The police station's waiting room smelled of antiseptic and worn paper, its beige walls and buzzing fluorescent lights pressing against my nerves after thirty minutes of restless waiting. Sky sat beside me, her small frame less tense than in the cruiser, her chestnut hair tucked behind her ear as she scrolled her phone, the screen's glow casting faint shadows on her pale face.
A flash of movement outside the station's glass doors caught my eye—an unfamiliar black SUV, its sleek curves glinting under the midday sun, pulling up to the curb. My breath hitched as I recognized the driver: Lorette, her emerald hair cascading over her shoulders, her orange eyes sparking with mischief.
Beside her, in the passenger seat, sat Yulia, her platinum blonde hair shimmering like fresh snow, her pale blue eyes serene yet piercing, a yuki-onna's ethereal grace radiating even through the tinted window. With Sky's pickup imminent, the sight of them together tightened a knot in my chest.
"Oh, they're here," Sky said, her voice flat, lacking the spark I'd hoped for. But her body moved fast, springing up as the passenger window rolled down, revealing Yulia's gentle smile.
Lorette's cheeky grin followed, and Sky's face softened, a flicker of relief breaking through her guarded expression. She hurried to the SUV, her sneakers scuffing the pavement, and climbed into the rear seat with a swiftness that spoke of trust, not hesitation. The women's voices overlapped in warm greeting, a chorus of familiarity that wrapped Sky in a cocoon of safety.
Yulia's gaze found me through the glass, her small smile soft and knowing, stirring memories of our quiet nights and her tender touch. Lorette, ever the provocateur, beckoned me closer with a playful tilt of her head, her grin promising trouble. I stepped outside, the warm city air kissing my skin, tinged with exhaust and the faint buzz of arcane streetlights. The SUV's engine idled, a low purr against the station's hum.
"Small world, huh?" Lorette said, her husky voice dripping with amusement as she glanced at Yulia, then Sky, who leaned forward in the backseat, her gray eyes wide with pleasant surprise.
The realization hit like a stone—they all knew each other, a tight-knit circle of friends. And I, by some twist of fate, had slept with two of them. A sinking dread coiled around my heart, squeezing tight.
A memory back in high school flashed—two girls tearing into each other over me, their feud sparked by nothing but my "handsome" face, dragging me into their crossfire without my consent.
Age didn't matter; friendships could fracture over betrayal, real or perceived. Had I sown the seeds of their collapse, my connections with Lorette and Yulia a hidden fuse waiting to ignite? The thought churned my stomach, guilt clashing with the protective urge that had driven me to save Sky.
"Yeah," I managed, my voice a hoarse choke, unable to meet Lorette's gleaming eyes. Her dryad allure, vibrant even in the SUV's confines, felt like a challenge I wasn't ready to face, not with Yulia's quiet gaze and Sky's fragile trust in the balance.
"Girls, he's our driver," Lorette announced, pointing at me with a flourish, her grin widening as if she relished my discomfort. "Meet Jonathan." Sky, Yulia, and the fourth woman—a golden blonde with soft features, her curiosity palpable—turned to me, their expressions a mix of wonder, intrigue, and warmth.
Sky's faint smile held gratitude, Yulia's a flicker of shared history, and the brunette's a polite nod. But Lorette's playful jab, naming me their "driver," sparked a flush of embarrassment, my role in their lives suddenly unclear, tangled in a web of intimacy and obligation.
I forced a nod, my jaw tight, the seven-eyed vision from Lorette's night stirring faintly, its primal dominance urging me to take charge, to protect this fragile moment.
The station's glass doors framed the black SUV idling at the curb, its sleek curves catching the midday sun like a polished obsidian blade. Lorette lounged in the driver's seat.
Yulia sat beside her, her platinum blonde hair glinting like fresh snow, her pale blue eyes carrying a serene chill. Sky, tucked in the backseat, leaned forward, her chestnut hair framing a face softened by relief. The sight of them—friends bound by trust, now tangled with my history—tightened the knot in my chest, guilt and responsibility warring within me.
"Hi, Jonathan, nice to meet you, I'm Yulia!" Yulia's cheery voice cut through my murky thoughts, bright and effervescent, like a cold carbonated drink on a sweltering summer day. Her introduction, framed as if we were strangers, jolted me.
Was my unease scrawled across my face, or did her yuki-onna intuition read the storm in my head? Her smile, warm despite her icy aura, hinted at the latter, stirring memories of our quiet nights, her tender touch cooling my fire. The pretense stung, but I played along, sensing her effort to ease the tension.
"Nice to meet you too, Miss Yulia," I said, forcing a smile, my voice steadier than I felt. Her pale eyes sparkled, a flicker of shared history buried beneath her cheerful mask.
"Don't just stand there, get in and drive us," Lorette goaded, her husky voice laced with mischief as she leaned out the window, her emerald hair catching the sunlight like healthy vines.
I hesitated, gripping the SUV's door handle, the metal warm under my palm. "Why am I included in a girls' night out?" I asked a sharp but valid question. Sky's recovery hinged on safety, on the comfort of her friends. My presence, a man tied to two by intimacy, felt like an intrusion. Worse, it risked complicating their bond. Couldn't they see the danger of a guy like me, capable of crossing lines, even unintentionally?
Lorette's grin widened, undeterred. "Because you're carrying the bags and guarding us the whole way," she said, her tone teasing but firm, as if my role was obvious. "If you've got stuff to grab, stop at your place first." Her words landed like a playful jab, but they clarified my purpose: protector, not predator.
The image of her mansion flashed, its petal-strewn bedroom where we'd tangled in bestial lovemaking, her dew fueling a night of primal abandon. Would we end up there, the same space now a sanctuary for Sky's healing? The thought twisted my gut, desire clashing with duty.
I nodded, swallowing the unease, and climbed into the driver's seat, the leather creaking under my weight. The SUV's interior smelled of Lorette's floral dew—wildflowers and honey—mingled with Yulia's faint crisp snow scent, a sensory clash that mirrored my tangled emotions. Sky's soft breathing in the backseat, steady but fragile, anchored me.
The blonde, her doe-like motherly features softened by a kind smile, introduced herself as Natasha, her voice low but warm. Their chatter filled the cabin, a weave of laughter and reassurance, but my mind churned. High school ghosts—girls fighting over me, friendships shattered by jealousy—haunted my thoughts, warning of betrayal's cost.
The seven-eyed vision from Lorette's night stirred, its primal dominance urging me to protect this fragile alliance, to keep Sky safe while navigating the minefield of my past with Lorette and Yulia.
I started the engine, the low purr vibrating through the cabin, and pulled away from the station, the city's neon signs and arcane streetlights blurring past. My hands gripped the wheel, knuckles whitening, as I vowed to carry their trust without breaking it.
Saturday stretched before me, a rare blank slate save for overdue art commissions piling up on my desk. With no pressing plans, I packed light for the trip to Lorette's vacation home: my graphic tablet, laptop, a change of clothes, and a small pack of toiletries, all stuffed into a sleek laptop travel backpack.
The weight on my shoulder was negligible compared to the unease in my chest, the tangled web of Sky, Lorette, Yulia, and now Natasha pulling tighter with every step toward the black SUV parked outside the police station.
Lorette's directions to the mansion were crisp, her lotus-hued pink hair—vibrant in her dryad form—bouncing as she gestured from the passenger seat, her verdant skin catching the sunlight streaming through the windshield.
I vaguely recalled the route from our prior night of primal passion, but I followed her lead, masking my familiarity to avoid raising questions.
Yulia, seated beside Sky in the back, kept her touchiness at bay, her platinum blonde hair glinting like frost as she spared me only fleeting glances and hidden smiles. Her restraint, a yuki-onna's calculated calm, mirrored my caution, both of us tiptoeing around our shared history to preserve the group's fragile harmony.
Sky, her chestnut hair tucked behind her ear, stared out the window, her gray eyes distant but less haunted, the city's neon signs and arcane streetlights blurring past in a haze of color.
The drive was short, Lorette's mansion looming into view—a sprawling estate of ivy-draped stone and arched windows, its grounds lush with wildflowers that seemed to hum with her dryad essence.
I parked the SUV in the gravel lot, the engine's purr fading into the chirp of distant birds. The women spilled out, their voices weaving a soft tapestry of laughter and reassurance, a cocoon for Sky's recovery.
I circled to the rear, unloading their suitcases one by one, each a snapshot of its owner. Yulia's was white, adorned with light blue snowflake stickers, delicate and precise like her touch.
Sky's was a practical gray, scuffed but sturdy, much like her resilience. Natasha's stood out—a brown, leatherbound case, wheel-less and heavy, its surface plastered with travel stickers from over a dozen countries, each a badge of her worldly warmth.
Natasha, the blonde with motherly, doe-like features, hovered nearby, her baby blue eyes soft yet knowing. Her curvy figure was impossible to ignore, even cloaked in a thick turtleneck and loose skirt. If Lorette flaunted her eroticism with brazen confidence, Natasha veiled hers in oversized clothing, but the fabric couldn't hide the swell of her breasts, nearly brushing her navel, or the wide arc of her hips, swaying with each step.
Her back, defined by years of carrying such heft, spoke robustly, a contrast to Lorette's wild vitality. Her gravitational pull was undeniable, a nurturing allure that drew the eye, but I kept my focus on her face, her warm smile grounding me.
"Thank you so much, Jona—is it okay to call you that, darling?" Natasha's voice was refined yet humble, laced with a confidence tempered by age and experience, a far cry from Lorette's untamed edge. Her words carried a maternal warmth, like a hearth fire on a winter night, steadying the air between us.
"Yes, it's okay," I replied, meeting her gaze, her baby blue eyes crinkling with kindness. "Nice to meet you, too, Miss Natasha." She'd introduced herself in the SUV, her prompt courtesy a stark contrast to Lorette's teasing jabs, but this was our first real exchange. Her presence, though magnetic, was easy to navigate, my focus anchored by the task at hand.
I hauled their suitcases inside, Natasha's heavy case straining my arms as I carried it over the mansion's threshold, the polished oak floor gleaming under crystal chandeliers.
Lorette had already assigned rooms for the women—Sky, Yulia, and Natasha sharing the upper floor's plush suites, their laughter echoing down the grand staircase. I, however, was relegated to the ground floor, a practical choice for quick access to the living room and any potential threats.
The logic was sound, but the memory of Lorette's bedroom—petal-strewn, scented with her dew, where we'd lost ourselves in bestial lovemaking—lingered, a siren call threatening to blur my duty to Sky's safety.
The mansion's air was thick with Lorette's floral scent—wildflowers and honey mingled with the faint crispness of Yulia's snow-like aura, a sensory clash that mirrored my tangled emotions.
Sky's soft steps trailed the others upstairs, her frame less hunched, while Natasha's warm glance thanked me silently. Yulia's hidden smile, caught in a sidelong glance, stirred our past, but her distance held firm, a shield for the group's sake.
My high school ghosts—friendships shattered over misplaced desire—hovered, warning of betrayal's cost. The seven-eyed vision from Lorette's night pulsed faintly, its primal dominance urging me to protect this fragile alliance, to guard Sky without fracturing the bonds I'd unwittingly woven.
I set the suitcases down, my backpack slung over one shoulder, and took a breath, the weight of their trust heavier than any luggage. The weekend loomed, a delicate balance of duty and desire, with Sky's healing at its heart.