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Early afternoon light streamed in through the vast windows decorating the walls, all colors mixing and dancing and playing together out of the stained glass portraits reaching far to the vaulted ceiling. From here Markus could read the inscriptions, each hanging over a small shrine and altar for the respective deity, the five ringing the walls – Arima, Varasha, Morolei, Rahara, Shali – and then the larger, more prominent focus, Vaska, standing in the center.

Not that Vaska was any greater or more powerful than the others. The foxwolf turned his head and reached out for the altar, but did not touch it: almost all of this was new to him, as neither Kalla nor Oryon were particularly religious families, and while his hometown did indeed have its own Church of Vaska down in the village, it was little more than a private chancel that he and his family visited, contained within the subterranean levels of the manor.

And then it had always been his mother making that trip most often, carrying flowers or coins or sometimes something else down to the twin shrines behind the altar, carved figures of two wolves facing one another, holding paws with one while reaching out with the other, a sweet, gentle lover’s smile decorating their stone muzzles. Lucius, said one; Lua, the other.

“Look,” his mother had shown him once, “you can even see… your father was Alenari, and the sculptor perfectly captured Lua’s Doriani build. See his shoulders, the shape of his muzzle… his stature? He reminds you of Ellie, doesn’t he? Every time I see her in the distance, or down the hall, I can’t help but think for just a moment that maybe he’s still here…”

Never had Markus seen his mother shed a tear outside of the little House Oryon chancel, hidden beneath the manor. He looked up to the much larger statue here in the center of the Leyo chapel, this one preferring the representation of Vaska as a pair of deities rather than an individual. Two otters, slim and sleek, male and female, entwined in the motions of a dance; back home it was a single otter struck perfectly between the boundaries, outwardly neither one nor the other, yet at the same time both.

Take our hands, the inscription here read, and take yours, and yours, and yours. We grant you the seeds of our gift, nestled snug within each and every beating heart. They shall grow on their own, but thrive and flourish together, each stronger for each other alongside. Our plea to you: with our gift grow a garden, for us and for yourselves. Forever shall there be more to take, and more to give, so long that you care for and cultivate these seeds.

Lura’s paw, entwined with his own, gave a little squeeze. Markus jumped, blinked, looked down at the other otter… smiled.

“Rhea’s ready for us,” the mustelid murmured, keeping his voice down within the chapel. “Over there.”

So Markus followed afterwards, trailing behind, feeling somewhat out of place. The floor had been built from solid blocks instead of thin tiles, muting the expected tapping of toeclaws across the surface; he felt the smooth surface of the stone as he stepped, the divots for the mortar in between, the cool, steady presence of the earth. Lura led him off to the side, beyond the pews and the altars, and then into a small corridor that looked as though it allowed access to both the front and the back of the chapel, and then further still, and-

And still, somehow, she looked more beautiful than she had the day before. The simple, soft grey of the robe accentuated the stone-and-earth tones of her fur, each playing together to bring out the rich steel blue of her eyes even further; Rhea bowed her head to them as they approached, mouth quirked in a smile only slightly sardonic. Her paws came forward from behind her back, and on instinct Markus reached out for them, took them in his own, rubbed his thumbs over her fingers – and then jumped again when her lips brushed against his own, only for a moment. Then she did the same for Lura, crouching down a little bit, and kissed his cheek instead.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said, with another smile. “We’re through here. They were just about to start when we arrived, and I’d like you to see this.”

Markus glanced to Lura, and again they squeezed paws, and went to follow. Rhea brought them into an adjoining room at the end of the hall – and the foxwolf felt his ears flick and his hackles immediately tingle with the scent of blood and illness. So here’s where the real work of the church occurs, he thought, glancing over the city’s wounded and diseased, similarly robed attendants doing what they could to help. Here was a fox standing over a bedridden wolf, the vulpine’s eyes closed and mouth moving slowly, either in prayer, in casting, or both; at the other corner a bear sat with head bowed between his legs and his paws gently held in those of another priest; and then near the back standing over what looked to be a feline lying back in a bed, a pair of lionesses chatted quietly among themselves.

One lioness, Markus realized as they approached, and a lion, with a shaved mane. One of them tilted their head, then turned to look, returned to the conversation, and then glanced over again, visibly excited. The other looked as well, reached out for the first’s paw, and then the two shared a soft, gentle smile.

I’ve seen that look before…

Like a barrier, like a tangible bubble, Markus felt the warmth of their presence wrap around the small group as they approached. The jaguar on the table lifted his head and turned to look at each of them in turn, Rhea, then Lura, then Markus, then back to the lions – Osa and Sorrel. Moss green eyes glittered in the light.

Osa leaned in closer and brushed the back of a paw across the reclining feline’s cheek. When she spoke it was in a low, husky voice, touched with the spice of her homeland: “How is the pain, Maro?”

The jaguar grunted. “As constant as my wife,” he rumbled, “and just as annoying, gods rest her lovely soul. But seeing all of your lovely faces again,” and he turned to Markus and Lura, “and some new ones besides, I can almost just forget about it… and her!” For a moment the bed rocked with dry laughter, but then the jaguar rested his head back down against the pillow. He closed his eyes, wet his lips, breathed in, breathed out… opened his eyes again. “It’s strange. You don’t really notice how much an impact something can have on you until it’s gone, don’t you? People or… or pain.”

“You loved her deeply.” This from Sorrel, a little bit shorter, a little bit skinner than his counterpart, his voice a higher, warmer tenor. They shared a glance, then did the same with Rhea. The wolfess stepped away, her paw slipping from Lura’s – when did she take his? – to join her partners. “And still do, Maro. Death cannot stop that.”

“Can’t stop it,” Maro grumbled, “but it sure as Shali can slow it…”

Shali. Goddess of time, and of… what was it… death, cycles, rebirth, regrowth. Mercutio was once fascinated with the pantheon – the August, and the Abject.

Green eyes fluttered open again. The jaguar wet his lips once more and shifted where he lay. “You two… aren’t robed. You’re not tax collectors, are you?”

Markus blinked, caught off-guard. “No, I’m – we’re-”

“Lovers,” Rhea answered for them, now standing between her lions. Markus saw that she had reached down to take their paws, and that they had each leaned in to rest their weight against her shoulders. “Between themselves, and of mine. Well, I’m – just getting to know Lura. The otter.”

“And I’m Markus.” Beneath the bedsheets, a paw stirred; Markus reached for it, took it… felt the clammy chill of Maro’s illness trembling through skinny fingers. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Markus… of which House?” The fingers squeezed, then released. “You hold yourself like a noble.”

“Um…” He looked up at Rhea, then over at Lura, then back to Maro. “Just Markus, is okay.”

“Okay. Markus… will you also be casting?”

“Casting?”

Osa leaned in again. “Maro has a disease that wracks his body with constant pain. He visits weekly so that we may, through our gifts, soothe this somewhat.” The lioness turned to look at wolfess and then lion. “Are we ready?”

Markus had seen magic being worked before, as much as he reasonably could: reading and education had taught him that those naturally talented in such a thing had a different perspective of the world opened up to them, something akin to the fibers of thread woven into fabric, or something like that. He thought he could sense a subtle change in the air and the aura about the bed as the three across the table closed their eyes and focused; then Osa brought her paws together, lifted them up, and spread them out, and when she sighed Rhea shivered, reached out for her…

“Lovers,” Maro murmured, his head turned towards Markus. The foxwolf returned his gaze to him. “Four of you.”

Nerves shot through the foxwolf. He crouched down to put himself level with the feline. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No. No, no, I… apologize if it sounded like that. Not here, in the house of Vaska.” Maro closed his eyes. “Nor anywhere in the world. Lucille and I were devout followers. I still am.”

“Lucille…” Above the jaguar, the three healers began their work. There was a shimmer in the air, like the heat haze fluttering above a still pond on a summer day. “Was that your wife?”

“Yes. She was a cheetah. Also from Maldeth, like… Sorrel and Osa here. When we were together, she fell in love with a wolf, and we came with him here, to Leyo, and-” He grimaced; that haze fizzled down through his fur. Sorrel reached down to draw back the bedsheet, showing the jaguar’s emaciated body, lines of ribs visible beneath the skin, fur falling out in patches. “-lived alongside and loved him, the two of us, for… thirteen beautiful years.”

Markus rested his weight on his haunches. “Do you still keep contact?”

Maro closed his eyes. “No. He passed before Lucille did. He was more… her lover than mine; I was raised as a follower of Arima, hard work is its own reward and all that, and I could never fully embrace the… free love, that she felt. But it warmed my heart to see her so happy, and the first time I saw them kiss…”

A sweet flutter danced through the foxwolf’s chest. Three pairs of paws hovered above Maro’s chest and belly, the muscles barely hidden underneath reflexively working, tugging… relaxing. Rhea glanced over at Sorrel, who pursed his lips and leaned forward to look at Osa, who smirked and nudged the wolfess.

“It’s beautiful,” Markus murmured, “isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Green eyes opened again, glittering with held tears. “Until then, I had just… gone with it, because it was what she wanted, and she was my entire world. And then I saw them kiss, and I saw her with Vocis, and how he could make her feel the same way I did, and… I knew, then and there, that Vaska was the truest of the gods.” He swallowed and turned his head to face the ceiling again. “Strike me down for blasphemy in saying so, and perhaps they already have, for taking both of them from me. But the fact that we have something so beautiful as love, and that we can share it so freely…”

Markus’s ear flicked. Beside him Lura stepped away with a gentle brush to his shoulder, then moved to the other side of the bed; Sorrel looked at him, smiled, twitched his whiskers in questioning… then scooted to allow room as the otter, too, lifted his paws. There was that shift in the air again; Lura closed his mismatched eyes, let his lips part, took in a breath… and the other three shivered and sighed as they brought him into the circle.

“I come here,” the jaguar went on, voice softer, “only partially for the healing. I’ve lived with the pain most of my life. That is insubstantial. But every week, I shuffle my body into these walls, beneath this roof, and I see…” He nodded at the three and now the fourth, still casting over him. “Them. I see what they share, and I recognize it from what I had with my wife, and what she had with Vocis. I loved him, too, of course; it was hard not to.”

Even though Maro’s grip had slipped, still Markus held his paw. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. You would think it might ease with time, with the… ten years since him, and four since her, but it doesn’t. Perhaps a little less difficult, but no easier. Do you understand?”

“I-” Markus caught himself. “…No. I don’t think I can.”

Maro lifted his head, looked at him, lowered it again. “I can see that love,” he went on, murmuring more to himself now, “in the way they look at each other. It’s the small things, you know, Markus. I see Rhea holding paws with Sorrel and Osa, and I remember how it used to be for me. It’s the way they speak with each other when nobody else is around. The lights in their eyes when they make each other laugh…” His head rolled to the side. “The way… her tail wags when either of them looks at her. Vocis did that, too. It’s a wolf thing, I think. And just as They decree, on that plaque in the chapel that I have read so many times… Rhea has planted a garden. And she spends so much time tending to it, cultivating it… caring for it.”

Once more Maro turned to look at Markus, as though just remembering his presence. “Lucille kept an almond tree,” he whispered, his breathing slower, steadier. “We brought it from Maldeth. It withered under the change in climate, but she kept at it, and I helped out where I could. You’d think it wouldn’t grow here, but… all the care she poured into it over the years, the time she had spent, the blood of labor she had given to it…” The jaguar sighed. “Past the far end of the markets, up on that little hill from which you can see the church spire to one direction and the distant mountains to the other, Vocis and Lucille are buried, beneath the shade of that almond tree. And it stretches its boughs far over the hill, and in midsummer the children run around fetching the drupes, and I… remember the smell of the muffins she would bake, with the almonds…”

Markus bit his lip, and blinked, and blinked again. “It’s summer now,” he murmured; “I’ll bring you some. Would you like that, Maro?”

“…and days go by where I sit on that bench, littered with the hulls and the leaves, and I smell the pollen in the air, and I hear their voices… and I know as long as that tree lives, and it shall long outlive my frail old frame, then so too shall our love survive. And I see Rhea here, and Sorrel, and Osa, and now you, Markus, and… Lura… and I recall how lucky I was. How lucky I am. It’s so easy to forget. Love still lives, and love still breathes, and it always will… and so do I, so that every week I can again remember this, and how…” He shifted, swallowed, sighed. “How beautiful you are…”

And then he relaxed, drifting off into a steady sleep. Above him the four held a moment longer and then also stood back, the relief visibly pouring through them. Rhea opened her eyes, blinked, reached up to wipe at them, then chuckled softly to Osa beside her – who had to stand on her tiptoes to plant a kiss to the wolfess’s cheek, with Sorrel following soon after. Lura grinned as he watched, then again stepped around towards Markus, paws coming out to help him stand up. Maro’s paw slipped easily from his grasp, limp, relaxed.

“It’s a clever little casting,” the otter murmured, his excitement evident in his voice. “Sorrel’s talent is Air magic, stronger than mine or Rhea’s, and Osa’s is Earth – I don’t know if you noticed the incense burning, but it’s got herbs in it which… Markus, are you alright?”

The foxwolf looked across Maro’s broken body, and how easily he slept. “Yeah, I’m…” He swallowed, slid a paw away from Lura’s to dab at his eyes, nodded. “I’m alright. It’s… good work, that you’re doing here. All of you. I’d never thought…”

“He still grieves,” Osa rumbled from behind him. A warm, soft paw rested along Markus’s other shoulder; he turned his head and peered into soft hazel feline eyes, dancing slightly side to side as she took in the shapes of his muzzle. “Maro puts on a good face, but the pain is in his heart and his soul as well.”

“Most would turn against Vaska,” this from Sorrel, now at his other side with Lura. Rhea held the lion’s paw in her own. “After feeling so much love, only to have it ripped from them and replaced with grief. But for him it only strengthened his devotion.”

Rhea came around the bed and rested her arms around them. “It took some four months of his visits for us to hear the whole story,” she said, voice low. “Part of his treatment is seeing myself, with these two. And now you’re here, too. Maro’s love only continues to grow every day. Ah – Sorrel, Osa, Lura, would you… like to retire for a while, to catch our breath?”

On the group moved from this section of the chapel, through a barred backdoor that opened out to the short cropped grass and narrow garden surrounding the building. The shadow of the spire stretched out across the city here, and Markus gladly breathed in the cool, sweet shaded air, that now-familiar mountain pine forest touch strung through with the spice of the city. Lura held close by, one paw holding his, other stroking his arm; the lions stepped forward and found a spot to sit down facing one another, chatting quietly; Rhea led him towards them.

And then he finally had his formal introduction to them. Sorrel was the son of a small merchant family in Maldeth, and met his beloved through her running orders back and forth at a neighboring stall; the young lion began placing orders of his own under the guise of stocking his family’s stores, and made sure to speak with her a little bit more each and every day.

“He is quiet…” the lioness purred, leaning in against him. Sorrel bumped his muzzle to hers. “But he always knows how to say what he wants.”

“Osa is a romantic,” Rhea explained, leaning over at Markus’s other side. Her scent wrapped gently around him; his tail stirred. “She keeps flowers in the chapel, and I started replacing them with cuttings from my own gardens so that they would never wilt.”

The lioness smirked. “I noticed right from the start, but let her keep on doing it without letting her know.”

“I noticed that she noticed, of course.” The wolfess’s muzzle split into a grin. “It was like a game. Then one evening I heard Sorrel ask Osa, ‘why don’t you just ask her for a kiss?’ and my… heart fluttered, and I was certain they couldn’t be speaking of me, and-”

“And I had planned it so that that would happen, and that we would be able to find her there, and I could ask her in front of him-”

Sorrel shook his head. “She didn’t plan it.”

“-and at that point Rhea did not know we were open, and I still regret embarrassing you in such a way, but…”

“But then Sorrel nudged her, and it was to be the… fourth? thing I had ever heard him say:” Rhea straightened up, cleared her throat, and pitched her voice close to the lion’s. “You may kiss her, Osa, lovely orange blossom, only if I may kiss her, too. I asked him if he wanted to do it at the same time, or right after her.”

Lura sat up. “Wow. What was it I said that got you, Markus?”

“You broke into the manor and stole my purse off my body without me noticing…”

“Ooh!” Osa leaned in towards Sorrel again, patting his thigh. “Good with his fingers…”

The other lion scoffed and rolled his eyes, his paintbrush tail swinging around his body, resting into the soft grass. Markus sat back to listen to them going on, picking out the different accents in their voices, the tone of the words they chose: even had he not known, the lions’ relationship would have been obvious, and the way Rhea leaned into and played off of both of them…

At one point the wolfess stood up and stepped across to them, just so that she could sprawl out in the grass and rest her head in Sorrel’s lap. He worked his fingers through her fur, scritching gently, drawing back and forth; Osa adjusted as well so that she could caress the lupine’s head in her paws, leaning down from above to peer at her and look into her eyes, and then at one point she leaned in and pressed her lips to Rhea’s, soft and sweet.

Markus watched as the wolfess arched her back to lift up into it, her tail wagging underneath her; he watched as she turned her head to meet the lioness more fully and held there, and how Osa seemed to draw the breath from her lungs as she drew back, and how it took a few seconds for Rhea to come back to full awareness. Then lioness leaned over to kiss lion, and Lura bumped up against Markus’s shoulder and nuzzled his head into his neck, and the foxwolf draped his arm around him… and met Rhea’s eyes, warm silver-blue glittering in the shaded light of day.

Her lips glistened; she flicked her tongue out, caught the little bead of saliva, whisked it in, and smiled. She shifted in Sorrel’s lap – the lion was now deeply tied in an ongoing kiss with the other – and stretched an arm out towards Markus, who took it, felt it, squeezed it… and then looked over when Lura reached out as well.

Love still lives, and love still breathes, and it always will. How beautiful it is, that we can share it so freely…

Sorrel and Osa broke apart, and hearing the noise, Rhea’s ears perked and she looked up at them – and grimaced as something dropped against her cheek. She sat up, laughing, and the sound warmed Markus’s heart; he turned to Lura, who grinned in response, and then he kissed him as well, and held himself there simmering in the experience, lost for another moment.

And I shall do everything in my power to ensure that Rhea can pursue this desire of hers. Is that a responsible use of what power I have, Kole Lan? Her happiness is divine. As is Lura’s, and Osa’s, and Sorrel’s. And through these, I know I shall find my own happiness, because already it is happening.

Markus wet his lips. “Osa?”

Small rounded ears flicked. The lioness turned hazel eyes on him.

“Have you ever tried bayshoot tea?...”

~ ~ ~

The lacquer was strange, Markus thought. On first application it cooled his claws, clung to the surface like a thick liquid – and then over time tried to a mirror sheen, sharpened further by the final crystal coat over the top. “It’s short-lived,” Rhea explained as she ran the brush across the foxwolf’s claws, “which is why we usually only do it for special occasions and ceremonies, but…”

Sorrel had done the work on his other paw, occasionally leaning over closer to the wolfess to dip into the color. His fingers were soft and warm, the pads apparently scrubbed down to eliminate any callouses from forming. “It is a statement of status as well,” he explained, his soft tenor quiet. “That is why Osa and I only do two each. I do one in green, for her eyes… and one in blue, for Rhea’s. Our orange blossom does one in blue, and one in brown, for mine.”

They had done Lura’s first, with the otter peering in at the material and asking questions about this or that, while Markus watched. Already Lura had begun to relax around the felines, at one point even lifting his muzzle to bump against Sorrel’s, the way the lion often did to Rhea or Osa; the movement had caught him off guard, but after that initial shock he had returned the gesture, and now Lura sat comfortably between him and Markus.

“I noticed your father does his as well,” Markus had said. Sorrel’s fingers had pressed at his pads, tickling gently, coaxing him to spread his palm. “What color? I don’t think I’ve seen closely enough to tell.”

“Doren actually does his,” Rhea went on, with a quick glance up. “He has quite the steady paw… more so than me. We’ll have to clean you up a bit, after. Sorrel is experienced with needle and thread, which… helps… ah…”

“Lord Thorn,” offered by the lioness where she focused in on mixing another color, “does his in… golden amber. Powdered clamshell gives it its luster.”

“The color of my mother’s eyes,” Rhea finished, and sat up. “Gold for her eyes on his index fingers, and black for her fur on the others…”

And then the drying process was another kind of hell, with the others telling him to sit with his palms splayed and fingers up, careful not to touch or grab anything for the duration. Lura sat beside him as well, looking equally amused and frustrated with the restrictions, but still the conversation continued: Osa had apparently been born near the Mora-Maldeth border but was raised in the desert, while Sorrel came from an oasis town in the northern region of the province. Markus told him what little he remembered of Solm, of the great tree growing high within the grand hall of the palace out of which the throne had been carved into living wood, and then the sparkling, ephemeral presence of the crystal pillars beyond the city walls.

Then Rhea fetched the wine from earlier in the week, and though it had lost some of its fizz, its sweetness remained. The restriction was slowly forgotten as the afternoon progressed into night, the moons outside the window appearing, dancing across, and then disappearing along the other side. At some point Markus felt his paw entwine with another’s, and at one point saw it was Lura’s, then Rhea’s, then Lura’s again, and then at one point it was Sorrel’s, whose ears flicked and whiskers twitched with embarrassment-

-and then strong yet soft fingers squeezed in at the foxwolf’s shoulders, and he felt himself wrapped in the dry, arid spice of lioness as Osa leaned in atop him, her chest pressing down over his snout while she dove in to steal a kiss from Sorrel, and Rhea leaned to the side and struggled to hide a laugh.

But then just as Markus finished off the last glass, the felines rose after a short discussion among themselves to wish the others a good night. Rhea stood and followed them to the door, kissing each in turn; Lura went in for a hug, still chattering about the specifics of the magic they had used in their work; and Markus smiled and nodded his own goodbye, the room suddenly cooler, quieter for their absence.

Rhea’s tail still wagged as she stepped back into the room and sat down in front of him, spreading his paws out to inspect the lacquer. “I see why you love them,” the foxwolf murmured, heart still warm. “They’re both lovely.”

“They are…” And then she leaned across the table to do the same for Lura. Markus noted how she had no hesitation in touching his paws, how she ran her pads over his and poked and prodded, and smiled as she did so. “And so are you. They have been dying to meet you, Markus.”

“Sorrel’s quiet,” Lura said, “but interesting. I feel like I know less about him than Osa.”

“Everyone feels that way.” Rhea laughed quietly. “Had we another bottle and a half, though, he would do nothing but talk.”

The otter turned his claws back and forth in the torchlight; the lions had picked a soft olive green for him, saying it complemented the mismatch in his eye color. “I would like to hear that…”

“Come visit sometime and I’ll make sure of it.”

“It’s a deal, then.” He grinned, then pushed away from the table. “For now, though, I think I shall be retiring for bed. Markus?...”

A little bemused, the foxwolf looked over at Rhea, then to Lura, and rose to follow. The otter padded across the room to the door; Markus leaned down close.

“You’re not staying? The night’s only beginning.”

“It has been a while since I have performed magic of that caliber. I am… tired.” He smiled softly. “And besides. I have been attached to you since I first arrived, and it looks like… your fiancée desires some time alone with you.”

Markus frowned, looked over his shoulder, then back again. “Lura, the engagement’s off, you know th-”

“I am making a joke, beloved. Can’t you smell it on her?”

Smell? He sniffed at the air. Is that what that is? I was so wrapped up in getting to know the lions…

Heart beginning to dance, Markus leaned in to rub his muzzle to Lura’s. “What happened to – wanting to watch?”

“Oh, I still do…” The otter nuzzled back. “And I shall. Sometime. But this is between you and her. Go ask.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with-?”

“Well… it’s expected of you, isn’t it?” Lura giggled. “It sounds like the lions think you already have.”

“That doesn’t answer the question-”

“Beloved. She is a wonderful woman. After this time spent with both of you… under different circumstances, I think she might be perfect for you. And I think you know this, too. But for now, what is it that you, and she, desire? And, more: what is it you each need?” Warm paws squeezed his. “You are settled on your decision. Both of you are. So go, Markus; spend time with her while she is still yours. You will ensure this will not be the last – both of you will; the way Sorrel and Osa look at each other is the same way Rhea looks at you, and you her, and these are exactly the same as you and I. Seeing her with them brings me such joy, because I see what we have, in what they have.” Again Lura nuzzled him. “And in what you have, you and her.”

“Lura…”

“It’s the title and the responsibility that pushes you away. Right? I know this, and I can understand this. Sometimes… the compatibility is there, but the circumstances aren’t.” The otter shrugged. “I don’t expect to stake a claim on the whole of your heart. I never did. I’ve learned that love is a fluid, beautiful thing, wonderful to give freely… why do you think I was so quick with you? I felt the seed start to take root, and I chose to take the risk in nurturing that seed. I could never give you up for another.” His smile returned. “And in much the same way, I couldn’t want to ask you to sacrifice what you have with her. I will be there in Oryon with you when we return; Rhea will not. So spend this time with her while you can. There will be other times, but for that there must be a first, and I want this for you as much as you do, and as much as she does. Okay?...”

This last word blended into another kiss, his warm breath tickling out across Markus’s cheeks. He melted into it, fuzzed thoughts mixing and dissipating; his tail stirred, and he realized he could taste Rhea on Lura’s breath, her pine and gardenia and the deep, rich, feral touch of that brassy, animalistic power that poked through every now and then, and then also the smooth, cool sweetness of otter mixing so easily…

“And,” Lura growled, Markus’s lower lip nipped between his teeth, “you better tell me all about it after. Or I’ll come right back here and get it from her instead.” He planted another kiss to Markus’s cheek and leaned around him. “Rhea?”

The wolfess perked, pushed back from the table, and came over, easily taking the otter’s paws into her own. “You’re heading out?”

“Yes. Thank you for inviting us today. It was wonderful getting to meet your partners…” He stood up on his tiptoes, ran his nose in along the wolfess’s neck, nuzzled there. Rhea shivered, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, brought him closer to the embrace… and Markus leaned back against the doorway as he watched, tail swaying.

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about you two next time I go in to help out. Speaking of, thank you for assisting with Maro… and you too, Markus. You two were a big help.”

The foxwolf glanced away. “I didn’t do much…”

“You did a lot. More than you know.” Rhea turned back to Lura. “And before you go…”

“Hm?”

One paw brushed over the otter’s thick cheek ruff, thumbpad running across his whiskers. He tilted his head into Rhea’s palm, let his eyes flutter shut, sighed softly with one of his own paws resting across hers… and then it seemed he was as surprised as Markus, then, when the wolfess came forward and closed that distance with a single kiss, just long enough for Lura to realize what was happening and lean back into it. Then she drew away with a gentle smack, licked her lips, smiled, and straightened up.

“Sleep well.”

“I… ah… yeah.” Lura made as though to bow, caught himself, then looked up to Markus, eyes wide, ears splayed, blush evident. “Goodnight. Markus.”

Markus reached down, squeezed beneath the otter’s rudder with a paw, and walked him back to the door, then closed it behind him. There was that feeling again, that bright, warm excitement, the sweetly simmering joy. Still some of the hesitation remained, the slow, churning nervousness of the idea of the whole thing, but when he could step away and forget that, he-

-shivered at the sensation of strong arms wrapping around him from behind, one paw coming up his chest towards his neck, the other pushing down along his belly. On instinct the foxwolf pressed himself back, feeling the firmness of Rhea’s hips, the softness of her chest; she nuzzled into his neck from behind, drew in a breath of his scent, sighed, placed one kiss, a second, a third, along his shoulder.

“Is he alright?” she asked, her voice little more than a murmur.

“Y-yeah,” he managed, and swallowed. “Just… tired.”

“From the magic?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Mm. He has great precision, but is lacking in strength… but still, he performed better than I expected. Which is already saying a lot.” The paw near his neck travelled up further, finding the collar of his shirt, coming around towards the back. He tilted his head again, letting her thumb cross over his neck, rest gently in at the sides… “Can tell he’s untrained. Which is fine; I am too. The lions have a little bit of formal education, but not much…”

Markus swallowed against her paw. “Rhea…”

“Mm?”

“You want something from me, don’t you?”

“Mm.” The wolfess’s muzzle poked out over his shoulder again. Markus glanced to the side just enough to see the black velvet of her nose, and the silken flesh of her lips… curling back, pulling up to show sharp fangs rooted in pink gums as she grinned, and rumbled. “You can tell?”

Now that she pressed herself against him, other paw teasing at the hem of his shirt, poking at the waistband of his pants, he certainly could pick out that scent. He had felt it on her before, warm, rich, invigorating… dizzying, like the sensation of throwing back too many drinks. The half-bottle of wine shared between the five of them had been nowhere near enough for this. “Lura told me…”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Kalla. But I knew there was something else I liked about him… meanwhile, I had to literally tell you to kiss me the first time-”

“And then he just gets one, free of charge?”

“Hey. I told you that he had a bit of a headstart, after I learned about your relationship with him. And I saw you and Sorrel – don’t think I didn’t catch some of that.”

“Well, it’s just – he’s-” Fingers tightened in his fur, squeezing at the skin underneath, pulling him back against her body. Markus gasped. “Ah – Rhea-”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

The foxwolf swallowed, closed his eyes, let his lips part… drew in a breath through his nose, held it, sighed it back out. With Rhea’s paw where it was, there could be no way she didn’t feel the effect that this had on him. Another quip tingling at the end of his tongue, he then recalled what she had said that first time they kissed: Do it or don’t, but don’t make me feel like a fool or asking. So instead he swallowed again, bit his lip, ran a paw down her arm towards her wrist… and then her paw… and then guided her down, slowly, gently, in case she wanted to pull away.

She did not. Fingers spread, splayed… squeezed. Markus gasped, and twitched in her grasp.

“I can tell,” he murmured, nuzzling against her muzzle. “And there’s something I want, too.”

She rubbed at him slowly, feeling his shape, his firmness, through the fabric of his pants, the heat of her paw seeping through. “And Lura is okay with this?”

“It was his idea, in fact.”

“I would’ve thought he’d want to watch. Or participate. He’s welcome to.”

“He does. But he thought… it’d be good for you and I… to…” His voice trailed off. He licked his lips, swallowed, sighed. “Haah… gods…”

“Mhmm?” Her paw lifted, pressed in against his belly… slid down further. Short claws tangled within thick pubic fur, then squished against the base of his sheath, tugged at the thick, supple skin, spread around the base. “Ooh. So this is what you feel like…”

He throbbed again, now nestled between her fingers, wet warmth of his emerging shaft sliding up between prepared knuckles. The foxwolf swallowed, his muzzle still resting against hers. “Mm. And you?”

“Well, let’s head into the bedroom, and you can find out.”