishing your vegetables.”

Her bottom lip juts out. “But I wanted cake . . . “ You raise your eyebrow. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Gently, you ruffle her hair. “Good. Now you should be getting to sleep.”

“But I want to wait for papi,” she insists with a yawn. Her brown eyes were dropping, implying that she would most likely not see her wish through.

Your hand moves to cradle her head. You guide her back down to the pillow, tucking the blankets up to her chin. “Miguel’s busy tonight. I don’t know if he’ll be back soon.”

“Then I’ll wait even longer,” she states, determined. You chuckle fondly.

“Okay. Goodnight, Gabi.”

“‘Night.”

Quietly, you shut the door. Lyla leans on the wall outside.

“Beans in the pod?” She asks.

You laugh. “I have no idea what that means, but if you’re asking if she’s in bed, then yes.” She follows you as you walk down the hall.

“Heading home, then?”

An uneasy feeling makes your stomach queasy as you stare at the door. It’s dark out, and the walk to Hobie’s house would take a while. Anything could happen in that time. Anyone could be lurking in the shadows.

Watch your back, human.

You shudder.

“Well, you’re sure you don’t need any help with the house?” You inquire, faking a smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Lyla waves you off. “Nah, I’ll be fine. Better be getting home before Hobie gets worried.” Her nose twitches. Then she tilts her head at you, eyes narrowing in concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” You jump in, a little too frantically. “Uh, no. I’m alright.” There’s a few moments where she studies your face, clearly not buying it. “Well, goodnight Lyla.”

“Right . . . “ she trails off, watching you stumble out of the door. “Goodnight.”

After shutting the door, you remain still for a few seconds. You take a few gulps of cold air, hoping it would slow your racing heart. It doesn’t. Warily, you glance around. There’s no one on the streets around here. You breathe out in relief and hastily stride away.

Every alley you walk past has your adrenaline rising. You expect to see a a form covered in darkness, or glowing amber eyes. And then you do start to see them, but then you’ll blink and they’ll be gone.

Your breathing quickens, as do your feet.

It’s your mind playing tricks, you tell yourself. It’s just tricks. But it certainly feels real when suddenly you hear footsteps behind you or breathing off to your side.

What would he do if he caught you? Pain. He’d cause pain. And all you wanted was a life free from it.

You notice someone walking towards you on the street, and you freeze. It could just be a nocturnal hybrid on a stroll. Still, you’re not taking any chances, so you pivot your heel and head to the next street over. You’re moving deeper into the city and elongating your time spent out here. But you can’t help it. Your gut tells you something’s not right.

Have to get home. Have to get to safety. You’re alone, no cover, you’re going to get hurt—

Then you see the meeting hall. You pause, staring at it. Miguel was in there, working. You could make up the excuse of needing to talk about Gabriella.

Your feet are moving before you know it.

The panic humming in your veins doesn’t cease until you enter the building. For a second, you just lean against the doors and squeeze your eyes shut. You count backwards from thirty to calm your mind. Finally, you let out a huge breath before advancing forward.

Miguel’s looking up at the door when you push it open, like he had heard you already. He probably did. He blinks at you, asking without speaking.

“Um,” you hover in the doorway awkwardly. “I just wanted to let you know . . . that . . . Gabriella’s home safe. In bed.” That’s not an outlandish reason to stop by, right?

He nods, eyes falling back to the paper clutched in his hands. There were three stacks surrounding him—large stacks. “Thank you.” When you don’t leave, he asks, “anything else?”

“Well, no.” Think, damnit, think! “But do you need some help?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “You see, Gabi wanted to stay awake until you got home. If I help then you could get back faster.”

“No thank you.” Shit. “You can leave now.”

“Uh, but—“

Red eyes bore into yours. You gulp, words dying on your tongue. Miguel turns his body towards you and scrutinizes your face. His brows furrow. His ears twitch and tilt towards you.

After several—long—seconds, he asks, “What are you afraid of?”

Your face pales at being caught. “I’m-I’m not scared of anything,” you lie, yet you wish it were true.

His face falls flat. “Your heartbeat is elevated, you’re sweating more than usual, and you keep fiddling with your scarf.” He looks, pointedly, at your hands. You do as well, realize he’s right, and immediately drop them. “So what is it, then?”

“I . . . “ You stare at the door. It’d be so easy to tell him. There’s a bear hybrid who threatened to hurt me, and I think he means it, you could say. But you don’t. “It’s hard to explain.”

For what seems like forever, he stares at you. It feels like he’s picking you apart with his eyes alone. The candle flickering on the table casts shadows over his face, making him that much more intimidating.

Finally, he sighs. “Sit.”

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave. You collapse heavily onto the second chair from him. He observes you out of the corner of his eyes before focusing back on the papers. You can’t help but watch him curiously, nothing better to do. It seems like he’s separating papers from a larger pile into two smaller ones. He’ll read them over carefully before seemingly selecting a pile to place them in.

Your eyes catch on something else. He was still wearing the braid you gave him a few days ago. Your mouth falls a little. You don’t know why he kept it. And you don’t know why it makes your stomach flutter.

(You do. You’re just not ready to admit it yet.)

Miguel suddenly drops a stack of papers in front of you. You jump, ripped from your thoughts.

“These are petitions of citizens accusing other citizens of wrongdoings. Separate them based on whether you think the accuser is in the right or not.”

You blink at the papers before picking up the first one, looking it over. “That . . . seems like a big responsibility to leave to me, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll check them over when you’re done.”

So that’s how you find yourself doing paperwork with Miguel. The only noise filling the space is the occasional crackling of the candle’s wick and the rustle of papers. It’s boring, you’ll admit that. But you also feel a sense of security sitting in this little room, knowing that anyone who entered would first have to face the massive wolf with you.

Miguel makes you feel safe. The thought is surprising. When did Miguel start making you feel safe?

You’ve gotten through quite a bit of the stack. Things are going okay, until you pull a paper that makes your mouth run dry.

It’s a petition from Boris against Cecil for hitting him the other day. It shouldn’t make you nervous, and you hate that it does. You grip the sheet a little tighter and it creases. Your heart starts to hammer in your chest.

Watch your back, watch your back, watch your back—

“Hey.” The low timbre of Miguel’s voice steadies you. “Calm down.”

You take several deep breaths. The ringing in your ears slowly fades. “Sorry,” you murmur.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches over and gently pries the paper from your hands like a parent would with a child. And you let him. You let him take the paper and read it over.

His lips pull downwards in a frown. “Bri told me about this,” he comments, distaste lacing his tone. He turns towards you. “Is it this, then?” After a few hesitant moments, you nod. “What’s hard to explain about it?”

You huff, leaning back against the chair. “I don’t know, Miguel. Telling you—“ you gesture at the entirety of him, “—that I’m afraid of someone feels dumb. You probably eat nails for breakfast.”

The bastard has the audacity to smirk. “Nails?”

Your face flushes. “Yes. Nails. Anyways, it’s dumb. Forget it.”

“It’s not dumb to be afraid of someone twice your size.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” you assert, and your brain falls silent. The statement feels like rocks in your mouth. Spitting it out hurts, but keeping it in would as well. Now that you’ve admitted it, you don’t know if you feel better or worse. Heavily, you sigh. “I’m tired of being afraid.”

Miguel considers your words for a long while. You stare at your lap where your hands were intertwined. Then, firmly, he states, “There’s nothing to worry about.”

You scoff. “Says who?”

“Me. He’s not stupid enough to try anything.”

“Do you know that for certain?” You challenge, shooting him a cutting look. He doesn’t respond. “Exactly. So—“

Something smacks against your face. It’s the paper, you realize. He shut you up by holding the paper against your face.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with your arguing.”

Your eyes narrow behind the paper. “I don’t care what you’re in the mood for.”

He presses harder. “Hush.”

“You trying to suffocate me?”

“Stop talking, you little imp.”

And you do. Something in his commanding tone has your mouth snapping shut and—embarrassingly—heat pooling in your belly. You’re thankful for the paper covering your face at this moment.

He then removes it and ceremoniously burns it over the candle. You both watch the flames consume it, the white turning to black and then to ash. The smoke swirls up and hangs in the air.

That feeling returns again, like a warm blanket being tucked around you.

“You couldn’t have let me do that?” You ask him with a playful smile.

He shrugs, smiling as well. “No.”

“Bastard . . . . can we burn the rest of them?”

“No.”

With both of you hard at work, it doesn’t take long for your stacks to dwindle and disappear. By the time you finish, the candle has nearly burnt out. The room is dark save for a faint amber glow. You’re thoroughly exhausted, yawning every few seconds.

Your heart starts to race again when you exit the building. Miguel’s ears twitch, then he offers to walk you home. Your pulse slows.

“I mean it,” he says as you walk. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

And you laugh. “You really can’t stand not winning an argument, huh?” He lowers his chin and fixes you with a look. “Fine. If it makes you happy, your highness, then I will agree with you.”

He grumbles under his breath.

The next day is another normal day of work. At least, that’s what you think at first.

“See you later, Hobie!”

“Cause trouble out there,” he calls from inside the house.

“I’ll try!” You yell back, then open the door and blink at the figure waiting for you. “Cecil?”

The lizard hybrid grins. “Heya. How’re you today?”

“Um, I’m okay. Do you need something?” You ask, racking your brain for an explanation as to why she would be here.

Her smile grows. “I’m going to be your bodyguard while you work today!”

You blink, confused. “Bodyguard?”

“Yup! You know that boss guy? Uhh, I think his name’s Michael . . ?”

“Miguel?”

“Miguel! That’s it. Yeah he asked me to keep an eye on you while you’re working and stuff.” She puts a hand on her chin thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that, though.”

For a few more moments, you stand there, flabbergasted. Then you smile, shaking your head in disbelief. Maybe your cheeks redden. Maybe your heart skips a beat. Who’s to say?

~~~

Down in the most Southern part of the city is a massive cornfield. It’s the biggest field in the entire city. With it being so large, it requires many, many hands to help harvest the corn. Those who help get shares of the haul, and of course you had to pay a visit. You learn very quickly that everyone jumps in at the chance to get some of it.

You’d spotted Jess and her husband amidst the rows of corn, as well as Peter, his wife, and Mayday. Hobie and his friends were here somewhere, though you wonder if they were actually doing anything. Even Miguel and Gabriella were here. Naturally, the young girl had gravitated towards you.

That’s how you’ve found yourself filling baskets with ears of corn for the better part of the day with the two wolves at your side. Gabriella jumps from stalk to stalk—no specific pattern—claiming that she was going to gather the biggest ears of them all.

You watch her zip around fondly before turning and focusing on your own basket. Boris, thankfully, hasn’t been on your mind lately. You suppose you have Miguel to thank for that. Even now, simply being next to him puts you at ease.

“Thank you, by the way,” you murmur softly.

“For what?”

You grin. You both knew what you were talking about. “For asking Cecil to watch over me.”

He pauses briefly, then resumes picking. “I don’t know what you are referring to.”

“You know, it’s adorable that you think she would be able to keep it a secret. I think she managed not to say anything for, what?” You pause for emphasis, “twenty seconds?”

His ears flatten; he grumbles something in that language you hear him talking in sometimes—mostly when he’s upset. You laugh at his grumpiness.

“Had to give that woman something to do,” he huffs. “Seems like she’s always running around causing something.”

“Well, whatever the reason, thank you again.” Your cheeks hurt from how wide your smile is. He doesn’t respond. “Oh come on, it can’t be that hard to say ‘you’re welcome,’ can it?”

Miguel stares at you before shaking his head. His mouth opens, like he’s about to say it, but Gabriella suddenly reappears between you two. You look down at her.

But she’s not smiling. She’s wearing a suspicious expression, looking at Miguel, then at you, then back at Miguel. Your smile falls under her intense scrutiny.

Without warning, she drops her basket and grabs your hand. Then she begins to tug you away.

“Uh—wha—Gabi?”

“Gabriella, where are you going?”

She sticks her tongue out at Miguel. “We’re going to pick in a different part of the field! You’re not allowed to come. No boys.”

“Just—don’t go far!” He calls as you disappear around the corner. Despite his warning, the young girl leads you deep into the cornfield. She’s got an iron grip on your wrist, and you know that you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to.

Finally, she stops and releases you. She spins around, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s at times like these where she’s an exact replica of her father. The look she’s giving you—not unlike Miguel’s looks—makes you shrink back.

But then, she smiles. It’s a smile that radiates pure smugness. “You like my papi, don’t you?”

It takes several moments for her words to sink in. When they do, your face turns bright red.

“That’s—I’m—What are you talking about?!” You splutter, your head impossibly warm.

Gabriella cackles. “I knew it! You do! You like him!” She exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at you.

“You don’t know that!”

“Then why aren’t you denying it?”

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You’re at a complete loss for words. It’s because, deep down, you know she’s right. On some level, you were attracted to Miguel. You weren’t head over heels (not yet), but you liked him.

You liked Miguel O’Hara.

“Okay, listen here,” you relent. “This stays between you and me, understand young lady?” She merely cheers, fist pumping the air. “Gabriella!”

“You owe me now! I know your secret!”

“Yes yes, you are very clever.” You catch her head in your hands, squishing her cheeks together. “But I know you like that boy on your team, so don’t get any funny ideas.”

She gasps, betrayed. “You would never!”

“Oh, but I would. You’d better watch yourself, missy.”

You laugh when she rips herself from your grasp and pouts a few feet away. “I thought I was being sneaky . . . “

“Gabi, giving him every bug you find isn’t being sneaky,” you chuckle. She harrumphs before extending her pinky.

“Pinky promise then. No sharing secrets.”

With a smile, you intertwine your fingers. “Pinky promise.”

Her frown melts into a grin. The two of you smile together, lost in your own world. And for a moment, you know it’s this. This is why you saved her from that horrid place. It was so she could continue smiling so brightly. The fact that you were here—beaming along with her—was a miracle in itself. You don’t think you could’ve gotten more lucky.

Then after this, you’ll return to Miguel. Gabriella will probably giggle to herself. Miguel will ask what happened and you’ll reply nothing. He’ll be his usual grumpy self. Life will carry on as normal.

But none of that happens.

Because when you glance up, you meet a furious amber glare among the rows of corn. You feel your blood freeze in every vein and artery of your body.

Just tricks of your mind. You blink. But the illusion doesn’t disappear. The more you blink, wishing—willing—it away, it only comes closer.

And then you realize. It’s not a trick.

Watch your back, human.

You should’ve been more careful.

With a roar, Boris launches himself towards you. In a split-second decision you tackle Gabriella to the ground, avoiding the bear hybrid as he lands in the spot you just were. Gabriella gasps.

He grunts, whirling around to face you. For a few seconds, you just stare at each other. You try to will your body to move, but you can’t. You’re stuck and your brain was still trying to catch up.

Gabriella hyperventilates in your arms. And then she screams.

Everything in the next second is a blur. You shoot to your feet just as Boris charges towards you. Then you’re running with the young girl still wailing in your arms. And you try to run as fast as you can. By everything that is holy, you try to will yourself to be faster because you know that if you’re not then everything you’ve done will have been for nothing.

And, still, fate is so cruel. Something sharp and painful snags your ankle, pulling your leg out from under you. Your chin hits the ground with a heavy thud and your jaws smack together so hard it feels like your skull rattles. Gabriella tumbles from your arms, falling to the floor as you’re dragged backwards.

Through your hazy vision, you see her staring at you, terrified. “Run, Gabriella!” You manage to yell. She pushes herself up to her feet, tears flowing down her little face. “Run! Find Miguel!” And she does. She runs and runs and runs. And all you can think is—thank god. Thank god she’s safe.

Something wet and warm starts to flow down your foot. You look back, finding that Boris had his claws hooked into the meat of your ankle. He was dragging you to him with a hysterical glint in his eyes.

But then you have another thought. You’ve finally gotten the life you wanted. You have friends, you have community, you have purpose. You were living.

And you weren’t about to let him take that from you. Not without a fight.

“Let me go you son of a bitch!” You holler, striking his face with your other foot. Boris bellows, and suddenly your body is flung into the air. You land on your arm with a loud SNAP! Pain immediately shoots up your arm and you cry out. But you grit your teeth, and when Boris stampedes towards you, you take a fistful of dirt and chuck it in his face.

He growls, swiping at his face. You take the opportunity to run again. With blood and pain bursting from your ankle, your pace is much slower. You look back, finding that he was coming after you much quicker than you could outmaneuver. When he catches up to you, you try to avoid his claws. But they catch in the fabric of your dress. He slams your body into the ground.

The air is forced from your lungs in a pathetic wheeze. You attempt to wiggle away, but Boris’s claws dig and dig and dig into the flesh of your abdomen. Then he tears, tissue and skin ripping from their place. You scream as nerves are torn, flaring bright and hot.

Your good hand flails around, trying to knock him away, trying to do something. Fangs—sharp, cutting down to bone—shred into the skin of your forearm. And you wail and yell and sob and beg for it to stop.

“Get. . . “ you hiccup. Your vision was starting to get blurry. Your ears were ringing. “Get off of me.”

And then he does. There’s suddenly no more weight over you. There’s no more teeth or claws, just blood pouring steadily from your wounds. You blink up at the sky, wondering what happened.

Then noises start to break through the ringing. Snarls. Scuffling of feet. Bodies colliding.

You push yourself up, eyes widening at the scene before you.

Miguel and Boris were not fighting. They were tearing each other apart. They were slashing claws and piercing fangs and heavy punches. Yet, even in your foggy state, you could tell who had the upper hand.

Boris screams as Miguel rips his ear from his head.

You could barely keep up with their movements, all-too aware of the severity of your wounds. You gasp, pressing a shaking hand to the worst of your bleeding.

Then everything goes quiet. Boris is still—too still—under Miguel’s heaving form. Blood was slowly pooling the ground around the bear’s head. Miguel pants heavily, claws dripping scarlet, his front stained with it as well. Most of the blood was not his.

He turns, and you lock gazes with his red eyes. The fury slowly ebbs away as he takes you in, battered and bloody. His expression cracks and softens into something remorseful.

And at this moment you don’t care that he’s covered in blood. You don’t care that he killed Boris. You just need him here, at your side, because you want to feel safe.

“Miguel—“ you reach for him. He’s at your side in an instant. His arm winds under your shoulders and sits you up, holding you against his chest.

“Mierda,” he breaths as his gaze rakes over your form, at the blood seeping from different areas. “Mierda. Let me see,” he orders, prying your hand away from your abdomen. He lifts your shirt, flinching back when he sees the gashes. He lays his large hand over the wound and presses, hard. You gasp at the burning it causes. “Okay, you need to breathe.”

“I-It’s a lot of blood, Miguel,” you whine, clinging to his shirt. You’re terrified that, maybe, it’s too much. These could be your final moments and it horrified you.

“Stop worrying about it and focus on breathing,” he commands.

“I’m trying,” you gasp, gulping in air. More tears start to cascade down your face. “What if—what if I . . ?”

“You’re not dying,” Miguel snarls viciously. “You are not. Do you hear me?”

“I do. But—“

“Shut up. Shut up. You are not dying and that is final. I swear to fucking Christ if you—“ he cuts himself off, mouth snapping shut. He’s so angry. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so angry. He’s scowling at your wounds like they’re the bane of his existence. “You are not dying,” he repeats with conviction.

“Is that an order?” You chuckle wetly.

“Yes. Now breathe, por dios.”

“Okay.” You focus on taking a few steady breaths of air. “W-where is Gabi?”

“She’s safe.“ His voice is strained. You don’t know why. Worry, maybe?

All you can do is breathe out in relief. Then you groan, something cold and numb digging into your body. It takes root in your gut and it starts to spread throughout your body. Your vision darkens. And, suddenly, you’re exhausted.

“Miguel, I’m so . . . so tired,” you hiccough. His eyes snap to yours in alarm. You look up at him, sweat dripping down your face. “That’s . . . probably a bad sign, right?”

“Stop it,” he hisses. He presses against your wound harder. “Stay awake.”

“I just—“ You swallow thickly. You just wanted to live longer. You just wanted more time. You just wanted to keep waking up in this beautiful place and interact with your easygoing roommate and the funny little wolf girl whom you thought of as a daughter and her grumpy and sarcastic father. And you weren’t going to be able to do that anymore. “Thank you, Miguel. Thank you for trying.”

He’s saying something low and angry and it’s probably annorder for you to shut the fuck up, but your eyes are already drooping.

You don’t fall asleep, not really. The world simply fades around you. Sounds become hums in your ear. Your vision blurs until all you see are colors. Even your thoughts start to escape you.

You’re aware of very little for a long time after that. There are more hums—voices, perhaps—and more blurry faces flashing in front of your vision. Then you feel yourself become weightless: you’re being moved. Your back is laid against something that feels like heaven.

Something stings against your abdomen, your ankle, and your forearm. You try to tell whatever it is to stop because it hurts. But they don’t listen. There’s a soft pressure wrapping around your limbs. The trickling of warm liquid down your skin stops.

Someone’s grabbing your hand, someone with a palm much smaller than your own. And you try so hard to squeeze back, but you can’t. Your muscles were growing more and more heavy.

And then, your eyes finally slide shut. The darkness takes you.

Chapter Text

Miguel is a man ruled by facts and logic. It’s how he’s lived his life and how he’s government his city. Peter says it makes him cold, but he doesn’t see any other way of living to be optimal. He has people to lead, people to protect. The only exception to his iciness was Gabriella, and his wife, when she was still alive.

Here is one simple fact that’s kept his head on his shoulders: humans are not to be trusted. Not in any way, shape, or form. They’ve taken too much from him. His family, his friends, his wife, and nearly his daughter. They were cruel and bred their cruelty.

When Miguel first saw you—cowering with an arrow embedded in your thigh—you were not an exception to this fact. All he saw was a threat. You were just a human who was too close—way too close—to his daughter. His instincts kicked in and his claws started to itch and his fangs started to ache . . .

. . . and then Gabriella had taken his hand in both of hers and told him no.

Miguel had been stunned. His instincts had receded as it finally registered to him that his little girl was here. His baby that he held in his arms when her mother no longer could. His pup that he raised, watched grow, and wanted to watch keep growing. She was home. So he did the only logical thing he could think of and hugged her until she complained that he was holding her too tight.

And Miguel cried because a part of him thought he’d never hear her voice again.

Then Gabriella told him that you were the reason she was here. You were the one who freed her and helped her escape.

Apparently, he owed his thanks to a human. And Miguel hated it because it did not fit with his logic. He should never have to owe anything to a human. He shouldn’t have to owe you anything. But his daughter was suspiciously insistent on helping her. That was the first red flag. He should’ve been more attentive, but his emotions had been running wild at the time.

So he did the bare minimum. He carried her back and ordered the doctor to fix her. That was all he intended on doing, until Gabriella wanted to visit her while she was still recovering. That was the second red flag to him.

Scenarios began to run through his head as he watched—angrily—as Gabriella stared at your sleeping face. (She had tried to touch your hand and he had told her no). You could have faked it. You could have manipulated his daughter to like you so you could wiggle your way into his city. You could ruin their lives.

Miguel was not about to let that happen. He didn’t believe you did this out of . . . what? The goodness of your heart? That’s rich. He knows your kind doesn’t have hearts.

Next thing he knows you’re awake and walking into his office behind Jess and he hated it. He hated you. He hated the polite way you held yourself because he knew you must’ve been faking it. He hated the way you looked at Mayday so tenderly because he knew you must’ve been pretending. He hated how meek you were acting because it must’ve been a ruse.

He wanted nothing more than to send you away. Luckily, that seemed to be a plausible option. And that’s what he intended to do. He’d never have to worry about you ever again.

Then Gabriella revealed she had pack-bonded with you. Miguel was furious. Not at his little girl—never at her—he was angry at you. It was so easy to blame you for all his problems.

So he allowed you to stay, but he was determined to erase his daughter’s pack-bond before it settled. It would take time, but he would do it. He would do anything if it meant you would just leave.

Miguel was also determined to bend you. You were still acting so civil, so modest. He wasn’t willing to believe that you were really like that. He couldn’t. So he pushed and prodded and poked and insulted.

But you didn’t bend. You snapped.

You snapped and—that was when Miguel first had the thought that maybe he had been wrong. You had gone through far more than he had realized. He just . . . didn’t know that some humans weren’t faring much better than the hybrids out there. Sometimes it was worse.

Part of him had been right. You weren’t the quiet and obedient woman you were pretending to be. But you weren’t what he’d thought you’d be, either. You were resolute and scrappy and considerate. This new you, Miguel was more inclined to believe was the real you.

And . . . he found that he didn’t mind it. He found himself appreciating the smile you managed to put on Gabriella’s face. He found himself looking forward to your banter. Perhaps the most bizarre, but he couldn’t stand the fact that you were scared of something. Something about your racing heart—caught by his sensitive ears—put him on edge.

It’s because you’ve been through too much already, he reasoned. It’s because you’re a citizen of his city. That’s why he’s worried.

But then that begged another question: why did he care?

He doesn’t have any reasoning for that one.

Sending Cecil eased his mind a little. He hoped, desperately, that whatever he was feeling would go away upon knowing that you were safe. It didn’t, and that frustrated him beyond comprehension.

Facts and logic. Facts and logic. But none of it was explaining the primitive instinct in him to keep you at his side.

(Actually, there is a very simple reason. Miguel is just too stubborn to consider it.)

Even Gabriella dragging you away in the cornfield made him uneasy. He looks like an idiot, ears perking at every noise and tail twitching nervously. He tries to tell himself that he’s worrying for nothing and he’s overreacting and—

—and then he hears his daughter scream.

The only time Miguel’s run this fast is when Jess burst into his office all those months ago, her eyes frenzied as she tells him Gabriella’s missing. And the feeling pumping through his veins isn’t dissimilar from the one he felt back then.

When he finds her, weeping and frazzled but unharmed, he nearly faints from relief. She launches herself into his waiting arms.

“Papi,” she sobs. “Papi—“

“Bri. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re—“ Then he realizes. You’re nowhere to be seen. He grips his daughter’s shoulders tight and asks desperately where you were.

She hiccups, her breathing shallow. “Th-the bear got h-her.”

Miguel’s blood freezes. And then, red-hot rage starts to thaw it. He leaves Gabriella in the hands of a hybrid who came to see the commotion and takes off once more, propelled by fury and fury alone. He follows the sound of your cries and the smell of your blood. Both only make is wrath burn hotter.

And when he lays eyes on Boris hunched over you—you, who was crying and bloody and bruised and hurt—with his teeth buried in your arm, something ignites in him. Something primal. Something animalistic.

Someone tried to hurt his pup. Someone is hurting his mate.

Someone was going to pay in blood.

Miguel tackles Boris off of you. And all hell descends from there. He doesn’t remember much besides his claws and teeth tearing through flesh. He doesn’t even remember gaining his own injuries.

He does remember the end, though. Remembers Boris lunging for him, only for Miguel to grab his head and slam his face into the ground. He does it again, and again, until the bear hybrid is unmoving beneath him.

He turns and finds you looking at him. For a moment he fears what you see, what he looks like right now. But you simply reach for him without hesitation.

You’re so small in his arms, so frail and cold. His heart aches in his chest. He’ll never admit out loud that you’ve lost a lot of blood. Even when you yourself say it, he denies it. Because—because he realizes he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you. He decides that he can’t, then. He won’t.

The image of his wife’s lifeless body flashes in his mind. He pushes it away, swallowing the grief in his throat.

You fall unconscious in his arms and Miguel panics. “No,” he murmurs softly. He shakes you gently, trying to get you to wake up. He presses a finger against your wrist, wincing at the coolness of your skin. “Come on. Get up.”

But you don’t. You don’t so much as stir, your face deathly pale. There’s footsteps behind him, and then a sharp intake of breath. “Miguel—“ Jess starts.

He whirls around. “Find the fastest hybrids you can and tell them to get a cot! Make sure the doctor is prepared to treat her.” She hesitates, staring at your limp body. “Now Jess!”

She goes quickly. Miguel lifts you, careful not to aggravate your wounds. He starts to carry you back to the entrance of the cornfield. There’s a crowd gathered as he walks, brought about by all the noise. They whisper as he passes, eyeing the blood staining his shirt and chin and you. He lifts his lips at them in warning.

By the time he arrives, there’s already a cot waiting, supported by two horse hybrids. Gently, he lays you across it, murmuring apologies as you groan.

“Go,” he urges after settling you in. The horses each pick up one end of the cot and slowly start to transport you. Miguel doesn’t stray from your side for a single second. He keeps a hand on your shoulder to keep you from jostling too much.

On the other side of the cot, Gabriella suddenly appears. She holds onto the bars and looks over at you, her eyes red and puffy. Miguel blinks at her before his ears lay back in guilt. He’d . . . forgotten about her in the midst of the chaos. God, she shouldn’t be seeing him like this.

“Bri,” he starts gently. Her brown eyes stay focused on your unconscious face. “You should go home. I’ll be there soon.”

“No,” she answers immediately. “I’m not leaving her.”

Well, Miguel supposes he can’t argue with that. It’s hard to separate two people with a pack-bond. He should know.

He casts another glance at your pained expression.

The doctor, thankfully, is ready when they arrive. Miguel carries you inside, laying you down on one of the beds. Your face relaxes instantly. Gabriella tries to squeeze your hand, and Miguel swears he sees your fingers twitch.

“Okay, I need you to leave while I work,” the bunny hybrid orders, pouring alcohol over a rag. She presses it to your ankle, and you whimper in pain.

Protectiveness swells in his rib cage. “You’re hurting her,” he growls, taking a step forward.

The doctor eyes him warily. “I need to clean the wounds. Now out.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She glares at him, despite his anger. “I need to remove her clothes. If you want to give her some privacy, then leave.”

Miguel’s jaw ticks. Hesitantly, he exits, but not before shooting one more glance back at you. He doesn’t go far; he sits outside, ears straining for even the slightest noise. Gabriella joins him after a moment, burrowing into his side. He wraps an arm around her.

Her body begins to tremble. “She’s not gonna die,” she whispers. It’s a statement, but Miguel knows that it’s really a question. Years of being a father have taught him that she’s seeking reassurance from him.

“No,” he agrees, feeling Gabriella relax next to him. “She’s not.”

“Good. I n-never told her why I pack-bonded with her,” she mumbles shakily. “Or taught her the fall constellations.”

He holds her tighter and presses a kiss to her head as she cries. The two stay like that as the sun disappears over the horizon. At some point, she falls asleep curled up against him. Miguel stares at the night sky, his mind blissfully blank. The sound of your steady, slow heartbeat keeps him at ease.

No, you were not going to die. For some reason, the thought makes him sag in relief.

Miguel spies Peter walking towards him. He doesn’t acknowledge the fox’s presence, even when he’s standing right next to him. Peter glances through the window to peer at you. Miguel frowns, unreasonably annoyed that he’s looking at you.

His friend’s gaze slowly retracts back to him, something like pity and concern in his eyes. “You should probably get some rest,” he suggests softly. Miguel doesn’t answer. “Oh, don’t give me the silent treatment Miguel. Everyone’s worried. Go home.”

He scowls. “Your opinion is unnecessary.”

“It’s not an opinion, Miguel,” Peter replies sternly. Then, the fox hybrid takes a few moments to scrutinize him carefully with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t like you. Why are you here?”

And . . . Miguel doesn’t want to answer that. He doesn’t want to answer why it seems like he’s incapable of leaving you, like there was a line tethering you. But, he’d do anything if it means he could escape Peter’s curiosity. So he stands with Gabriella tucked into his arms and heads home.

Peter watches him go with furrowed brows. He looks back at you. His eyes widen and his mouth drops in a silent, ‘oh.’ Then, he smiles, thinking it was about time.

Lyla greets him at the door, her lips pulled downwards in worry. She observes her leader move through the house silently, almost like a husk, like his brain was faraway. It frightened her a little to see him like this. The only other time she’d witnessed it was when his wife died and when he lost Gabriella.

“There’s a bath waiting,” she murmurs as he tucks Gabriella into bed. “It’s probably cold by now, but I didn’t know when you’d be back.”

He grunts, standing, his expression still blank. He walks past Lyla as if she wasn’t even there. She pursues her lips as she watches him go.

Then, unexpectedly, he stops. “Tell everyone I am not to be bothered tomorrow.” He continues without further elaboration.

As Miguel soaks in the basin, things start to wear away. Grime, sweat, and blood. But also, the instincts that have been keeping an iron grip on his conscious do as well. Slowly, he starts to return to himself.

And when he does, Miguel is frustrated with himself. He is a man of control. The fact that he slipped into something so primal makes him angry. He killed one of his own citizens, for God’s sake. There is no doubt that Boris had committed a crime, but he should have had a trial.

But that’s not what frustrates him. What infuriated him is that . . . he doesn’t seem to care that Boris is dead. He should be. He should be mad at himself. But he’s not, and now he’s mad at himself for not being mad at himself.

He growls, dunking his head underwater.

Why you? Why did he lose control over you? He questions as he washes his hair roughly. You’re not worth getting angry over—

His finger brush against your braid. He pauses.

He should undo it, he tells himself. His fingers hover over it, thumbing the band that kept it together. It would be so easy. Just one rip and it would be out. Just do it. Just do it—

Miguel finds that he can’t.

He huffs at his own stupidity, forcing his thoughts to other places.

Would you even want to stay? You had nearly lost your life here. The reasonable thing to do would leave, he thinks. If he were you, he’d leave. That was logical.

Then again, you weren’t logical to begin with. He sighs.

Would he want you to leave?

He decidedly doesn’t think about the answer to that question for the rest of his bath. When he emerges, donned in loose sleepwear and with his injuries treated, Miguel feels refreshed. And tired. He heads to his room, only to find a lump underneath his blankets.

A fond smile tugs his lips. It’s the first time he’s smiled today. Carefully he shimmies into bed, curling his body around his young daughter. She grumbles in her sleep, clinging to him.

It’s like this that Miguel rests, knowing that his girl(s?) were at peace.

The next day he spends catering to Gabriella’s needs. Lord knows she needs it right now. He lets her sleep in while he cooks her favorite breakfast. Lyla offers to help, but he waves her off, ordering her to take the day off. She does so reluctantly.

Gabi awakes when he carries a warm tray into the room. Her nose twitches, and her upper half rises. Even as she heavily sniffs the air, her eyes were still closed, indicating that she was still asleep. After a few moments, tired brown eyes blink open.

“Breakfast,” he explains simply, scooting into bed next to her. He pushes the tray into her lap.

She frowns down at it and pushes the food around with her fork. “I’m not hungry.”

He sighs, heart aching at her wounded tone. She’s hurt, and he wants to make it better, but he knows this is something he can’t fix. “I know, míja. But you should try to eat a few bites.”

Hesitantly, she takes a small bite. Miguel murmurs praise and gently smooths the knots in her hair. She continues to chew tiny morsels with his encouragement.

Then Miguel hears a sniffle. He startles, peaking at her face only to find her crying. Immediately he panics.

“Hey hey, mi ángel, what’s wrong? Why the tears?”

Somehow that only makes her cry harder. Miguel shushes and soothes her the best he can, drawing her into his arms. He holds her until the worst of it has passed, when her sobs are reduced to sniffles.

“I was so scared,” she whimpers.

Four words, and Miguel’s heart shatters. His head drops to rest against her small shoulders. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“And then she saved me again.” Gabriella makes a noise of frustration. “Papi, I don’t want to keep being saved.”

At this, Miguel falls silent. He owes you again, he realizes. But this time, he isn’t mad about it. He’s just sad that his little girl was forced to go through something like this again.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, grabbing a tissue and wiping her nose. “One day you’ll be the strongest in the whole city.”

She giggles wetly. “Like you?”

He kisses her little forehead. “Like me.”

She’s smiling now, and so is Miguel. Then, her smile falls a little. “Can we go see her today?” She asks, staring at her lap.

Maybe it should worry him that the answer comes so easily, because he realizes it isn’t just Gabriella that wants to see you. “Of course.”

Her smile returns.

Later, they make the hike up to the recovery cabin. Gabriella fiddles with her coat, obviously nervous, yet excited. Miguel won’t ever admit that he feels the same.

He’s aware of the murmurs on the street as he passes. He picks up a few words from conversations, none of them sounding positive. Miguel frowns and continues forward.

It isn’t the doctor who greets them at the door, but one of her nurses. It’s the new one—the dove hybrid that arrived with Cecil. She blinks at them for a few seconds.

“May I . . . help you?” She asks anxiously, hiding behind the door.

“We want to see the lady,” Gabriella answers, already craning her neck to try and get a peek of you.

“Oh, um, well . . . “ She looks like she’s about to refuse. Miguel glares at her, and she shrinks back. “I’m sure the doctor wouldn’t mind too much.”

With that, she opens the door. Immediately Gabriella rushes to your side, peering over the bed to assess you. Miguel approaches more slowly, eyes roaming over your form.

The blanket covered most of your body to give you some modesty. Thick bandages were wrapped around your left forearm; your right arm was held in a sling. Color had returned to your face and your breathing was even, steady.

Something in Miguel’s chest settles, something he hadn’t known was tense.

“Be careful, Bri,” he warns as she tries to shake your shoulder. “She needs to rest.”

Gabriella pouts, but obeys. She smushes her cheek on her arm and watches you. Normally, he would be itching to get back to work, but Miguel’s content to stay a little longer.

“I owe everything to her,” the dove hybrid whispers softly, blue eyes trained on the ground. Miguel eyes her. “If it weren’t for her, I’d be—“ She pauses. “I owe her my life. I heard some people talking . . . “

“About what?” He demands. “What were they talking about?”

His tone is too harsh, he realizes. He’s losing control again. He tries to reign himself back in, but he finds that the fight with himself is a losing battle.

The nurse flinches. “Well, they were saying how they’d prefer to . . . still have the bear . . . rather than her. But not everyone, of course! They were just a few—“

She continues to ramble, but Miguel tunes her out. He feels his lip curling involuntarily to show off his teeth. More anger starts to flicker to life inside of him.

Still? There were still some advocating for that?

His thoughts start to race.

What if there are more like Boris out there?

Miguel realizes that he has to do something. He glances at you again, at your injuries. He will do something.

He crouches down next to Gabriella. “I’ve got some business to take care of. I’ll be gone for a little bit.”

She tilts her head. “Can I stay with her?”

“Of course, but don’t go far, and behave.” He gives her hair a quick ruffle. With that, he stands, and heads to the door. His eyes were hardened with determination.

Some time later, the meeting hall is filled to the brim with hybrids from across the city. From outside, Miguel can hear the commotion. Loud, angry voices rise above the murmuring ones. It sounds like they were arguing.

He stands in front of the massive doors, his council lined up behind him. Jess wore a neutral expression, Peter looked confused, and Ben looked annoyed.

“A notice would’ve been nice,” the blonde cougar hybrid complains. “Aren’t you even going to apologize for interrupting my me-time?”

“No,” comes Miguel’s growled response. Ben straightens at his tone, shooting a wary look at Peter. The fox returns it.

Jess merely smiles.

With a resounding THUD, Miguel throws the doors open. Instantly, everyone inside falls into a tense silence. They stare at him with wide, nervous eyes. Those who were standing quickly move to sit. Not a breath is released as Miguel allows his piercing glare to rake over the crowd.

When he moves down the aisle, he makes sure each of his steps echoes in the room. His council isn’t more than three steps behind him. They must’ve finally realized the severity in why Miguel called this meeting, because their stony expressions matched his.

He stands behind the podium, looking across the crowd. “The meeting room will come to order.” A collective breath is released amongst the audience. “Things have come to my attention regarding the incident from yesterday. I am here to clear the air.”

“Uh, sir, if I may, what exactly happened yesterday?” Miguel’s cutting stare falls on the hybrid who asked the question. “It’s just that some of us don’t know.”

There’s a few agreeing murmurs. Miguel leans forward. “Yesterday a citizen of our society attacked another citizen. And—“

“‘Another citizen?’” Someone scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. That human isn’t a citizen—“

“You shut your mouth, old man!” Another hollers. Miguel thinks this person was in the group that arrived with Cecil. “‘That human’ has probably done more in a few months than you have in the past few years!”

“What did you just say to me?!”

Chaos descends again. Chairs scrape as people stand. Voices rise and compete with each other to be the loudest, because the loudest means the most heard.

A vein throbs in his temple. “ENOUGH!” He booms. Silence once more. “Sit. Down.” Everyone sits. “I am going to repeat myself once more. A citizen of our society attacked another citizen.” He glares pointedly at the hybrid who made the rude comment. “That is what happened yesterday.” Miguel strays from the podium, pacing across the stage. “When I started this city twelve years ago, I did so on the basis that this would be a sanctuary, a place of peace for hybrids. How surprising it is, then, that the one who breaks the peace ended up being a hybrid, and not a human.” He stops pacing, planting his feet on the ground. “I have made it clear that anyone who disturbs the peace of this community will not be granted mercy. That fact does not change when a crime is committed against a human.” He glares once more at the crowd. “Be mindful of this fact when you conduct yourselves from now on.”

“I understand your point, sir.” A squirrel hybrid rises. “I promise that I will not be aggressive towards the human. It’s just—some of us are worried that letting one in will be a gateway for more. You said it yourself. This is a place of peace for hybrids . . . “ She shrinks under Miguel’s intense gaze. “ . . . that’s all.”

Miguel considers her words. “I understand your concern. However, I do not believe this will be an issue. This was a . . . rare situation. One I doubt will occur again.”

“And—“ Jess suddenly cuts in. “—this human has worked hard for her place in this society. Next time you think of belittling her, just remember that you’re acting the same way as the humans you despise so much.”

The squirrel hybrid nods in satisfaction, sitting once more.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you murdered Boris!” A voice rings out. “What do you have to say to that, mighty leader?”

Miguel frowns. “Boris attempted to harm my daughter.” Not entirely a lie. His hands grip the podium tight. “I can assure you, I would have banished Boris if I did not do what I did.” He tilts his head. “All of you should know that banishment means death.” The audience shifts, uncomfortable. “That is all I wished to discuss today. If there are no other matters that need to be brought to my attention, then this meeting will be adjourned.”

After a few moments of quiet, a hand raises. “Will you be willing to answer petitions after this?”

Miguel pretends to consider it. “No. Meeting adjourned.”

~~~

They get the news the next night. Miguel and Gabriella are in the living room. He sits on the armchair, reading to her as she sprawls out in his lap. Then Lyla enters, her expression unusually excited. That could either be a good thing, or a very, very bad thing.

“Guess what?” She prompts, smiling wide.

Miguel glares at her. “Lyla, I’m not in the mood for guessing games. Just spit it out—“

“She woke up.”

Quiet falls across the room. Gabriella springs up suddenly. “She did?!”

“Yup!”

Tail wagging, she leaps from Miguel’s lap. Unfortunately for him, she steps on his crotch as she does so. He immediately doubles over, groaning. Lyla bursts out laughing, holding onto the wall for support.

Gabriella looks between them, confused. “What happened?”

“N-nothing!” Lyla huffs between laughs. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Okay then. Can we go see her, please, please, please?” She demands, rapid-fire.

Miguel raises his body, still wincing. “It’s almost bedtime, míja.”

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing she’s awake!” She yells, vibrating with joy. That wasn’t a false statement, and Miguel didn’t exactly want to deal with his adrenaline-fueled daughter. She’d probably be waiting outside his door at sunrise.

“Alright, alright,” he relents. Though, in actuality, he wanted to see you, too. “But only briefly. Then you go straight to bed.”

She nods. “Yes, fine!” She takes his hand and starts to drag him away. “Come on, before she falls asleep again!”

He practically has to run to keep up with her on the streets. Even after telling her to slow down several times, she seems to forget and goes right back to her original pace. Miguel gives up after the fourth time.

Truth be told, Miguel doesn’t know what to expect when he sees you again. Your last memory of him was stained with blood and tears. Part of him—though he will never admit it—is afraid. Afraid that this will irreversibly change the strong woman he’s come to know.

Gabriella practically throws the door open. The three figures inside—the doctor, her nurse, and you—all jump at the sudden noise. Your head whips around to stare at them, mouth parting slightly.

And . . . there’s something in your eyes as you look at him. Something like relief. But there’s another thing mixed in. Something more tender.

Something that scares him.

His daughter wastes no time, launching herself across the room and leaping onto you. You let out an oomph, the breath knocked from your lungs. Miguel takes a step forward, a scolding on his tongue, but it dies when he sees the smile on your face.

You’re smiling a true, genuine smile. It’s the smile you wore by the bonfire and when it was just you two in his office.

“Oh, Gabi,” you murmur, locking your good arm around her.

She starts to sniffle, burrowing into your stomach. You wince when she gets too close to the wound on your abdomen, but you say nothing. The doctor and the nurse exit quietly to give you some space.

“I was so scared,” she mumbles. “You were sleeping for so long and there was s-so much blood and—“

Miguel can see the way your facial muscles pull taut and how your eyes grow misty. You’re holding back your tears with every fiber in your being.

“It’s okay though, I’m here now,” you say with a grin, even though there’s a tremor to your voice. “See? I’ve never been better.” You flex your arm.

Gabriella giggles, poking your muscle. “They’re not as big as mine.” She makes a show of flexing her biceps.

He smiles at the antics, glad that you’re both able to fall back into the routine of your usual chatter. No one can interact with Gabriella the way you do, and he thinks she’s been missing it.

You gasp. “You’re right! I think yours might even be bigger than Miguel’s.”

“No way! Papi has the biggest muscles.”

Miguel doesn’t miss the way your face grows rosy, just for a moment. He raises an eyebrow.

But he can also see how your body starts to shake with every second that passes.

“Alright, you have to be getting home,” he cuts in, moving to stand next to your bed. You glance up at him, then quickly back down.

“Already?” She whines.

“I told you, it was only going to be brief. We can see her again tomorrow. Say goodnight and wait for me outside.”

Her bottom lip pokes out. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gives you one last tight squeeze before hopping down. You watch her go, still smiling, still trembling.

The door shuts. Tense silence follows. You nervously play with your blankets, head bowed.

“Uh, Miguel, thank—“

“You can let it out now.”

You stare up at him, brows furrowing. “What?”

“They’re gone. You can—“ he gestures vaguely to his face.

For several moments, you simply blink up at him. Then a tear escapes your eyes. Then another, and another, and another, until you’re crying before him. You bury your face in your hands, body wracking with your sobs.

“Oh god, Miguel—“

“I know.”

“I thought—I thought—“

“I know.”

“I’d never see you or Gabi again—“

“I kn—“

“I know you know everything, Miguel! God you—insufferable asshole. I hate you.”

And he knows you don’t. You know you don’t. Because if you hated him, you wouldn’t be crying about being afraid of never seeing him again. If you hated him, you wouldn’t be letting him ruffle your hair right now. If you hated him, you’d kick him out.

But you don’t. You cry freely, accepting his comfort in whatever he’s willing to give.

Chapter Text

Waking up is strange now, to say the least. It’s strange that every time you wake up, you have to actually remember that you’re alive. You have to remember that your last memories before blacking out were, in fact, not your last ones, though it feels like they should be. Your body and your mind had fallen easily to the thought of death; you’d been prepared to die knowing that there was no saving you. Yet here you were, trying to grasp the concept of not being dead.

There is a stark difference in the before and after of your blackout. The in-between is mottled and gray and hazy. Whenever you try to grasp it and understand it, it simply slips through your fingers like sand. So you don’t try to understand it.

It feels surreal to be here, with breath filling your lungs and blood pumping through your body. You should be happy or relieved. On some level, you are. But on the the other hand, you feel frustrated.

Someone had tried to take your life. Someone nearly did take your life. It’s a fact you have to swallow every morning; the edges jagged and sharp in your throat. Your aches and injuries only serve as a cruel reminder of what happened. But everyone else just seems so . . . normal about it. Like it didn’t even affect them.

A part of you feels irreversibly changed, like perhaps something inside you did die. And now you were trying to deal with the aftermath—trying to find the right words to pinpoint how you feel.

“It’s normal,” Hobie tells you when you try to describe it to him. “Your brain’s prolly just a little scrambled trying to take it in.”

You huff, sinking down into your nest of pillows. The only entertainment you’ve had since waking up is rearranging them every so often. Even now you’re moving them, if just to give your hands something to do.

“It’s just so . . . “ you exhale harshly, throwing your head back against the cushions. “I feel so weird, because I can’t forget it when everyone else already has.”

Hobie doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes linger on you before drifting away. “We haven’t forgot.” You eye him, waiting for him to continue. “ ‘s just that we’re more focused on the fact that you’re still here.”

And for some reason, you can’t focus on that. All you can think about is how you almost weren’t here. “So why can’t I?”

He glances at your hands, now clenching the bedsheets. A large palm clasps over your shoulder. “Like I said, brain’s scrambled. It’ll get better.”

Your body deflates with a heavy sigh. “I just wish it’d get better faster.” Another thought crosses your mind. “Part of me is worried that Boris won’t be the last one, though.” You look at Hobie, concerned. “What if there are more?”

To your surprise, the raccoon merely chuckles in a low, chittering tone. “I don’t think you hafta stress ‘bout it. Everyone knows what O’Hara did to Boris. Don’t think any of them fancy the idea of death. And if that weren’t enough, the bastard went and had a whole meeting about it.”

Your eyes widen. “A meeting?”

He nods. “Yup. A city meeting. ‘Course I had to attend, but I wasn’t really listening to half of it—“

“Hobie,” you scold.

“—but I’m pretty sure the gist of it was to leave you alone.”

It takes a few moments for his words to sink in. Miguel held a meeting? For you? It was already hard enough wrapping your head around the thought of him saving you (and how it felt when he held you in his arms), and now this?

What were you supposed to think?

You’re getting ahead of yourself, you remind yourself. He’s just looking out for his community. You can’t take that the wrong way.

Hobie’s looking at you smugly when you glance at him. Your face heats. “Shut up,” you grumble.

“I didn’t say nothin.’”

Things are easier when people visit. Hobie tries to as often as possible. If it’s not him then it’s Cecil or Lyla. Gabriella stops by at least once every day, dragging Miguel along with her.

But by far the one who ends up checking on you the most is Miguel himself, even when Gabriella isn’t with him. He’ll stop by, presumably in the middle of work, ask how you’re faring and grunt at whatever response you can chalk up. His red irises linger especially on your wounds whenever he visits. Then he’ll leave as quickly as he came, only to come by later the same day.

If you didn’t know how to interpret the whole meeting thing, then you’re at a complete loss with this.

Especially right now, with a plate of apples cut into random shapes sitting in front of you. You blink down at them. Miguel stands next to your bed. You could feel his gaze burning through you.

The apples were starting to brown at the edges. You pick up one that might be a triangle, though you’re not sure. You are fairly certain that Miguel wasn’t the one who cut them, though.

“Your knife skills are getting sloppy,” you tease him, popping the piece in your mouth and enjoying the sweet flavor.

He lets out an incredulous huff, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I am not the one who made them.”

You chuckle at his readiness to defend his cutlery skills. “I know, grumpy, I’m just joking.” The next piece you pick up is a sad-looking star. “Gabriella, then?”

“She wanted to give them to you herself, but she had a game. And she was very upset to learn that they would go bad by the time she got done.”

A small laugh escapes you. You could just imagine her, chopping up the fruits, or what her frustrated little face must’ve looked like. “Well, tell her I said they were delicious.” Then you recall what Hobie told you. “I, uh, heard you had a meeting while I was out. About leaving me alone, or something like that.”

One of his dark brows lifts. “And?”

“Well, thank you. That was . . . you didn’t have to do that.”

Miguel tears his gaze from you to stare at the nearby wall. Was he . . . avoiding your gaze?

“It was necessary,” he says.

You furrow your brows, confused as to why he was brushing it off. “It really wasn’t.”

His frown deepens a little. You’re not sure why. Everything’s just been so confusing regarding Miguel lately. It used to be easy: he hated you, then he tolerated you. And now? Now you have no clue.

Finally, he turns back to you. “Thank you for saving Gabriella.”

That wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. After a few moments, you respond, “you don’t have to thank me. It was something anyone would’ve done.”

He smirks. “It really wasn’t.”

You blink, shocked, before your eyes narrow. “Don’t throw my own words back at me,” you pout. Something rumbles in his chest that might be a chuckle.

Now you understand how he feels. Saying you’re welcome was tough for the both of you. For you, because you don’t like taking credit for things. And him, because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s done a nice thing—at least, that’s what’s you assume.

“I’m serious, though,” you tell him firmly. “What—“

“Dios mío, you almost died, how are you still finding the energy to argue with me?” And that has your mouth snapping shut. He said it lightheartedly, you know he did, just like his usual quips. But his words make your stomach clench and your heartbeat accelerate. Miguel seems to realize instantly, his eyes flashing with regret. “ . . . I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s—“ you release a sharp exhale, head falling to rest on your hand. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t be bothered by it. I don’t want to be bothered by it.” A pause. “But sometimes it’s all I can think about.”

He doesn’t answer. You’re starting to realize he does that a lot when he’s at a loss for words. And by now you know that if you don’t fill the quiet soon, it’ll stretch awkwardly.

Sighing, you trace your eyes back up to him. Then your gaze flickers to the braid in his hair. Your back straightens. “The braid is coming loose,” you comment idly.

He glances at it. You wonder if he even remembered it was there. For a few more moments he stares at it, his expression unreadable.

“You can fix it if you want.”

Once more he leaves you stunned. “I mean, I don’t have to redo it if you don’t want it.”

“Do you want to?”

“Do you?” You ask, mystified by the whole situation. He was being so roundabout with it and you just don’t know why. Why was this man only getting more and more confusing to you?

He gives you a long look. Then, wordlessly, he sits on your bed and ever-so-slightly tilts his head towards you.

Your mouth drops before turning upwards in a smile. Miguel must also stay silent when he’s embarrassed.

You decide to give him some mercy and not tease him. Carefully, you unwind the hairband and start weaving his hair together. Something in your chest flutters as you do so. Miguel wanted to keep the braid you gave him. You don’t know why, maybe you never will, but it warms your heart regardless.

“Miguel?” He hums. “Thank you for saving me.” Silence. Then a grunt. “I win, by the way.”

He eyes you, confused. “You win?”

You grin smugly back at him. “I said thank you for more things.”

Miguel merely sighs, letting you have the victory.

~~~

Jess gives birth one night in the cabin adjacent to yours.

It’s hard to sleep with all the noise going on, so you don’t. You listen to her grunts and groans of agony. Every now and again the doctor will tell her that she’s doing great, she just needs to keep pushing, to which Jess will snap back with a sarcastic remark.

Her husband paces endlessly and constantly asks if she was going to be okay. Sometimes you hear him gag and comment quietly on all the blood. At one point you hear a loud thud, followed by some very panicked yelps from the nurses. You huff, thinking the stress must’ve finally got to him.

This continues for a while after that. You drift in and out of slumber, awakened by loud voices. It seems to be taking forever. For a second you think that there might be something wrong.

And then—stillness. A baby’s cry splits the quiet.

“It’s a boy!” A muffled voice exclaims.

The baby boy continues to wail and wail. Jess is crying, you think, demanding to hold her son. And for some reason, you find yourself tearing up as well.

And suddenly, in the middle of the night with a new life entering the world, you have an epiphany.

Life keeps moving. Whether you continue to dwell on the past or decide to move forward, life doesn’t care. Lives are born, memories are made, people die. Just because you’re stuck here—reliving a memory—doesn’t mean everything else is. There was still so much waiting for you, and you couldn’t afford to willingly sink in the mud.

You fall asleep to Jess’s humming, a new determination brewing in your heart.

~~~

Turns out, both the doctor and Miguel are very opposed to your newfound courage to become better.

“You need to rest,” the doctor protests as you hobble around the cabin. There’s a wooden crutch under your shoulder, supporting you as you hold your injured ankle above the ground. It takes some getting used to—walking around with only one foot—but you’re starting to get the hang of it.

“I’ve rested enough,” you wave her off. “My foot’s almost healed anyways.”

“Yes, but you’ll reduce all the progress if you aggravate it,” she argues hotly, pursuing you around on your adventure. “The point is to keep from putting pressure in it.”

You wave the crutch in her face, almost falling over in the process. “That’s what this is for.”

She huffs, stomping her heel on the ground. Her glare follows you.

Then, the door opens. Miguel stands in the doorway, blinking as he takes in the sight before him.

You give him a small wave. “Hello, Miguel.” Part of you was hoping he’d be glad to see you walking around. But, to your surprise, his eyes narrow in anger.

“What are you doing?” He inquires lowly, marching up to you. You lean back a little as he towers over you, taken aback by his annoyance.

“Uh, walking?”

“You should be resting,” he insists, trying to herd you back towards the bed. The doctor nods in agreement, seemingly pleased that the leader was on her side.

But you don’t budge. You glare right back at him, vexed by his sudden overprotective attitude.

“I’m fine, grumpy,” you fire back. “If I stay in that bed any longer, I’ll mold with the damn thing.”

“You’re being dramatic,” he snips.

“Me? You should hear yourself.”

“You can walk as much as you want after you’re healed.”

“Well, I want to walk around right now.”

You continue to bicker. In the cabin over, Jess gives her husband a knowing look.

“I give it a month,” she tells him, patting her baby’s back. Her husband nods.

Back in your cabin, you and Miguel have a stare-down. The doctor looks between you, tail flicking nervously. Finally, Miguel sighs, pinching between his eyes.

“Just—go lay down. Please.”

You stare at him suspiciously. “Why do you even care?” Why did you hold a meeting for me? Why did you keep the braid? Why are you the one who visits me the most? But instead of answering, Miguel simply stares at you. You huff, turning away from him. “Well, if you’re done—“

A gasp is pulled from you when, suddenly, your body is lifted up. The crutch clatters noisily to the ground. His large, clawed, hands were planted under your arms. And he held you so easily—so effortlessly—like you were nothing.

“Miguel—“ you object, legs dangling uselessly. “—put me down—“

He doesn’t listen. Without so much as a a breath of strain, Miguel carries you back to your bed like you were some petulant child. He sets you on it, ears pinned back as he glowers down at you.

“Stay put,” he orders. You’re too dumbfounded to retort. He turns to the doctor. “Make sure she stays put.”

With one final, assertive look directed towards you, he stomps out. You’re still blinking stupidly at the spot he was. His hands left a lingering, tingling warmth on your body.

Eventually, you slowly turn to face the doctor, your mouth hanging open. “What just happened?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Annoyance quickly replaces your shocked state. You stand with a huff, ignoring her angry demands to sit back down. You start hopping towards your crutch. “Stupid wolf,” you mutter. “Thinks he can boss me around. He may be the leader, but he’s not my—“

The door opens roughly with a loud bang! Miguel glares at you.

Your body freezes, caught with your hand in the cookie jar. You’re in an awkward position, halfway through the motion of picking up your crutch. You chuckle nervously when his nostrils flare.

“Miguel? Miguel. I was just kidding,” you plead. He stalks towards you. “Hey! What’re you—stop! Stop it! Miguel!”

This time, when he leaves, you’re wrapped firmly in your own blanket. You struggle in the confines of your prison, panting with the effort. “This is humiliating . . . “ you groan.

The doctor shrugs. “Should’ve listened.”

Huffing, you fall against your pillows. Your cheeks heat involuntarily at the mere thought of how he was able to handle you. And—though it was annoying—his concern was endearing.

Annoying, but endearing.

~~~

Only when your injuries are nothing more than scars and a distant memory are you released from the medical cabin. On your forearm, several gashes. On your abdomen, four jagged, pink lacerations. On your ankle, a few asymmetrical punctures. If your back wasn’t already marred with the cruelty of the world, maybe the scars would’ve bothered you more.

But they don’t. You think of them with a positive mindset. Despite how hard you’ve been struck down, you’ve survived through it all.

It was rough—your first night back at Hobie’s house. The day was fine: Hobie had held a welcome-home party of sorts. It wasn’t so much a party, more like a small gathering. Pav, Gwen, and Miles had shown up to offer you their company. Cecil and Lyla had even stopped by, if only briefly.

But then you laid down in your bed and it just felt . . . off. It didn’t feel like it fit to you anymore, like you’d become a stranger to your own bed. Needless to say, you didn’t get much sleep that night. Only after some time did it finally feel right again.

Things haven’t returned completely to the way they were. Your broken arm was still healing, held tight in a sling. Sometimes you jolt awake at night with the memory of an amber gaze burned into your eyelids. There are times you walk around on the streets and feel a phantom sense of danger, causing the hairs on your neck to stand.

You don’t think it’ll ever be normal again. All you can do is try to get better from here.

The days grow shorter and colder still. Winter is approaching fast, and it reflects in the community. Food is starting to be stored away. Leaves are raked and thrown into the bonfire pits. Families start to ration. You wish you could help in some way, but with your arm, there’s not much you can do. Your employer had been kind enough to grant you time to heal with the promise that she wouldn’t replace you.

That leaves you little to do but wander the city and enjoy the last few breaths of autumn. You’re not sure how you feel about the encroaching winter. Gabriella had told you it’s her favorite season because there’s so much fun to be had. Sledding, snowball fights, creating fortresses forged from snow. Although your memories of winter are ugly and stained black, perhaps you can look upon it with a new light.

As you’re walking past a field with laughing children, a worn-out ball suddenly rolls past. You look at the kids, who cheer for you to grab it. With an amused smile, you chase it and toss it back. But as you’re trotting away, something catches your sleeve. You look back and down.

A small crow hybrid has a tight hold on you. She has an excited look in her black eyes. “Come play with us!” She demands, attempting to drag you. Her downy, soft wings flap with the effort.

You chuckle nervously. “I don’t think I should, honey. I’m hurt, see?” You extend your broken arm, but she doesn’t seem to care.

Then more kids start to circle around you. Despite your protests they all start to push and pull you towards the field. The surrounding adults chuckle at your predicament.

That’s how you find yourself running around, playing with a pack of children. They find immense delight in targeting you, whether it be to steal the ball from you or to try and slow you down by hugging onto your legs. There doesn’t seem to be rules to whatever strange game you’re playing. Or teams, for that matter, unless you count the kids attacking you versus the ones trying to defend you. You vaguely get the idea that you have to get the ball into the net at the end of the field.

Your heart is light and airy in your chest. Warm laughter spills out easily from your lungs. You’re living again.

At one point, the kids position you in front of the net. You probably have to defend it, you realize as they run towards you with the ball. It’s easy enough. Most of the time they miss horribly. The few times that it is going towards the net, you scoop the ball up easily and throw it back.

“Come on,” you taunt playfully. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The rabbit hybrid who currently has the ball puffs out his chest at the challenge. He charges towards you, the ball coming closer and closer. You bend your knees and crouch low, ready to catch the ball.

Then the kid skids to a stop, his eyes widening. The ball rolls a little farther until it sits in the grass. All of the children have halted; they were staring at something behind you.

Upon turning around, you are met with the sight of a broad chest. Miguel stares down at you, hands on his hips, obviously displeased.

You let out a long sigh. “Hi, Miguel.”

“Should you be running around like this?” He questions. His eyes rake over the crowd of children. They collectively gulp and back away.

God, why was he just—him? What was this mother-hen behavior he has with you right now and why was he doing it?

These thoughts have been plaguing your mind endlessly. And you’ve tried to not question it, but lately, Miguel seems to be the only thing you can think about. So you’re stuck pondering his behavior and attempting to draw up a reason why.

There’s one possibility that would justify his attitude. But that possibility is dangerous—the butterflies it sets fluttering in your stomach are deadly. It seems too far out of your grasp, so you don’t try to reach it.

For now, all you can do is try and put up with him.

“Yes, Miguel. I’ve been released from the medical cabin. I’m fully healed.” He looks at your broken arm. “Healed in the places that matter.”

“Still—“ he completely brushes past what you’ve said, “—it isn’t a good idea to be . . . frolicking about.”

You raise an eyebrow, unamused. “Frolicking about.”

His jaw ticks. “Yes.”

With a huff, you spin back around. “Well, your opinion is unnecessary. I’m perfectly fine.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you interrupt him. “Come on kid! Ignore him and take your shot.”

The rabbit hybrid glances at his friends. They only give him a shrug. Then he squares his shoulders, draws his leg back, and kicks the ball as hard as he can.

It takes a second too long for you to realize it’s coming right at your face.

Your head is knocked back from the impact. The rest of your body follows as you fall backwards, backwards. Miguel catches you with a slew of phrases flying out of his mouth.

“Hijo de puta. Sabía que esto pasaría. Maldita sea. Niño estúpido—“

One of his hands is flying over your face. Hovering, pressing against your jaw, pushing on your nose.

You blink, wondering why he was worrying so much. It didn’t even hurt. But then a moment later, stinging pain erupts all over your face. You can even feel the burning in your lips. Involuntarily, your eyes grow wet.

Miguel continues his panicked inspection as you fight back tears. You glance at the young boy, who was white-knuckling his shirt. He glances at you, then Miguel, seemingly afraid of whatever punishment he thought he would receive. His bottom lip trembles. Then he promptly bursts into tears.

Immediately, you push off of Miguel. “Oh no bud, it’s okay. It’s okay,” you soothe as he wails. You pull him into an embrace. “You’re okay. You’re fine. The big bad wolf isn’t going to hurt you, I promise.”

The big bad wolf in question watches the scene apprehensively.

With his cries reduced to sniffles, the boy recedes. He peeks at Miguel nervously. “I’m not in t-trouble?” He whimpers.

You shake your head. “Not at all. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looks at your leader again. “He’s scary,” he whispers.

“I know,” you whisper back. “Makes you wish he would just leave us alone already, huh?”

Miguel sighs heavily. “Can you please just come here so I can make sure your nose isn’t broken?”

With a pat to the boy’s head, you stand and head over to him. You give him an icy look as you do so. If he notices it, he ignores it, tugging you closer when you stop too far. He places his large palms on your jaw, using his thumbs to palpate your nose.

His gaze is so intense; his hands are warm against your skin. Had you been a stronger women, which you wish you were, you wouldn’t feel so lightheaded right now. Once more that possibility floats through your mind. And once more you push it away, embarrassment flooding your cheeks red.

“Mujer obstinada,” he mutters. “¿Por qué siempre te haces daño? ¿Tengo que mantenerte a mi lado en todo momento?” Finally, he glances into your eyes. You can see the exact moment realization washes over him. He releases you not a moment later. “It—your nose is fine.” A pause. “I have work to do now.” Then he’s leaving, the sway of his broad shoulders entrancing. As you’re watching him go, he unexpectedly stops. His stare is unreadable when he turns back to you. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

He goes without another word. Your cheeks still burn warm, even when the kids tug you back towards the field.

~~~

The first snowfall happened not long after that. You’d been at the city’s center with Lyla when it happened. You were chatting happily, eating sweetbread, when suddenly a flurry of white drifted in front of your face. Your gaze had been drawn to the powdery speck, and you watched as it floated and swayed.

Then another had followed it. Then another. Then another. You glanced up, finding that the whole sky was filled with the flakes. Lyla had shivered, complaining about the cold and how she needed to get back to the fireplace.

But you . . . you had simply stared. The endless flurries had captivated you in a way that you couldn’t described. As you stared at one that you caught on your finger—all of its intricate details—you only had one thought.

Winter might not be so bad.

It’s a sentiment that nearly changed the next morning, when you had went to open the curtains and were promptly blinded by the thick blanket of pure white outside. Hobie had nearly fallen off of his chair with how hard he was laughing at you and your subsequent attempts to close the curtains.

That day, the city had been alive with noise. Children were everywhere, playing in the snow and in the streets. You had watched, amused, as some used a sled to slide down a particular icy, steep road. Embarrassingly enough, you had slipped on the ice several times.

The day quickly faded into night, and gradually, the city quieted. You found yourself wanting to enjoy the cool evening, so you decided to talk a stroll.

Chimneys puffed smoke into the sky. More snowflakes fall around you. It was all so strangely . . . quiet; a peaceful kind of quiet. Almost like when the snow covered the ground, it trapped all the noise inside.

The moon was out tonight. The light it cast upon the earth made the snow shimmer. Every time you moved a new flake would glitter amongst the blanket. It was so pretty. You don’t think you’ve ever known something so beautiful.

In a moment of pure impulse, you lift your arms and fall backwards onto the snow. A gust of flurries are sent upwards from your collision.

For a long while, you simply lay there, eyes closed. You can feel your body growing colder. The longer you stay out, the more at risk you are of becoming sick. But you just couldn’t find it in yourself to move. You wanted to enjoy this haunting beauty a little longer.

After some time, you hear the crunching of approaching footsteps. You have half a mind to move, but the other half tells you to stay put. So you do, even as the footsteps grow closer. They slow when they come near you, then stop entirely. A few moments pass, and then they come closer to you, until it sounds like they’re right by your head.

Huh. That’s weird. You open your eyes, blinking back into focus. Your pupils attach to the figure standing above you.

Miguel stares down at you, one eyebrow raised. His red eyes were bright against the night sky. Each breath he releases sends a cloud swirling up.

“Do I even want to ask?” He implores, tone exasperated.

You grin at him. “You’re learning.” Then, “before you ask what I’m doing, it’s called relaxing. Try it sometime.”

He sighs. “There are other places to relax besides piles of snow. You’re going to get sick.”

With a great amount of effort you pull yourself up, dusting yourself off. “It’d be worth it.”

“No, it would not be.” You scowl at him. “Come on, you’re going home.”

“Says who?” You glare at his back as he turns away, like he expects you to follow. You spin on your heel, huffing. “Well I say that I’m going to continue this lovely night str—urg—!”

You’re cut off when he grabs the collar of your shirt and lifts you up. You squeak in surprise. Miguel fixes you with a cross expression.

You huff, crossing your arms. “I dislike you.”

He sets you down slowly before turning again. This time, you follow him. The wind picks up as he walks you home. You shiver, puffing out little cold breaths of air. Okay. So maybe he was right a little bit.

“If you go on a walk again, go during the day, por dios,” he orders when you reach Hobie’s house.

“Yes your highness.” He frowns, starting to walk away, when a thought crosses your mind. “Wait, Miguel!” He stops. Turns. “I was thinking. When spring comes, I was wondering if, you know, I could have my own house.”

Miguel’s expression is blank. “You want your own house?”

“Yeah. I thought since you’re the leader and all, I should run it by you first. I don’t know if there’s, like, a line that I need to get in, or if you need to approve it beforehand, or—“

“You could live with us.”

The words are stolen from your lungs. You blink at him. His words sink in. They sit in your brain, right at the forefront, playing on a loop.

Miguel’s face is aghast, like he can’t believe he just said that. You can’t believe he just said that.

You turn to him fully, giving him your full attention. “You—“ Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. You struggle to find the words. “With you and Gabi?” A pause. He nods. “Is that . . . a request or . . . a suggestion?”

He doesn’t respond for several, long moments. “A suggestion,” he murmurs.

“And . . . “ your brain is reeling, “ . . . why are you suggesting that?”

His tail swishes behind behind him, creating gusts of flurries. “You make her happy.”

Of course you do. You’ve made Gabriella happy since the day you first got here. You’ve been making her happy for all this time so . . . why now? Unless . . ?

Suddenly, that possibility seems to be right at your fingertips.

“And would she be the only one happy if I did that?”

Miguel’s irises flit around your face. Time seems to slow as his mouth opens. “No.”

Butterflies, taking flight in your stomach. You take a step closer to him.

“Would you be happy if I lived with you and her?”

Step.

Step.

His throat bobs. “Yes.”

Step.

Step.

“And—“ you stop mere inches from him, “—why would you be happy if I lived with you?”

You’ve never felt so confident under his intense stare. Never felt so confident in your entire life.

A searing hand—so hot against your cold skin—slides against your nape. And then he’s bring you closer, closer—

Miguel’s lips are soft and pleasant against yours. You close your eyes, enjoying everything about it, about him. Your entire body becomes warm and tingly and so incredibly safe.

This. This could be a life worth living.

You cling to the heavy fabric of his cape, pressing yourself impossibly closer. His hand grips a little tighter at your neck, and you gasp. He swallows the noise, breathing heavy into you.

Then he pulls away, pupils dilated, breath fanning over your face. “You ask too many questions.”

You smile big and bright, cheeks aching. “I know. It annoys you.” He huffs, lips quirking up into a small smile. “Can you do that one more time?”

And he does. He kisses you again, just as sweet as the first.

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispers against your mouth.

“Mhm,” you hum back, mind a little preoccupied. He chuckles before heading away.

You end up standing there are a long while yet, replaying the moment in your mind. It felt unreal. It felt like a dream come true.

When you turn towards the house, you find Hobie and Pav staring at you from the window. Pav looks like he’s about to burst from excitement. Hobie simply nods at you.

Your cheeks become impossibly hotter.

Chapter Text

If a hole magically opened up in the earth next to you, you would happily jump in if it meant you could avoid the situation you were about to be in. You run a hand down your burning face and pad up to the house. As soon as you open the door, you were assaulted by the ball of energy that was Pavitr.

“I knew it!” He exclaims, arms wrapping firmly around your middle and squeezing until there was no air left in your lungs. “I knew it I knew it! I could tell from the beginning that you would end up together!”

Too busy trying to wrench yourself free from his hold, you nearly miss his words. “Wha-huh??” You question, staring down at the red panda. “Pav, what do you mean you could tell?”

He unwinds himself from you, but keeps a firm grip on your shoulders. “I can always read people. Mhm. And I could tell from the moment I saw you two that you would one day be—“ he gestures excitedly out of the window, where you could still see yours and Miguel’s footprints, where he had kissed you, “—this!”

Helplessly, you look at your friend, but Hobie simply shrugs. Then you retract your gaze back to Pav, your expression incredulous. “He hated me when I first got here!” You cry.

“Okay, maybe not the very beginning,” he relents. “But regardless! I knew—mph?!”

His words are cut off as Hobie peels him away from you. Your roommate looks you up and down, gaze scrutinizing. You can’t help but shift under his stare, remembering that he wasn’t all that fond of who you’ve chosen to attach your lips to.

You’ve stopped worrying what strangers will think of you. But Hobie’s no stranger. He’s your friend, a little brother of sorts. His opinions are important to you. You’re not exactly sure what will happen if he tells you he doesn’t approve.

You like Hobie. But you love Miguel. Admitting it—though not out loud—makes your stomach flutter.

“Listen,” he starts. You wilt a little at his tone. “I don’t like the bloke. Think he’s a self-righteous asshat.”

You sigh. “That’s fair.”

“But,” he adds. You perk back up. “Seems to treat you right. So I suppose I’ll allow it. But don’t let him ever wrong you.”

An amused huff escapes you. “Thank you, Hobie. I won’t. He actually . . . asked if I wanted to live with him and Gabi.”

“You said yes, right?!” Pav exclaims under Hobie’s hold. He struggles to pull free, but the raccoon merely grips him tighter. “Right?”

As you open your mouth to respond, you realize that you never actually responded to Miguel’s proposition. You had been too preoccupied with, well, him kissing you. That thought has your joy receding like a low tide.

“Well, I plan on it,” you murmur softly.

Pav makes an excited noise, eyes practically sparkling. That brings a small smile to your face.

Hobie sniffs, looking insulted. “Just ‘cause I said I’ll allow doesn’t mean I meant you could climb in his lap already.”

Your face flushes at the mere thought of it. Before you can stop the flood, your thoughts get swept away. You imagine sitting on those powerful thighs or held in those strong arms. Maybe his red eyes would bore into yours, or an accented voice would whisper in your ear—

Based on Hobie’s disgusted look, he could tell what you were thinking.

“Don’t ruin their love!” His best friend defends hotly. “It’s still tender. It needs to grow and needs to be nurtured and—“

“Alright, alright, shove it,” Hobie grumbles. They push each other around the room, tussling playfully. You watch their antics with a smile.

Feeling suddenly tired and wishing to be alone, you excuse yourself to bed. It also served as a way to escape Pav’s questions and curious gaze. After you’re washed and dressed and staring at your ceiling, your thoughts can’t help but race.

The future is hazy now. You’re not sure what awaits you behind the curtain of mist, and you’re a little apprehensive to reach your hand through. You’re scared to find something that will leave you broken, more than you already are. But . . . there was also the chance you could find something that could carve a home in your chest, filling your rib cage with warmth with every beat of your heart.

You wonder if Miguel is lying in his bed right now, just as affected as you are. Maybe he’s nervous too, as improbable as it seems.

Perhaps his lips still thrummed with warmth. Yours certainly do.

~~~

Your brain worries. It’s an endless, incessant thing. A bad habit, though it feels wrong to call it that. It’s more than a habit; it’s been ingrained in your thoughts ever since you were small and afraid to mess up. But it does invoke the same feeling of shame that biting your nails or picking your scabs would.

Maybe you were destined to always be a worrywart—maybe it was a trait you inherited from one of your parents. You’d never know.

But right now you worry because . . . you never told Miguel you’d move in with him. Out loud, at least. Of course, you’d sang it in your head—you’d practically screamed yes. But in reality, you’d spoken quietly and kissed him like a soft lover when you actually wanted to devour him.

So you seek him out the next day. With a nervous, fluttering heart, you head to the meeting hall. You know that around this time of day he’ll probably be in the meeting hall. You could imagine him, slaving away at his desk. For some reason, the fact that you know his schedule pleases some deep, intricate part of you.

And yet, the greedy side of you wants more. Wants to know him from head to toe, inside and out. You want to know every expression that face can make, every sound he emits, what makes that heart thaw. When did you become so greedy?

You can’t help the nervousness of your heart as you approach the door to the back room. It was a kind of nauseous feeling, like the butterflies in your stomach had suddenly turned poisonous. You hope it means nothing.

Miguel is right where you think he’ll be. His eyes rise to meet yours. They widen momentarily, a small flush dusting his cheeks. His tail flicks.

“Hi,” you greet stupidly, leaning against the door. The dopey smile on your face probably looks ridiculous.

Miguel’s mouth twitches into something akin to a smile. If you had a tail, it would be wagging at the sight of that little grin.

“Hello,” he sets down a few papers, organizing them neatly.

“Are you busy?”

“I may be,” he tears his eyes away from you, swirling a feather in ink. You saunter forwards, gently batting it away from his hands.

You smile at him devilishly. “That’s unfortunate.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately, and your heart soars. “Okay, imp, what is it?”

Humming, you fix a few strands of hair on his head. “I was thinking about what you suggested last night. About moving in.” Miguel tenses. “And I would really like that. I just didn’t know when I should.”

When he doesn’t respond, your smile falls. You search his face, noting the way his gaze was now suddenly avoiding hours. Like a sickness, dread gnaws at your gut.

Then he sighs, gently taking your hands in his. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Your heart splits down the middle. “It’s a big decision, and you should think about it more carefully, alright?”

There’s a ringing in your ears. You can barely process anything that he’s saying.

“ . . . okay,” you murmur softly. Like a receding tide, you slowly retreat from him. His expression is neutral as you go, and you despise it. Little did you know, his tail was buzzing anxiously under the table. “I’ll . . . see you later then.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but it quickly snaps shut. A hushed goodbye slips past his lips before he focused back on the papers. You watch him for a moment longer. Then you wrench yourself away from the door.

Confusion. Confusion and anger and . . . hurt. You try to ignore the stinging in your eyes as you walk away.

~~~

You avoid pretty much everyone for the following days. You can tell Hobie knows something’s off, but he’s kind enough not to intrude on your problems. He just . . . lets you hole yourself up in your room.

That feeling in your stomach doesn’t go away. It’s nauseous—sickening—and especially bad when the tears start flowing.

You just don’t know what happened. Things were going good. So . . . why? Why did he pull away from you like that?

Part of you wants to curse him to his face for playing with the delicate string of your bruised heart. And the other still wants to beg him to hold you close. Both halves make you angry. This anger festers like a bonfire, slowly consuming your body until you feel ready to burst.

And, finally, you do. You throw your blankets off of you and stalk out of the house. A woman on a mission, you stomp to Miguel’s house.

It’s Lyla that opens the door. You’re both relieved and frustrated that it’s her. She blinks at you, taking in your expression. Without another word, she allows you to step inside.

“I just don’t know what to do, Lyla,” you finally mutter after a few minutes of ranting to her. She’s sitting on a stool at the counter, watching you pace back and forth. Your hairs ruffled from the amount of times you’ve run your hands through it. With a sigh that has your body sagging, you murmur, “I’m lost.”

The cat-hybrid considers your words. Her thin pupils follow you as you collapse in the seat next to her, rubbing at your temples tiredly. Slowly, her eyes drift away.

“He’s worried,” she admits softly. Your eyes snap to her face.

“About . . . about what?” You ask, dismayed.

“Not giving you a choice.” You blink at her. “He doesn’t tell me everything, but I believe he thinks about your past often. Trust me, we know unfairness in every kind of way.” Hazel eyes meet yours. “He doesn’t want to be unfair to you by not giving you a choice.”

Your mouth hangs open. “Then why didn’t he just say that?” You wonder bitterly, snapping your jaws shut.

Lyla sighs. “Listen, I’ll be the first to admit that Miguel’s head is so far up his ass that sometimes he can’t see. He’s stubborn and he hasn’t had to worry about—“ she gestures to you, “—this in a long time. All you need to do is talk.”

The anger inside you ebbs away at her words. There still isn’t a whole lot of confidence in you, but there certainly was a spark. “That’ll be tough, knowing him.”

She chuckles. “Yeah. Just remember, he’s just as nervous as you.”

You snort. “That’s hard to believe.”

For the remainder of the day, Lyla eases your worries. She makes you laugh until Miguel isn’t even on your mind. Outside. The sun slowly sinks in the sky.

And then you hear the handle of the front door twist.

Miguel enters, red irises flitting from Lyla, to you. They widen as he takes you in.

You swallow thickly, trying to hold his gaze without trembling. Just as nervous as you, just as nervous as you.

With the way he’s looking at you with a mix of apprehension and alarm, it’s not so hard to believe.

Lyla stands suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Alright then! I’ll go get Gabriella from her friends.”

Miguel startles. “Actually, I—“ Lyla shoots him a cutting glare. Surprisingly, his mouth snaps shut. He allows her to shoulder past him. A few seconds later, the door shuts, enveloping you both in silence.

He can’t be any more than a few meters from you. But the distance feels so wide. Close it, you tell yourself.

“I—“

“Have you eaten yet?”

You blink. He beat you to it. “Well, no . . . “

With nothing more than a grunt, he migrates over to the kitchen. You stand slowly, awkwardly, eyeing him with a cautious glint in your eyes. Then, when he gives you his back, you fully face him.

He’s avoiding you. The realization makes you blink rapidly, gaze falling to the floor. You’re avoiding each other.

If you didn’t do anything now—if you somehow let him slip from your fingers when you finally got the chance to grasp him—you know you’d regret it for the rest of your life. The entire reason you’re here is because you took a chance. So why are you shying away from another one?

You step towards him. There was a time, several months ago, where you did the same. Except that room had been filled with cages and rot. But the the feelings you have aren’t so different from back then. Nervous. Scared.

You’re reaching a hand out—reaching through the veil of smoke—and gingerly hold his cloak in your palm. Your head follows until your forehead rests between his shoulder blades.

He stops whatever he’s doing immediately, body tensing. For a few moments, you stand there, breathing in the scent of him.

You take a few steadying breaths. “I have a question,” you murmur. His heartbeat is loud; you don’t miss the way it falters. When his silence stretches, you take it as permission to continue. “What do you want us to be?“

Miguel bows his head a little, though you still couldn’t see his face. He was completely unreadable.

“It’s just . . . I’m so happy and confused and—I guess I realized I’m not sure what you want. Do you even want me . . ?”

No sooner than the words have left your mouth, Miguel is whirling around and crashing his lips to yours. And suddenly, all your worries are melting away as he embraces you like you’re his—kisses you like you’re his.

After your surprise washes away you reciprocate hungrily, pushing to him until he has no choice but to push back.

It’s far from the gentle, tender moment you’d shared that night in the snow. This is raw and carnal and passion bursting as you both seemingly let out your frustrations. You nip at his bottom lip, and he retaliates by dragging his fangs over yours.

When he pulls away, he’s panting with dilated pupils. His lips are a bit reddened and glistening. He steadies himself, blinking until his eyes are normal. “Why—“ he huffs. “Why are you even asking that?”

You frown at him, displeased despite also wishing for nothing more than to climb him like the massive, unyielding tree he his. “Because you—you made it sound like you didn’t want me to live with you.”

And now his brows are furrowing in frustration, too. “How?”

“You told me to think about it instead of just letting me—“

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured—“

“Then you just say that then, stupid.”

“Don’t be hypocritical, now. You were the one who avoided me.”

“Would you shut up and just kiss me, Miguel O’Hara?”

He growls, the sound reverberating deep in his chest and making heat pool in your belly. This time, he gives you one, chaste kiss before skimming down to your jawline. You suck in a harsh breath when his teeth skim your flesh. Then he’s moving lower, down to the column of your throat, tasting the supple skin there.

Your toes curl. One hand winds through his dark hair, the other clutching desperately at the muscles of his back as he sucks and bites.

You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t think of this. After a day when maybe your feelings got the best of you, or perhaps when his deep voice was like flint to the steel in your stomach, you’d find yourself up in the late hours of the night. The ache between your legs would be too much and simply squeezing your thighs together did nothing to alleviate the burn.

Sex—and pleasuring yourself in general—had become something unpleasant to think about at the estate. You’d never experienced sex that’s ever felt good. There was never time to make yourself feel good.

But thinking about Miguel made something reignite within you. Having him here, marking you up, breathing heavily into your neck, made it all too much. It was too warm. You gape at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut, small noises spilling from your mouth.

“I’m—hah,” you whimper when his fangs nick a little too roughly. “I’m moving in.”

You say it because you know that if he keeps treating you like this—keeps digging his claws into your hips and bucking into your abdomen—that your mind will be reduced to nothing but a puddle. Soon there’ll be no room for coherent thoughts except for him, him, him.

He huffs, tongue dragging up until it delves into your mouth. His half-lidded eyes are still so intense as they bore into yours.

“Good.”

“And you’re—mm—you’re—“

“Stop—“ he bends low, hands grasping the soft part of your knees and lifting like you’re nothing, “—talking.”

You squeak, forced to grasp onto his wide shoulders. You’re so far from the ground, it’s almost dizzying.

Miguel whisks you away, now nipping above your collarbone, determined to mark you top to bottom. But you want to touch him, too. Want him to feel the extent of your feelings for him. So you trail your hands up past his neck, through his hair, until you can grasp at his wolf ears.

The sound that comes out of his throat doesn’t sound real—some mix between a whine and a moan. His reaction spurs you on. He stumbles as you continue to stroke the soft, delicate fur before turning and pressing you against the nearest wall. And just like that, he has the upper hand again as your body goes soft and pliant.

“Knock it off,” he orders. “Or I’ll take you on this wall.”

He punctuates his words with a purposeful roll of his hips, and you could cry with how good it feels. Your undergarments dampen embarrassingly fast. But you’re not gone yet, and you give his ears one last rough tug.

He stares down at you, part incredulous and part pissed and part turned on. Suddenly his hands aren’t on you anymore. You gasp, scrambling to hold onto him as your legs tighten around his waist. His claws hook into the wall on either side of your head.

“Do you think you can come like this?” He asks roughly, directly in your ear. Your hips are pushed to the wall, his hard length pressing against your clothed clit. And as he humps into you again, you know that you definitely can. Biting your lip, you nod frantically. “Good, we’re not going anywhere until you do, cariño.”

You have no idea what the word means, but your heart tightens regardless. Sparks fly across your skin with every rut of his pelvis and it makes you dizzy with pleasure. It’s a promise of what’s to come, and that has your heels digging into his back.

It’s so unfamiliar but so welcome and you think you’d rather be nowhere else but here, pinned between this man and the wall behind you. He’s unrelenting in his conquest, bringing you closer and closer to that edge with every rough thrust.

“So wet,” he practically snarls. “Can smell it. No puedo esperar a probar—“

Your belly’s tightening and the feeling makes your eyes fly open. “Miguel,” you warn. He merely works you harder, faster. “I’m!”

Then at once, it happens. Your back arches from the wall and you feel yourself wind up tight. There’s a moment where there’s nothing—no thoughts in your head and a numb feeling in your body. But only a moment later and suddenly it’s releasing, snapping, flooding all of your sensations. A whine you don’t recognize as your own is torn from your throat. Your thighs tremble, your cunt clenching down on nothing.

“Sí,” Miguel praises as your eyes threaten to roll back. “Sí, sí, Buena chica.”

He draws out your orgasm with slower rocks of his hips, your body twitching from the sensitivity. Only after you’ve come out of it and slump against him does he peel you from the wall.

“You still with me?” He asks softly as he carries you to . . . somewhere.

“Mhm,” you reply, dragging your head up to kiss him sweetly. The embers in your stomach were heating again, not nearly satisfied.

Eventually Miguel’s nudging a door open, one you recognize to be his room. You’ve never been in, so as he brings you to his bed, you take in the sight. His room is clean and sparsely decorated. There are a few traces of Gabriella, like the dolls in the corner.

With a gentleness that makes you want to cry, Miguel lays you down on soft furs. You sigh as you sink into the heavenly mattress. When he leans back, you can see that his pupils have nearly completely engulfed his irises. His tail thrashes behind him and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Slowly, he brings up a hand to cradle your cheek. And your dopey smile falls a little, because his face has gone a little serious.

“I need you to tell me if this is okay,” he whispers, caressing your skin. “We can stop here.”

You place your hand over his, feeling veined knuckles. “I don’t want to stop. I really—“ you swallow, the words thick and coated with honey. “—really like you.” Miguel huffs. Your thighs part for his hips as he slots himself between them. “Tell me it back.”

“Isn’t it obvious by now?”

“Say it you, stubborn mule.”

He lays several kisses over your face. Your nose, cheeks, forehead. “I like you,” he murmurs. “I want . . . “ he trails off, his face unsure. His throat bobs. You raise your eyebrows, lowering your chin and beckoning him to continue. “I want to wake up next to you. I want . . . you to help me with this city. But right now—“ he breathes in behind your ear, “—I want to make you squirm under me.”

Your heart is beating unreasonably fast. “That sounds nice.”

He smirks. “Can I—?”

“Anything.”

He hums, traveling lower and lower down your body. Your cheeks heat, realizing his intention, but you allow him because god if that didn’t sound like heaven. Your thick, woolen pants are pried away. Miguel sucks in a breath when he sees your garments, slick and damp with your arousal. They stick to your center when he pulls them away.

You gulp, your puffy, glistening sex fully on display for him. He takes your legs and pushes them up to your chest, spreading you further apart.

“Hold them here,” he says—no—demands. You swallow, doing as he says. Then he’s descending back down your body.

The next thing you feel is his hot tongue licking a stripe up your folds. You keen, throwing your head back against the bed. This is so much better than anything you could’ve ever imagined. He closes his eyes, shuffling closer to you and lapping against you with more intent.

Then his mouth closes around your clit and sucks, and you’re gone.

You squeal, your entire body jolting. There’s flames licking up your spine, hot and scorching. You try to wiggle away, but he grabs your hips and brings you back to his waiting mouth. He alternates between suckling your clit and biting the meat of your thighs. Pain and pleasure mold and melt and add to the growing fire.

There’s not much you can do but take every flick of his tongue and every nip of his fangs. You can feel your arousal leaking down your thighs. You have a half a mind to worry about the blankets, but the other half of you can’t think straight.

“O-oh god,” you moan. Glowing red eyes flicker up, staring at you through dark lashes. Your thighs frame his head, bitten and red. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The growl he releases shakes you to your very core. “How long?” He pants, kissing your sex. “Tell me how long.”

“So-ah!” A sharp bite. “Long. Weeks. Months. I thought you were handsome the day I met—“

Riiip.

You look down, wide-eyed. He was ripping through your tunic and your breast band with a single, sharp claw. The tattered material flops to the side uselessly. Your beasts spill out, perking as cool air hits them. Miguel leans up, chin glistening with your juices, and with an expression that was absolutely feral. Your belly tightens.

He starts stripping, practically tearing off his clothes. You watch in a daze, brushing off your torn garments while keeping an eye on the more flesh he reveals. Bronze skin, rippling muscles, faded ivory scars. And then he was reaching for his trousers, hooking two thumbs under the waistband and dragging.

His hard, leaking cock slaps against his abs. Your mouth waters. He’s big.

The look in his eyes has you scooting up the bed. He follows, crawling after you like a predator with his prey.

“Months, huh?” He intones lowly, capturing your thighs and pushing them up until your knees framed your head. “The day we met, hmm? When I was yelling at you? Chica mala.”

“I-oh.” The fat tip of his cock catches on your entrance.

“Looks like I have a lot of time to make up for, then.”

He starts to push in, aided by the embarrassing amount of slick. Fuck, he’s trying to break you. That’s the only reasonable explanation you can come up with. He’s going so slow—slow for your sake—but the stretch is near unbearable.

You toss your head back onto the pillows. “Fuck, Miguel—“

He grabs your chin, forcing your head back up. “Watch,” he demands.

You whine, no choice but to observe the way he splits you in half. Somehow it heightens your nerves—heightens every feeling. You can feel every vein on his shaft as it disappears inside you.

He continues to push in slowly, rocking back and forth. “Maldita sea, estás tan apretado, mierda,” he huffs out, groaning. His face was twisted in pleasure.

It’s nearly an eternity until his hips are flush with yours. He’s buried so deep; it feels like he’s trying to come out your throat. You’ve never felt so full. And even then he grinds against you, like he can somehow force himself deeper.

Miguel pulls out, and it’s almost like he’s trying to drag your organs out with him. When you’re speared only on his tip, he pushes back in without preamble. The sensation burns less than the last. He continues to whisper praise to you as you get used to him. To ease the feeling, he mouths against your neck and palms your now-free breasts, squeezing pert nipples.

And when pain starts to turn into honeyed pleasure, when your whimpers become little mewls, he smirks against your skin.

“Feel good?” He murmurs in question, stealing your lips. “Tell me.”

“Mm . . mhm.” He chuckles, nuzzling against your nose. “It’s—oh!”

Without warning, Miguel slams himself into you. The slap echoes in your ears, sugary syrup suddenly spreading across your body. Your toes curl, fingers spasm, eyes go wide as you stare up at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Then he’s doing it again, and again, and again. You practically go cross-eyed, head lolling back as he fucks you with hard, slapping thrusts. Your entire body is jolting and your skin ripples from every impact.

He’s striking a spot within you that makes you see stars. Your belly is tightening again, stronger now, like an omen of what’s to come. “M-Miguel!” You cry out, clawing at his forearms—still holding you down.

“You like it like this?” He snarls.

“Y - yes!“

Miguel fucks you faster, harder still. “All that attitude, gone when someone crawls on top of you.”

“ugh, n-no—“

“Yes,” he purrs, looking down at where you cling to him like a vice. “I think so.”

Mercilessly, he pounds into you. He fucks you like he hates you and adores you at the same time. He plants his hands on either side of your head and it forces your legs to spread a little wider—makes him hit all the deeper. His pelvis grinds against your clit and your eyes fly open.

“Oh my - fuck . . . pleasepleaseplease—“

And then your back is bowing from the bed. Your orgasm was steadily creeping up on you, and now it was sinking its claws into you and wringing you for all you’re worth. Your thighs tremble, heels dig into Miguel’s shoulders, muscles go taut. He grunts, struggling to thrust with how tight you’ve become.

You feel like you’re dying and being reborn all at once.

When you return from whatever dimension he fucked your brain into, he’s still bullying his fat cock into your abused cunt. You wail, tears beading your eyes, the oversensitivity frying your nerves.

“Miguel I c-can’t,” you whine. But he ignores you, baring his teeth as he forces you to take and take him.

Suddenly he’s pulling out, flipping you onto your stomach, and reinserting his length back into you. A broken moan is pried from your lips.

He keeps a tight hold on your hips and keeps your ass upright for him to pound into. The noises are absolutely obscene. “Yes you can,” he murmurs in your ear, not slowing his brutal pace. “Need you to. Need to give Bri a sibling, yeah?”

“Oh fuck—“

You’re both delirious. That’s the only explanation for why he’s spewing such filth and why you’re so turned on by it. But suddenly you do feel like you’re able to take another.

And it isn’t long before you do orgasm again, crying into the pillows and clutching them tight. Miguel snarls, leaning over and biting your neck so hard that you see white. He thrusts into you three more times before pressing so deep that it nearly hurts. He makes a noise like he’s in pain before something at the base of his shaft is swelling impossibly, plugging you up tight as he spills inside of you.

You gasp, thrashing a little, but Miguel keeps you pinned with his hips. There’s little you can do but take it—take him—as you lay there.

“What—?” You try, but your voice comes out hoarse from misuse.

He releases his fangs from you. Something warm dribbles down your skin. Blood, you realize.

Miguel pecks your cheek, so gentle compared to the rough treatment he was giving you moments before. You lean towards his affection, breathing deep through the thick sensation in your abdomen.

“A knot,” he explains vaguely.

Oh. That’s . . . hot. Sometimes you forget about his animal characteristics.

“When will it . . . go away?”

He shifts a little. You hiss from the discomfort it causes. “A few minutes, at most. Los sientos, I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s all right.” You reach back and upwards, tangling your fingers in the soft baby hairs of his nape. “I liked it.”

A puff of breath on your shoulder. Curious, you reach a hand down, feeling around. Your stomach flips when you feel him protruding a little.

“Are you alright?” He wonders, pressing his nose to your crown.

“Never—“ you sigh tiredly, happily, “—been better.”

He hums, a claw dragging against your back. You realize he’s tracing your scars.

A few minutes pass before he’s able to pull out. You both wince as he does so. You cringe at the feeling of fluid rushing from you. After that Miguel gets you some water and cleans you up with a damp rag—both your thighs and the dried blood around your neck.

Then he’s tucking you into his big arms and pulling thick blankets over you both. You breathe contently, snuggling closer into the crook of his neck.

“I still have things I need to say,” you tell him, before sleep consumes you both.

“In the morning,” he rasps, and you can’t help but agree.

As you fall asleep, you breathe in his musk. You’re still a little upset. He’s an idiot, but then again, so are you.

Chapter Text

You wake slowly, wrapped in the scent of cedar and pine. Your entire body is bathed in warmth as well, most likely from the heat radiating off of the body pressed against your back. Upon shifting, you find that your lower half is sore, though not unpleasantly slow. It prompts the memories from last night to drift back to you, slow and sweet like molasses.

Miguel’s breath fans over your neck. One arm is thrown over your body, holding you tight to him. You smile sleepily. Your mind is full of nothing but thoughts of happy, warm, content. A stark difference to what you’ve been experiencing the past couple of days.

The worry that plagued your mind is gone now—a bad dream. Thank the stars for it; if you had to endure it any longer you may have gone insane.

He likes you too. He wants more with you. The thoughts have you breathing out a long sigh, sinking further into his warmth.

“You awake?” He murmurs softly, his morning voice thick and raspy. You jump at first, then relax.

“No.”

Miguel chuckles, the sheets crinkling as he shifts closer. He kisses at your neck, splotchy from last night’s endeavors. You hum in approval, reaching back to curl your fingers in his thick hair. You find the braid and rub it between two fingers. His clawed fingers start to drift lower, trailing down your belly.

“Miguel,” you warn after realizing his intent. He freezes instantly. “I have things I need to say.”

His heart picks up in speed, the only thing that betrays his calm demeanor. “Go on.”

You huff and roll over to face him. His red eyes flit over your face. “I know you’re worried about being unfair to me. But in the middle of worrying about it, you were unfair to me without even realizing it. You can’t just make decisions about what’s best for me without consulting me first.”

He sucks in a small breath. “I know.”

Your hands cup his face, cradling his jaw tenderly. The touch says I may be upset, but I still love you. “So why did you do it then? I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just want to know.”

Miguel looks away, sighing. “I’m used to making decisions. I’m a leader, corazón. It’s what I do.”

That makes sense, you suppose. Not an excuse, but a good explanation. You trace his cheekbone. “Did you mean it, when you said that you want me to help you with the city?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then that means we’re a team. We have to communicate with each other. No more keeping things and making decisions without me.” You lean forward, capturing his lips in a brief kiss. “Mkay?”

His lashes flutter shut. He chases your lips. “Mhm.”

He kisses you with more heat, more hunger. “Gentle,” you tell him when he wedges a hand between your bodies. Your mouth opens in surprise the moment he makes contact with your clit. He rubs lazy circles over it with the pad of his finger.

He’s softer with you compared to last night. More focused on loving, perhaps, than claiming. Each kiss is long and sweet and leaves you panting into his mouth. He swallows each gasp and every little moan.

“You’re so good, so sweet,” he croons softly. His head dips to press a kiss to the mark on your neck. “I love you.”

Your heart stutters.

The orgasm he pulls from you is small. It’s not nearly as earth-shattering as the ones you experienced the previous night. But it still makes your brain melt, makes your body fuzzy and warm.

After that, you climb in his lap and ride him steadily. He keeps his hands on your hips as you grind against him, careful not to dig his claws too deep. Miguel looks so pretty like this: with his hair tousled, full lips parted, cheeks dusted red. You still can’t quite believe how you’ve managed to get so lucky.

With him under you—splayed out and face twisted in bliss—you feel nothing short of a goddess. The noises he makes when you pet his ears make you feel powerful. When you generously squeeze his pecs, you feel like you have the world at your palms.

You start to pick up in speed, bracing yourself on your hands to help yourself. The angle has him brushing against that familiar spongy spot. You bite your lip, chasing the feeling.

“Miguel? What you said last - hah - night . . . about giving Bri a sibling-“

His hips jump suddenly. You gasp from the rough movement.

“Dios, can’t just say things like that,” he groans. He seizes control of the pace then, and you happily give him the reins.

“S-sorry,” you moan as he drives up into you sloppily. You move your hips into his thrusts. “I just, I want that too. But maybe - maybe not so soon.” You take a big gulp of air, struggling to get the words out. Every thrust punches them from your throat. “I just want to get used to things. Y’know?”

He slows then, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Of course.” A large hand settles on your nape. He brings you down until your foreheads press together. “Anything.”

This is how you spend the better part of your morning: lovemaking as rays of morning light bathe you both. After you’re finally satisfied and pleasantly sore, Miguel prepares a bath and a meal for you. Gabriella comes home later that day and doesn’t seem to notice the welt on your neck.

The three of you have dinner together. You sleep that night—held in Miguel’s arms—with a full belly and a pack-bond connecting your swollen heart to his.

When you do finally move in, you gently explain to Gabriella about yours and Miguel’s new relationship. She looks confused for a second before replying: “I thought you were doing that already?”

At the time, you’d been embarrassed, but you laugh about it later.

That night, she takes your hand and drags you outside, insisting vehemently that Miguel stays inside. It’s freezing, but she insists it’s important, so you hold your tongue. You trudge through the snow after her, laughing at how she stumbles through the fluffy powder.

Once she’s decided you’re far enough away, she faces you with a nervous smile. “I have a secret to tell you,” she informs you. Her tail swishes behind her. You raise an eyebrow and lean down when she beckons you. “I never told you why I pack-bonded with you.”

“Oh Gabi, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Her little brows furrow. You chuckle at her resemblance to Miguel. “But I want to.” Shaking your head fondly, you tilt your ear towards her once more. “You reminded . . . “ she pauses, swallows, and then breathes deeply, “your smell reminded me of mami before she was gone.”

The world around you seems to still. Your breathing stutters and your eyes go wide. “Oh.” Your face crumples. “Gabi,” you coo, pulling her into a tight embrace. Despite the snow and biting air, your chest was brimming with warmth. You hope she can feel the affection exuding from your very being. From the way her little claws grip your waist, she just might.

“I thought you’d be good,” she says, burrowing into her neck. “And I was right.”

Who knows how much time passes as you kneel in the snow, hugging the young wolf. Your knees were cold but god you could care less. All that mattered was the little girl in your arms.

The little girl who changed your life. You’re so thankful you worked up the courage to unlock that cage, all those months ago. It feels like a lifetime has passed. But one thing hasn’t changed, and that’s the fact that you’d do anything for Gabriella.

You lean back, cupping her face in your hands. Her eyes were a little wet as she desperately fought crying. You brush away the stray tears with your thumbs.

There’s nothing more you want than to watch and help her grow. She’d be a strong, resilient woman, and you couldn’t wait to watch her transform.

She presses her forehead against yours, sniffling. You smile, holding her against you.

Miguel stares when you return. Gabriella’s bundled in your arms, her body shaking slightly. Your eyes are nothing short of fond. The both of you are wet and cold, but happy. Miguel smiles and joins you.

That night, the three of you sleep in a pile. Gabriella rests between you, snuggled between your bodies. You and Miguel each have an arm wrapped around her, protecting her even in the depths of slumber.

It’s here that you realize nothing will ever harm you again. Your old life was behind you—merely a faded nightmare now. You were finally safe.

~~~

Seasons come and go. Months turn to years. You adapt to your new life. You don’t change necessarily, but you do grow smarter. Wiser, maybe. More capable of leading and making decisions for the people of the city—your people.

Miguel is by your side through all of it, through thick and thin, through tears and laughs. He’s next to you during the day and curled against your back at night. A presence that never leaves. You’d never want him too.

Gabriella grows taller—frighteningly so. You’re afraid she may have picked up some genes from her father. She jokes that she’ll be taller than you one day. You tell her when that happens she’s getting kicked out.

So much time has passed. So much so, that other things have had time to take root.

You sit on the couch, nervously bouncing your knee. There was no one in the living room. More specifically: Miguel wasn’t here. He’d gone to get something from the other room. And you’d left your book on the table. And he’d specifically told you not to move.

But he wouldn’t know, you reason to yourself. Your arms are crossed over your chest—over your slightly-protruding belly. He couldn’t. He’d come back in the room and find you on the couch as though you’d never left.

Mind made up, you carefully sit up and quietly pad over to the table. Years of living in the house supply you with the knowledge of which floorboards creak under too much weight. You perform a little dance over the floor until, finally, you wrap your fingers around the leather. Wearing a smile of victory, you turn back around.

He’s waiting for you. You gasp, expression immediately turning guilty.

“I told you to stay put,” he growls, herding you back to the couch.

“Oh come on, Mig. It was a few meters.”

“A few meters too many.”

“I’m not made of glass, y’know.”

He huffs, clearly disagreeing. Ever since you’d told him you were pregnant, he’d gotten unbearably protective. The day he found out, he’d picked you up and spun you around. Then he had quickly set you down, muttering about he shouldn’t be so rough (even though he hadn’t been).

From then on, it’d been orders to stay still and promises of I’ll do whatever you need. It was endearing, yes, seeing him worry and fret. But you were an independent woman, and your patience had rapidly worn thin.

Gently, Miguel pushes you back down against the cushions. Then he drapes himself over your body like a heavy blanket, one hand holding your stomach.

A relenting sigh escapes you. You tangle your fingers in his hair and lean into him. “Gotta go get Gabi from school soon,” you tell him, rubbing a fluffy ear in your palm.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he states. You tug his fur in warning.

“Don’t be like that. You can’t keep me here for the next few months.” The look he gives you says yes, I can. You frown at him. “I’m serious. I still have things to do. Bri’s teacher wanted me to help teach the kids.”

His mouth presses to your jaw. “That can wait, can’t it?”

You tilt your head until your lips brush together. “Nope.” And, “I’ll come with you to get Gabi.”

Miguel sighs, knowing he can’t argue with you. Especially when you’re pregnant.

Not long after that, you leave to pick up Gabriella. Miguel is practically glued to your side, coolly glaring at anyone whose gaze lingers too long. Some whisper hushed congratulations to you and you give them a beaming smile.

The citizens have grown used to you being human, just like you’ve grown accustomed to living in a world of pointed ears and swishing tails and fluttering wings. Uneasiness and hesitance at your presence have long since faded. They’ve come to respect you, and you them.

You’ve truly become intertwined with this place: every loose brick and sharp corner engraved in your heart, mind, and soul. It was your city, your people, your home.

Gabriella runs to you at a dizzying speed when the school doors open. But then she skids to a stop in front of you and gently hugs your abdomen. You chuckle fondly, ruffling her curls.

“Hello hermanita,” she murmurs, nuzzling your belly.

You and Miguel exchange a look. “Gabi, we don’t know if it’s a girl.”

“But I do,” she huffs. “I know it.”

And when, months later, your daughter is born, you’ll think back on that moment and laugh.

She’s born on a sunny spring day. You’re tired from the hours upon hours of labor you endured, but as soon as you hear her little wails, your arms are immediately reaching for her. She cries and cries against your chest and you shush and shush her, kissing her head, her cheeks, her tiny little hands—anything you can reach.

Everything about her is so small. Her nose, her curled little wolf ears, her tail. You’ve never held something so frail, so precious. You decide, then, that you will do anything for her.

Miguel’s eyes are wet when he holds her. If it were possible, she seems even smaller being held by him. He murmurs to her in his tongue and kisses all the places you did and more. And then he leans over and kisses you, a few tears finally escaping.

When Gabriella asks for her, you can see Miguel’s hesitation to let her go. But he does so anyways, instructing her sternly on how to support her head and her body. Gabriella does so perfectly, staring at her baby sister in awe.

“Hello,” she whispers, like the baby could respond. The baby’s hand searches, searches, until it finds her finger and squeezes. Gabriella melts, tail wagging rapidly. “I’m going to love you forever.”

Despite the exhaustion clinging to the marrow in your bones, you stave off sleep to gaze at your family with nothing short of unbridled adoration.

You name her Valeria.

~~~

It’s pouring outside. Water streams down the windows. The occasional lightning illuminates the dark and thunder rattles the house. Gabriella reassures Valeria on the floor, distracting her with various toys scattered around the rug.

She’s taken to the role of a big sister effortlessly. Sometimes you joke about how often she hogs her from you and Miguel, but really, it’s not even a joke. She takes Val as soon as you finish nursing her and steals her when Mig cuddles her on the couch.

You’re glad Valeria will grow up surrounded by love and support. She will never, ever, have to experience the horrors that you, or the rest of your family did. She will never be locked in a cage, or have to watch the light leave a loved one’s eyes, or be worked until both body and soul were numb.

No, you will make sure that never happens.

“Hey, Mig?”

He raises his eyes to yours. “Yes, mi vida?”

You watch as Gabi and Val continue to play. Gabi blabbers nonesense to her, and Val blubbers back whilst clapping her chubby hands. You huff affectionately, lowering your voice a little.

“Do you think there’ll ever be a day where we can coexist?”

We. Humans and hybrids.

Miguel blinks. You don’t blame him. You have a tendency to bottle questions and ask them in the most random, quiet moments. Like now.

He carefully sets the book he was reading down. “Why do you ask?” He responds carefully.

Val crawls after her big sister, squealing in delight. You smile fondly for a moment, before it falls into a tight frown.

“Because more families deserve to have this.” You meet his gaze. “We figured it out, didn’t we?”

There’s a few beats of silence. Then the chair scrapes as he rises and comes to stand next to you. He wraps his arms around your middle. “Not everyone is like us.”

You sigh, watching your kids laugh and play. “I know.”

The world you dream of is a near unattainable one, you know that. But you had thought the same thing back at the estate. So maybe, maybe, there was a slim chance that it could happen.

He kisses your neck. “Let’s just focus on the present, nena.”

Humming, you lace your fingers through his. He’s right. You have a city and a husband and your girls to look after.

Gabriella runs up to you, distraught, holding a screaming Valeria. Miguel rumbles a comforting noise, holding his littlest daughter. Gabi is hoisted in your arms and you tickle her sides until she squeals. You share a kiss with Miguel, smiling against his lips as your eyes flutter shut.

They were your life now.

There’s no other one you’d rather be living.