#themorea

And yet, he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. Who could he send? Jake had volunteered a couple of times, but that birdbrain would get distracted and forget half the list. Natasha could handle it, but making her deal with human men would be needlessly cruel—whether more to her or to them, Andy wasn’t entirely sure. The Spartoi twins might manage, but they’d never shown interest in humans and would likely get swindled. Maybe he’d bring them along anyway, a trial run in case they ever had to take over. But then Steve had mentioned renovations while Andy was away. Bah. He’d figure it out later.

Andy met the others at the agora just as the sun hit the dial. Pleasantries exchanged, they got right to it. The Lamia Brothers had a couple of add-on requests—mostly from Lloyd—but nothing Andy couldn’t handle. Once the final version of the list was approved, Maria and Ransom helped Andy glamor to appear human. Ransom scoffed at the apparel. “This is what men of means wear now? How boring.” Andy stretched, testing the fit. “It’s not the worst contrivance they’ve come up with.” Maria and Ransom nodded and turned to rejoin the others. Maria lingered. “I know you hate these trips more than you let on. Thank you for shouldering the burden.” They shared a nod. Natasha and Ari opened the gateway and Andy stepped forward. “This trip’s list is larger than usual. Please clear the portal apotheke as soon as supplies arrive. I’ll be done in a month or so.” With that, he entered the portal and stepped into the human world.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you shouldn’t have. An energy drink, maybe a workout—you could’ve powered through. But no. Now you were an hour late, felt like hot garbage, and your manager was glaring like you were the most irritating creature alive. To be fair, you were feeling low enough that you believed it. “I’m so sorry, London. I’ve just had a rough morning. I’ll shake it off and get those orders processed.” “You’d better. Mr. Pronge is bringing a VIP this afternoon, and I don’t need him seeing whatever this shitshow is.” With that she stormed off leaving you wanting to cry at your desk. Shitshow indeed.

Andy’s contact, Robert Pronge, was utterly repulsive, yet he knew his business. The sooner Andy finished, the better. With Pronge’s help he'd have eighty percent of the list done in three weeks. Human logistics had improved enough that Andy might finish entirely in said three weeks instead of a month, especially if he collected the forge equipment directly from China. That detail, unfortunately, drew Pronge’s attention. The insufferable man pressed further about Andy’s operations, fishing for future ventures. “Yeah, sure,” Andy mused. Next time Natasha could deal with Pronge. Hard to be presumptive when you’re statuary. He chuckled at the thought—then a commotion from the offices had both men jumping.

This had to be the worst day of your life. Toner cartridges don’t just explode. And if they somehow did, not all over the user. You were covered in toner powder, holding ruined documents over a smoking printer, when everyone converged at once. London was livid. “What is the matter with you? What did you do‽” She would’ve torn into you further, but Mr. Pronge—and arguably the most handsome man you’d ever seen—stepped in. “You always go around breaking my equipment?” Pronge asked. You wanted to vanish on the spot. The handsome man studied you, head tilted, gaze lingering. Somehow, it felt worse than all the other eyes on you. How it made you forget Pronge’s sneering presence was mystifying in itself. “Well! Nothing to say? Fine—we’re docking the replacement from your pay, and you’ll spend the rest of your shift cleaning this shit up!” You did everything physically possible not to burst into tears.

Andy stayed back, though every aspect disgusted him. The human, smeared with unpleasant ichor had probably done it to herself, but the reaction around her was needlessly cruel. The malice of humans still managed to surprise him. Didn’t they care for their women anymore? As Pronge continued his tirade, Andy studied you. At first, he dismissed you as just another human. But then his eyes lingered longer than they should have. And when he realized he’d tilted his head, he recoiled. What? No. Absolutely not.

Andy told himself it was nothing. A flicker of pity, that was all. He was a good male—responsible, dutiful. That human, though… covered in soot, trembling under the weight of sharp words, and left to clean the mess alone. It was intolerable. He wasn’t interested—of course not—he only cared because it reflected poorly on Pronge to leave a worker broken down like that. And because… well, because he was raised better. A good male looked after the vulnerable. That was all.

By the time the humans dispersed from the chaos, Andy had already excused himself. He drifted toward the cluster of cafés he’d noticed earlier. Food was a universal balm. If he brought something back—something thoughtful—it would balance the scales. A kind gesture and nothing more.

The café was bright, scented with sugar and something bitter he didn’t recognize. A woman behind the counter lit up when she saw him, leaning forward with practiced charm. “Well, hello there. What can I get you?” Andy glanced at the boards overhead and frowned. Too many options, none familiar. “I need… a pick-me-up for a woman,” he said at last. “I don’t know what she’d like.” The barista blinked, her smile faltering. She’d expected him to order for himself, maybe linger, flirt back. Instead, she gave a tight laugh, brushing off her disappointment as she busied herself at the register. “Well… our blueberry scones are really good. And this drink’s been popular lately—light, fruity, colorful. Very popular on Insta.” He nodded. “That will do.”

She moved through the motions quickly, sliding the scone into a bag and pouring the drink, stealing little glances at him. When she handed them over, her smile had shifted—less playful, more gentle. “Whoever she is,” she murmured, “she’s lucky.” Andy didn’t even react, just gave a curt nod and turned away, repeating his mantra in silence as he left:

Food. A gesture. A transaction of decency. Then she will be out of mind.

The barista watched him go, sighing as she wiped the counter wistfully lamenting that all the good men were taken.

You were still wiping up toner when something landed on your desk with a soft thud. You startled, turning, and saw a neat little paper bag and a bright, summery drink. The man from before stood there, posture loose but eyes unreadable. “Extras,” he said shortly, as if that explained anything.

You blinked. “For me?”

He inclined his head once.

You opened the bag and found your favorite blueberry scone, the familiar scent a comforting contrast to the toner tang clinging to you. Your throat tightened. “Thank you,” you said softly. “Really. I… needed this more than I'd realized.”

He shifted, gaze flicking away as though the words unsettled him. “It’s nothing.”

With a small lift of your chin, you offered your name.

His gaze returned to you, steady, unreadable. “Andy Barber.”

“Andy,” you echoed, the name soft on your tongue.

For a moment, it felt like the world had gone still. Then you broke the scone in half, laughter bubbling up—light, a little breathless—because the powdered sugar dusted your already-ruined shirt like some cruel cosmic joke. You laughed anyway, shoulders shaking.

 Andy froze. His head tilted, just slightly, as he listened—drawn in by the sound before he even realized he was doing it. Something in him leaned toward you, unthinking, instinctive. By the time he straightened, his jaw was tight, as though the gesture had betrayed him.

The moment fractured when London swept in, her heels clicking like punctuation. She eyed the scone, then the drink, then you, her smile softening into something so sweet it had to be fake. “Well, aren’t you spoiled,” she said smoothly. “Some of us go months without such little indulgences.” Her gaze slid toward Andy, lingering there with a practiced ease. “Not that I mind. It’s nice to be treated—over dinner, perhaps, Mr…?”

She let the question hang like an open door.

Andy didn’t even seem to notice. He gave his name politely, but his focus was already back on you. “Enjoy.”

Your heart skipped. London wasn’t the one he answered. He hadn’t taken her bait, hadn’t given her even a scrap of acknowledgment beyond basic manners. Instead, his gaze settled on you again—steady, undiscernable, and yet… there was something in it. Something that made heat creep up your neck.

London’s smile twitched, just a little, the edges sharp where she meant them soft. She had expected him to notice her. To want her. But his attention had already gone back to you. And unless you were imagining it, his head tilted the faintest degree as he studied you.

You took a small bite of the scone just to cover your nerves as you studied him in return. You were reminded of the seven-foot blue aliens you'd been pining over just that morning. Andy was, simply put, huge—broad shouldered, towering, striking in a way that made your stomach flutter in spite of yourself.

When Andy inclined his head once more and left, you were left in stunned silence. You almost felt bad seeing London’s brittle smile. Almost.

Andy told himself the distraction was over. The scone, the laugh, the foolish tilt of his head—it was done. He had errands to finish, a realm to return to, and a human who would vanish from his thoughts the moment he stepped back through the portal.

The gate shimmered, and he emerged outside Nagasaki with a list of purchases to collect. Camellia cuttings, specialty teas, lacquered tools—items Maria had carefully noted. He moved with efficiency, trading silver for slips of green wrapped in damp cloth, his mind narrowed to the work.

Then a vendor pressed something into his hand—a pale, powder-dusted sphere. “Mochi,” she explained. The powder clung to his fingertips and in a flash he saw sugar dusting your shirt, your laugh bubbling up as though it surprised even you. He swallowed it down—both the sweet and the memory.

By the time he returned through the portal to your country, he had doubled his efforts to forget. He was happy his next matter of business was his favorite—the farm. He confirmed his order—apple grafts in new varieties; white strawberries; purple tomatoes.

Then he spotted you—crouched near a crate of early lettuces, chatting easily with a young farmhand. A basket dangled from your arm, half-filled with a variety of produce.

Andy went still, the slips of grafted apple wood forgotten in his grip.

You laughed at something the farmhand said, and the sound threaded through the air, snaring him tighter.

One of the farmers nearby called to him. “Mr. Barber—your purple tomato plants are ready to go. Want to have a look before we pack them up?”

Your head snapped up. “Purple tomatoes?”

The farmhand grinned. “Yeah, a specialty hybrid variety. Gorgeous to grow, real rich flavor. We’ve only got the plants right now, but you can come see if you like.”

You rose with your basket, curiosity bright in your eyes. “Oh, I have to see those.” Then you noticed Andy standing there, watching, silent as stone. Recognition flickered. “You,” you said.

Andy inclined his head once. “Me,” he agreed.

The farmer glanced between you both, oblivious. He motioned down the row. “Come on, I’ll show you both the tomatoes.”

You moved toward the greenhouse without hesitation. Andy followed, telling himself it was only because the farmer had invited him. The greenhouse was warm, earthy, alive. Sunlight filtered through the glass, gilding the rows of plants. You bent close to inspect them, fingertips brushing a leaf like it was something delicate and rare. When you leaned in to study the dusky wine-colored fruits hanging from their stems, his head tilted again, unbidden. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured. Andy said nothing as a thought bloomed, dangerous and sweet: she belongs here.

Andy’s head tilted again before he caught himself, but the damage was done. His mind had already run ahead, weaving the image of you not in some fluorescent office, not under the scorn of petty mortals—but here. Among plants. Among his orchards. With him.

The sound of your voice struck him like the memory of your laughter. “They’re stunning! You’re here for these? You have excellent taste,” you said, eyes bright, lips curved. Perfect, Andy thought. The word rang through him like a hammer strike.

Perfect little heifer.

He shut his jaw, as though he could grind the thought to powder, but it only rooted deeper. His gaze swept over you, cataloguing: the curve of your shoulders, the steadiness in your hands, the way you touched growing things with reverence. You were strong. Resilient. Breedable.

The word coiled in his mind, primal and heavy. You were meant for green things. For orchards. For him. His thoughts seethed. I'll bring her to Themorea. I’ll see her in the gardens where no mortal cruelty can reach her. Mine to guard. Mine to keep. My perfect mate.

The goods Andy had procured were steadily portalling in from his rented storage lockers to the apotheke. He wasn’t expected back for another couple of weeks, so he’d hoped to find the place empty.

“Andy! There’s no way we have everything yet. What happened?”

He’d been so caught up in planning how to get you here that he nearly missed Lloyd, processing the last batch of goods he’d sent through.

Andy studied him for a moment. Lloyd wasn’t the most loyal, nor the most trustworthy—but he was capable and meticulous. He and his brother Fowler were willing to get their hands dirty in ways the others avoided. That made them dangerous. And dependable.

“I need a secure apartment at my estate,” Andy said evenly. “Discreet. Comfortable.”

Lloyd’s cerulean eyes slid up from the crates, glinting with sly amusement. His lips curved into a serpent’s smile. “Ah. So that’s it. Fowler and I never thought you’d break first. Always so noble, and here you are—setting up a love nest.”

Andy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.

Lloyd smirked, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Don’t coil up so tight, grumpcake. Fowler and I have talked about it ourselves—finding companions. Mortals aren’t without their charms, and Themorea could use a little… diversification. A little investment in the future?”

The words slithered between jest and intent, a half-joke that carried too much weight to dismiss. “Maybe. Will you help?”

Lloyd chuckled, turning back to the crates. “Oh, I’ll see to it. And when you see how well it works out… don’t be surprised if Fowler and I go shopping, too.”

Andy gave a noncommittal nod and turned to leave when Lloyd added, “But you get to explain it to Natasha.”

Andy froze just shy of the portal. He hadn’t considered how this would look to the Gorgon. He blanched, and Lloyd’s chuckle curled through the air.

“I take it you found some sweet thing that rewrote your brain, because this is very unlike you. I can’t wait to meet her. Don’t get me wrong—I support this more than you know. My brother and I aren’t the only ones who’ve felt… emptiness. Many of the others will back you if it plays out well.” Lloyd’s grin widened, sharp as fangs. “Hell, I think even Natasha… well, shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves, eh?” He shook off his visible excitement and got back to business. “Fowler and I’ll have the apartment ready in a week.”

Andy drew a slow breath and studied Lloyd. For once, there was no game in his words. He was being almost… sincere. How had Andy not noticed the loneliness, the stagnation of his peers? It seemed cuttings for the orchards weren’t the only grafts Themorea needed. Then he thought of you, and his resolve hardened. The details of how others might follow could wait. You were not up for debate. You were his.

Something of that ironclad resolution must have shone in his eyes, because Lloyd practically vibrated. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet your little sunshine if she gives you that look.”

With that parting jab, Lloyd slithered off to find his brother, and Andy stepped through the portal.

Pronge was ahead of schedule on the list and practically crowing. Andy endured it in silence. Then you walked past the glass partition. Pronge caught the flicker in Andy’s expression and his smirk sharpened.

“You know,” Pronge drawled, leaning back in his chair, “my office manager said something funny the other day. Not much for brains—good thing I didn’t hire her for that—but she’s got a mouth on her. Ranted about that little disaster over there.” His chin flicked toward you. “Called her Miss Dumpster Fire. Said you were hanging around her desk, even brought her a scone. Sounded jealous, if you ask me.”

Andy’s face didn’t change, but his body angled forward, slow and deliberate. Pronge’s grin slipped. He lifted both hands.

“Hey, hey. No disrespect. I’ve been looking into you, Barber. And you know what I found?” He tapped the desk with a thick finger. “Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. The way you move across borders, the way your shipments vanish?” He gave a low whistle.

Andy’s voice came low. “Get to your point.”

Pronge swallowed, but his eyes gleamed with oily confidence. “Me? I like keeping things tidy. Gossip like that can turn messy. But for the right consideration, I can make sure your little miss stays out of everyone’s mouth. That jealous office manager? Quiet. The whole trail? Gone. Neat and clean.” He snapped his fingers. “Like she never existed.”

Andy didn’t know what Pronge thought he saw in his expression, but the man raised his hands again in mock surrender. “Relax, Barber. I’m not saying it’s personal. Strictly business. You want her gone, I can make it happen. You want her safe?” His grin returned, razor-thin. “Different kind of arrangement. Either way, she’s yours.”

Andy hated the means, but couldn’t deny the usefulness. They struck a deal.

Mr. Pronge had been strangely kind to you the rest of the week and even sent you home early on Friday. “Get a jump on the weekend,” he said, as if generosity came naturally.

You took him up on it.

At home, you made a cup of tea and curled up with book six, ready to lose yourself for a few hours. You did, until you realized you weren’t picturing blue alien hunks on the page. You were imagining Andy—and had been for several books now. You regretted not asking him out. He would’ve made a move if he wanted to see me again. Stop daydreaming. That bitter little truth lodged in your chest, and eventually the daydreams slipped into sleep.

It wasn’t restful. Your neck ached, dull and throbbing, and your limbs felt too heavy to shift. Waking never quite came. You floated instead, thoughts drifting, until Andy’s voice—low, steady, familiar—cut through the haze.

”You’re okay. Relax your brow, beloved, and rest.” Dream Andy whispered, and this time… you obeyed.

You didn’t stir again. Your breathing stayed even, though a faint twitch now and then betrayed the drug working its way through your system. Andy sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows braced on his knees, watching you in the soft light. It was just a jab. She’ll sleep the night and have a slight headache in the morning. No muss, no fuss. Vile assurances from a vile man. The brothers had done a good job on the apartment at least. You lay half-curled in the blankets, hair spilling across the pillow, lips parted in unconscious repose. You weren’t meant for that world. Not for Pronge. Not for anyone but him.

A crease flickered across your brow, subtle but sharp enough to draw Andy forward. He brushed a strand of hair back from your face, his hand lingering for a heartbeat. “Rest, beloved,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Rest.” The tension eased from your expression. Convinced you'd sleep well now, Andy stepped out to prepare for the morning when everything would change.

You stirred, head heavy, limbs sluggish. Your hand curled in the blanket, trying to anchor yourself. This wasn’t your chair. The cushion beneath you was a bed—broad, indulgent, too perfect. You let out a weak laugh. Dream Andy, you’re getting ridiculous. First you show up in my head, now you’ve whisked me away to a dreamy bed.

As if summoned, Andy appeared.

You blinked at the figure framed in the doorway, early light bending around him. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, eyes that burned steady even in half-shadow. “Andy,” you whispered, relief rushing in. Of course. Dream Andy, come to soothe you again.

When he crossed to the bed, you rose without hesitation. The ache in your neck, the fog in your head—none of it mattered once his arms closed around you. Solid. Steady. The cedar-dark heat of him seeped into you until something inside cracked open. You nuzzled against him, tugging him down onto the bed. His surprised huff turned into a low, pleased sound as he gathered you closer.

You kissed his throat, then his jaw, chasing the warmth of him, desperate for more. He groaned your name and you silenced him with your mouth.

The kiss stole your breath. Not blurred or flimsy like dreams. This was sharp, consuming, devastatingly real.

Panic bolted through you. You tore yourself back, colliding with the headboard, heart pounding.

“This isn’t a dream‽”

Andy didn’t flinch. He stayed exactly where you’d left him gaze locked on yours. “No,” he said softly. “It’s not. You’re safe. With me.”

The words wrapped around you like iron, like a vow. He didn’t reach for you right away—he waited, letting the weight of his presence settle, letting you see the truth in his eyes.

Your fingers trembled in your lap. “Then… how?”

His lips quirked, just barely. “Later.” He leaned closer, bracing a hand against the headboard beside your head, his body heat searing through the air between you. “Right now, all that matters is this.”

His presence overwhelmed your senses as his mouth brushed yours again, this time slower, deeper, deliberate. A real kiss. A real Andy. And instead of panic, fire licked through your veins.

You whimpered against his lips, and that was all the invitation he needed. His hand slid to cradle your jaw, angling you to take more of him, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek as if he’d been starved for the shape of you. You melted into it, hands gripping the fabric at his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer.

“Andy…” you breathed between kisses, your voice ragged, caught somewhere between wonder and hunger.

“Mine,” he growled against your mouth, his voice rough. The word went through you like lightning, and then his weight pressed you into the mattress, solid and commanding.

Your legs parted instinctively, welcoming him in. He ground against you, hard length sliding against your core through too many layers, and you gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound greedily, tongue tangling with yours.

Your hands fumbled at his shirt, desperate to feel skin. He caught the urgency, yanking it over his head in one smooth motion before you were on his chest, the ridges of muscle tight beneath your palms. He was beautiful, real.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, catching your wrist and pressing a reverent kiss to your pulse. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” you whispered, voice breaking with need.

The look he gave you then—hungry, triumphant, undone—set your body aflame. He tore your shirt over your head, tossed it aside, and lowered himself to taste your bare skin. His mouth claimed your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. You arched up, moaning when his teeth grazed your nipple, his tongue soothing after.

“Andy—”

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice dark as his hand slid down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“Andy!” you cried, hips bucking as his touch found you, clever fingers sliding through slick heat. You clutched at his shoulders as pleasure jolted through you.

“Good girl,” he growled, circling just right, pressing until you were gasping, writhing, desperate for more. He pushed a finger then two inside, stretching you open while his thumb teased your clit, each movement coaxing you closer to the edge. “That’s it,” Andy whispered against your ear, biting your lobe, his pace relentless. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

Your body obeyed, climax tearing through you like wildfire. You clung to him, crying his name as waves of pleasure crashed, your thighs trembling around his hand. He held you through it, groaning as if your pleasure fed his own hunger.

When you finally sagged back against the pillows, boneless and gasping, Andy drew his fingers from you—then brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a guttural sound that made your core throb all over again.

“Mine,” he repeated, voice raw.

And then he was tugging his belt loose, freeing his cock, thick and straining, flushed at the tip. Your breath caught at the sight.

“Please,” you whispered.

Andy smirked before sliding the head against your slick entrance. “Dream or not,” he murmured as he pushed inside, stretching you inch by glorious inch, “you’ll never wake from me.”

Some part of your brain realized that should worry you. You’ve essentially been kidnapped by a man you barely know. And then you heard your own mocking voice from a few weeks ago. Why did the MCs always fight it? Oh nooooo. A devoted mate and guaranteed orgasms? Run awaaaaaay! Idiots. And you were no idiot.

Your walls clenched as Andy eased in, slow but unrelenting, filling you until you couldn’t breathe. He was thick, stretching you almost painfully, the kind of stretch that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

Your hands clawed at his back, dragging across muscle as you gasped, “Andy—oh my god—”

His forehead dropped to yours, sweat already misting his brow. His voice rasped, guttural. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take me. All of me.”

When his hips finally pressed flush against yours, the weight of him buried deep inside, you cried out. You’d never felt so full, so utterly claimed.

Andy groaned like a man breaking. “You feel like you were made for me.”

He gave you no time to reply before withdrawing, slow enough to make you whimper, then slamming back in hard enough to rattle the bedframe. You yelped, the shock of pleasure-pain stealing your breath. He did it again. And again. Each thrust deeper, harder, more desperate.

Your moans turned frantic, the air thick with the sound of skin on skin, the creak of the mattress, his ragged growls.

“Andy—” you sobbed, nails digging crescents into his shoulders.

“Say it louder,” he snarled against your neck, biting down just enough to leave a mark. “Scream for me.”

And you did. Every thrust knocked another cry from your throat. He drove into you with a brutal rhythm, hips slamming, cock hitting that perfect spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.

Your body arched under him, begging, chasing the edge. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, thumb finding your clit again, circling hard and fast. “You’re mine, and you’re going to fall apart on my cock.”

Your orgasm tore through you, violent and consuming, your whole body seizing around him as you screamed his name. The world went white, every nerve lit with fire as your climax milked him inside you.

Andy’s control—and glamor—shattered. With a roar, he pounded into you harder, faster, chasing his own release. His thrusts turned erratic, savage, until he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you with a shuddering groan, heat flooding your core.

He collapsed against you, both of you gasping, bodies slick with sweat, tangled in sheets that smelled of cedar and sex.

For a long moment, silence. Only the sound of his heartbeat hammering against your chest, your own pulse answering in frantic rhythm.

Then Andy lifted his head, kissed you slow and sweet, utterly at odds with the feral way he’d just taken you. His voice came rough but steady:

“Not a dream.”

“Are you sure? Because I think I'm dreaming that you're a minotaur.”

Andy huffed a laugh. “You think human men could ever?”

“Yeah, but that’s just with Pronge, and he’s keeping his investigation close to the chest. I think he’s hoping to join up or deepen the relationship more than he’s looking to blackmail or turn in evidence.” Jake shrugged. “We need something to confirm some of his ideas and rule out others, mold his expectations. An outside confirmation will help—which is why I think we should start with Rogg.”

Steve frowned. “Jon Rogg? From your list, Maria?”

“Yeah.” Jake leaned against the back of his chair. “Runs in the same circles as Pronge. Smug bastard with his hands in everything—smuggling, blackmail, side hustles. I’m pretty sure he also does murder-for-hire. He’s good, too, with a small crew and solid connections. Get him onside, and we get our in.”

Maria’s brow arched. “Onside? We noted him as a player to keep tabs on, not recruit. He doesn’t sound like someone we want onside.”

“Not in any official or public way, no,” Jake agreed. “But we’d like an open channel. Understand his connections, keep Pronge in check. ELARA can set up a meeting with Rogg acting as an information broker. Personally, I’d like to know more about Pronge’s illegal side hustles. I get the feeling he’s darker than we know. Could be fronting, though. He seems like a coward, but Rogg would know. That’s why I chose him.”

Steve’s jaw flexed. “It has to be clean. No blood.”

Jake’s grin widened. “Relax. We’ll smile, exchange details, and shake hands. But if someone blinks wrong—”

“Jake.” Steve’s voice cracked like a whip.

Jake held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Clean. I can do clean.”

Lloyd clapped him on the shoulder as he moved past. “I’ll talk. You’ll grin. And the wolf will lurk in the corner. Everything will be perfectly civilized.”

Nick snorted from where he stood at Maria’s side. “You do realize I was joking when I said Ari should babysit, right?”

Ari had been quiet through most of the exchange, broad shoulders relaxed but steady. He finally spoke, voice low and even. “I think it’s a good plan, but there are a lot of variables. Having quiet backup is necessary—but I won’t be babysitting.” A faint smirk curved his mouth. “Besides, if someone blinks wrong, it’ll be me that ruins their day, not Jake or Lloyd.”

Bucky laughed, and Jake grinned. “Dad mode activated.”

Lloyd smirked, sharp as a knife. “Every good field trip needs a chaperone.”

Steve didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue further. Maria gave Ari the faintest nod, trusting his judgment.

One by one, the Circle and their seconds filed out, voices echoing off the stone as they stepped out the main doors and vanished into the agora.

Ari lingered only long enough to register the thought: he hadn’t been back to the mortal realm since Themorea was created. The idea didn’t unnerve him. If anything, it sparked a flicker of anticipation he hadn’t expected.

The apartment was spacious, modern, and too polished for three men who hadn’t slept under a mortal roof in years. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, lights glittering against the night.

Ari prowled the perimeter first, checking doors and sightlines before he set his bag down. “I still don’t see why we’re staying here. We could portal back each night. Safer. More comfortable.”

Jake had already flopped onto the sofa, stretching out like he owned the place. “Because we need an address. Paperwork, bills, the illusion of normalcy. Nothing says legit like a lease.” He tipped his head back, grinning. “Besides, ELARA’s already wired the utilities. We even have cable.”

Lloyd drifted through the living room, running a hand along the sleek counter. “I, for one, intend to enjoy it. I haven’t had to bother with a glamor this solid in ages, and I’d like to stretch my legs.”

Ari’s mouth flattened. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Jake smirked. “Relax. No one’s going to bite you.”

Lloyd’s eyes glinted. “Unless you ask nicely.”

Ari ignored them both, crossing to the window. “So tomorrow’s meeting. This club… explain.”

Jake sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of asking nicely—it’s a kink club. Exclusive, underground, and a common meeting ground for people like Rogg. He’s comfortable there. Means fewer surprises.”

Ari’s gaze sharpened. “Is it neutral ground? Any rules we should know about?”

“Not that we know of, but that’s why you’ll be outside the room,” Lloyd said smoothly, fiddling with his shoelaces. “You listen, you watch, you glower. I’ll handle the talking, Jake will nod at the right moments, and Rogg will feel very important.”

Jake grinned. “It’s all theater. He thinks he’s the star, but really we’re just getting him on record. I want to see what he’ll volunteer once he thinks we’re hooked.”

“Or what he slips,” Lloyd added. “Men like Rogg always slip.”

Ari leaned against the window frame, arms folded. “And if it goes wrong?”

Jake spread his hands. “Then we walk. No bodies. Not on the first night, anyway. I’d hate for Steve to think we didn’t even try to keep it clean.”

Ari wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push. They’d chosen their ground, and his role was clear. Still, as he looked out at the sprawl of mortal lights, he felt that flicker of anticipation again. He couldn't help but feel something was on the horizon.

The club was exactly as you remembered it: low ceilings, shadowed corners, music that pulsed in the bones more than the ears. The smell of leather, sweat, and perfume tangled in the air. You paused at the threshold, inhaled once, and squared your shoulders.

You didn’t come here often anymore. Not because you were afraid or shy—you weren’t—but because too many nights had ended in disappointment. Partners who postured and preened, who thought control came from barked orders or a stinging slap, who recoiled when you bit back harder than they expected. You wanted more than performance. You wanted a fight.

You headed straight for the bar. Polished wood, bottles lit from below, and perched on her usual stool was the one domme you knew you could trust to speak plainly.

“Back again,” Topaz drawled without looking up from her glass. Her lipstick was dark, her expression darker. “What’d he do this time? Cry?”

“Don’t start,” you muttered, sliding onto the neighboring stool.

Topaz tipped her head, finally giving you a look—equal parts boredom and amusement. “So… complain about another failed scene, or sit there sulking until I drag it out of you?”

You scowled into the bar top. “He wanted the thrill of the chase, not the fight after. Sure, he caught me, but he hadn’t won yet. Five minutes in, he was sulking that I wouldn’t just roll over.”

Topaz chuckled, low and dry. “Typical. They like the idea of fire until they get burned.” Topaz swirled her drink, unimpressed. “Maybe you should stop handing matches to boys who can’t light them.”

You sighed. “Who am I supposed to give them to? I know I’m not too much for the right person.”

“Finding 'The One' is a tall order. Have you considered adjusting your expectations?”

You snorted at that. “What, lie back and purr while someone pets me?” You shook your head. “The so-called alphas can’t handle a fight. The sadists just want someone pliant to work over. Nobody wants… this.” You gestured to yourself, sharp smile not quite masking the bitterness underneath.

For once, Topaz didn’t immediately skewer you. Her gaze softened—barely. “As much as it strokes my ego to be right, I don’t think anyone here can give you what you need.”

The words hit harder than expected. You stared down into your glass, throat tight. You wanted to argue, but how could you? Too many nights had proved it.

“Maybe. But I’m stubborn enough to keep looking.”

The bass throbbed steady, rattling low in Ari’s chest, the kind of rhythm designed to keep mortals moving, distracted. He’d claimed a small table set back from the bar where he had a good vantage of the room at large, the door to the side room where the meeting would take place, and another side door opposite the bar he assumed was a discreet exit. He leaned back comfortably, arms crossed, an earpiece ready to feed him every word from inside. He’d arrived first to scout out the place and not be seen with Jake and Lloyd, which is how he’d already clocked the brute attempting to do the same for Rogg.

Rogg entered through the discreet side door, confirming Ari’s suspicions that it was an exit, and went straight into the meeting room. Jake and Lloyd arrived through the main door a few moments later, ordered a couple drinks at the bar, and then joined Rogg.

“Gentlemen,” Rogg’s voice purred. “A pleasure. It’s nice to put some faces to the name.”

Lloyd’s reply came smooth, easy. “Oh, and what name is that?”

“The Morea Group. Andy Barber. Take your pick.” Rogg answered, matching Lloyd’s easy tone. “It’s not often I hear the things I do about your group without hearing certain other things as well. You all are very… elusive.”

Lloyd gave a small laugh. “Flatterer. I hope you weren’t expecting Mr. Barber to make an appearance. I’m Lloyd Hansen,” he said without pause.

They shook hands. “Not a disappointment at all.” He then shifted his attention to Jake, offering his hand.

“Jake.” There was the slightest hitch—then Jake blurted, “Jensen.” Too quick, too loud.

Ari could practically feel the stumble through the comm.

But Lloyd slid in before Rogg could question it. “Speaking of hearing things, we’d like to know more about a mutual acquaintance—”

The conversation continued, all business. Rogg liked to talk, voice full of smug satisfaction, but Lloyd was better—guiding, flattering, letting Rogg feel in control while giving nothing away. Jake peppered in the right questions, sometimes careless enough to sound genuine, always sharper than they seemed.

It was going well.

Ari swept the floor with his eyes, steady and methodical. It turned out Rogg had brought two lookouts. The big man he’d identified earlier stood near the column. Even if he hadn’t spotted him before, he would’ve now. The man tried too hard not to stare, his posture too stiff. The sharp-eyed woman might’ve blended in better if she hadn’t kept circling him, whispering constant reminders to relax.

He told himself to focus on the meeting, but his eyes disobeyed, drifting to the bar again and again.

A woman sat alone, posture casual but alive with something deeper. No nervous energy, completely comfortable as if the barstool was her throne for the evening. There were a lot of beautiful women in the club, many more scantily clad than this one—some had even approached him, so he wasn’t sure why his eyes kept finding her.

The comm crackled as someone clapped loudly. Ari heard Lloyd’s parting charm and Rogg’s smug laugh. The meeting was done. The door opened. Lloyd, Jake, and Rogg all stepped out looking satisfied. To a casual observer they’d appear to be old friends. They said their goodbyes and Jake and Lloyd exited the main door. Rogg looked pleased with himself until his sharp-eyed watcher caught his eye and gave a small nod toward the bar.

Rogg’s expression twisted, smugness cracking into raw irritation. His stride changed—shoulders tight, mouth set. Ari recognized it instantly: a man who felt denied, slighted.

He moved toward her.

Ari’s posture shifted, still casual to the crowd, but every muscle coiled, listening harder now than he had all night. Around them, the club kept moving, music pounding, bodies mingling—no one else noticing the scene unfolding by the bar.

“What are you doing here?” Rogg’s voice cut sharp.

The woman turned slightly, calm as ever yet not quite looking at him. “What do you mean?”

“I figured you were stepping back from play since you never got back to me about our next date.”

“But I did,” she said evenly. “I said, ‘no thank you.’”

“You can’t be serious.” Rogg’s laugh was incredulous. “With how well we matched? You loved my chase.”

“You didn’t love the struggle that followed.” Her words were quick as she side-eyed him.

Rogg’s face darkened, voice dropping. “You were supposed to submit.”

“And you were supposed to make me.” Her words came fast, gaze locking hard with his.

The silence that followed cut sharp enough to bleed.

Rogg leaned in, fury leaking through the mask. “I’m the best brat-tamer here. I’ll break you so good you’ll beg for my collar.”

Her smirk was knife-sharp. “Break me? Collar me? I don’t think so.”

Ari’s jaw set. He started to move without thinking, listening to every word, muscles taut and ready.

Rogg almost reached for her. Almost. But his eyes flicked sideways—and caught Ari approaching.

Disgust twisted his face. He jerked his chin to his crew. Together, they pushed past, Rogg’s shoulder brushing Ari’s deliberately on the way out.

Ari didn’t move further. Just watched them go.

When he looked back, she was watching him. Steady. Curious. Unshaken.

Her lips curved into the faintest smirk. “Were you coming to save me?”

Ari took the barstool next to hers, unhurried. “The thought crossed my mind. But you seemed to be handling it.”

“Do you have a thing for damsels in distress?” Her tone was mocking, coy.

One corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Is that what you are? A damsel in distress?”

That earned him a sharper smile, teeth flashing just enough to suggest bite. “No.”

“Good.” The word rumbled low, almost approving.

Your drink was nearly gone, but you weren’t in any rush to order another. Not with him there, watching you with that steady, unshakable calm.

Broad shoulders. Heavy frame. The kind of man who looked like he could carry a tree out of the woods without breaking stride. Jeans and boots, shirt stretched just a little too well across his chest. He didn’t look polished like most men here—no flashy leather or sleek lines. He looked like he’d walked straight out of the forest and sat down in a nightclub.

And damn if that didn’t hit all your buttons.

Most men who came to this place leaned hard on the act—clothes, posturing, tones of voice that collapsed the second you pushed back. He didn’t need any of that. He just sat there, steady, like he could take anything you threw at him and give it back twice as hard.

Your lips tugged into a sharper smile. Exactly your type.

You waved at the barkeep with the pretense of ordering water but gestured with your eyes toward the man. The barkeep caught your look and shrugged—clearly no help in identifying him. He must be new.

Which left you with only one option: ask for yourself. Or better yet, test him.

You tipped your head, letting the music wash over the pause between you. “I’m feeling…” your gaze swept down his frame and back up, deliberate, “…playful. Would you like to learn firsthand just how not distressed I am?”

Your lips curved as you let your gaze linger on him a second longer. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift. Just watched, steady as stone.

“I warn you though,” you said, voice low, playful but edged, “if we go upstairs, you’d better be ready to fight for it. I like it rough. Too many doms think they earn submission with a firm tone and a quick spank. Me? You’ll have to make me. Think you’re up to it?”

You leaned in, finger tracing an idle line along the rim of your glass before flicking your gaze back up at him. The thought slipped out before you could stop it, “God, I hope so,” half-whispered, as if it was meant to stay in your head.

His mouth curved, not quite a smile, but something darker. “You don’t even know my name, and you want me to take you to bed?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, sharp and unashamed. “So you are new.” You shrugged, unapologetic. “And what’s wrong with knowing what I want?”

Something about your candor—your lack of shame—hit him harder than it should have. He liked it. A lot. His cock was already half hard just from your teasing.

“It’s Ari,” he said, voice low, steady, already thickening with intent. “I want you to know what to scream later. Lead the way.”

You led him up the narrow stairs, past couples pressed together in alcoves, the bass from below thinning into a low thrum underfoot. Your pulse kicked harder with every step, not from nerves but from the heady anticipation sparking between you.

At the end of the hall, you pushed open the door to one of the soundproof playrooms, flipping its status to occupied. The room was dim, lit low: a wide bed dressed in crisp sheets, shelves stocked with the essentials—lube, condoms, wipes.

You turned to face him, leaning back against the door as it clicked shut. “Before we do this,” you said, voice even, “you should know how I play.”

His gaze never wavered. “Tell me.”

“I don’t have a single safeword,” you explained. “I use the light system. Red means stop. Yellow means slow down, take a breather. Green means good or keep going. Simple enough?”

“Simple. Smart,” Ari said, a faint approving rumble in his tone.

You smiled, sharp and teasing again. “Good. Because you’ll need it.”

Something flickered in his eyes—challenge accepted. He stepped closer, close enough for you to feel the heat rolling off him, but still giving you the space to pull away if you wanted.

“You're bold” he said, voice low, almost amused. “Show me if your fight lasts longer than your mouth. I’ll be disappointed if you’re all bark and no bite, like most people.”

“I’m not most people,” you shot back, eyes flashing. “I definitely bite. Can you actually handle me? I won’t just yield to anyone.”

Ari huffed a little laugh, “impertinent pup.” You shuddered at the endearment, liking it more than you should. Ari’s hand lifted then, slow and deliberate, brushing a lock of hair from your face. Not a question, not a demand. A promise.

“Then fight me for it,” he murmured.

The tension cracked—heat rushing up your spine as his mouth finally claimed yours in a kiss that was anything but polite or chaste. Teeth, tongue, breath stolen. You shoved back, biting, answering fire with fire.

The kiss broke, both of you breathing harder, and then he pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall beside the door. His weight pressed close but not crushing, testing, gauging.

You snarled against his mouth, biting his lower lip hard enough to taste iron. He only growled in answer, hands sliding down your sides with deliberate control.

Your fingers fisted in his shirt, shoving, twisting—trying to force him back. He didn’t budge. If anything, the pressure of his body pinned you harder.

He caught your wrists, one in each hand, and slammed them above your head. The move was clean, practiced, absolute. You jerked, testing, but his grip didn’t falter.

“Color?” he asked, voice low, rumbling.

“Green,” you spat, chest heaving.

His smile was sharp. “Good.”

He bent, teeth scraping the top of your shoulder before biting down—not soft, not gentle. You gasped, startled, and for a moment you didn’t care if he drew blood. Your body arched into it before you could stop yourself.

“You bite,” he said against your skin, voice almost approving. “So do I.”

Your answering bite to his neck drew a groan from him, hips already pushing against you.

Your clothes tore and scattered. He spun you, pressing you face-first into the wall, his clothed body trapping your naked one.

“You really think you can hold me down?” you panted, straining against his grip.

“I don’t think,” Ari rasped into your ear. “I know.”

He kept you pinned with one hand holding both of your wrists while his other hand explored your body. Your neck, your shoulders, your back, your hips, then he palmed your ass and let out a low appreciative groan.

He twisted you around facing him again so he could palm at your breasts.

You shoved your knee upward, aiming for his thigh. He shifted just in time, letting the strike glance off, and then caged you even tighter with his weight. His erection was hard now, pressing firm against your hip, impossible to ignore.

You tried to twist free. In a single move that had you yelping in surprise, he threw you onto the bed.

The sheets were cool under your back, your breath catching at the suddenness of it. He followed immediately, a wall of muscle and heat, pinning you down.

You clawed at his shirt, nails raking across fabric, and he answered by tearing it off himself, baring a chest that looked carved from stone. His skin was hot under your hands, scars and muscle shifting as he caught you by the throat—not squeezing, not yet, just holding you in place.

“Color?”

“Green,” you whispered, almost mocking.

His grip tightened. “Good.”

With one hand firmly on your throat, his other stroked your breasts trailing down to your belly stopping just above where you wanted him.

“Where’d your fight go, little one?” he growled, eyes burning into yours

Your eyes flashed. God, this man was dangerous.

You bucked, twisted, bit, scratched—every motion an attempt to throw him, to gain ground. But every time you thought you had him, he turned it, slammed you back into the mattress, bit you harder, kissed you rougher.

And with every clash, every growl, every breathless gasp, your body betrayed you more—heat coiling low, your fight fraying even as you clung to it.

You twisted under him, teeth bared, nails raking red down his back. He caught your wrists again and forced them above your head, pinning them to the sheets with one hand. The other slid down, rough and sure, holding your belly down, fingers splayed wide.

You bucked hard enough to nearly throw him, but he only laughed, low and dangerous. “Still fighting. Good.”

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, throat, collarbone—biting and sucking until your skin bloomed with heat. When his hand finally slipped between your thighs, you gasped, your body betraying you with how ready you already were.

“Color?” he asked, voice gravel low.

“Green,” you hissed, the word ripping out of you.

His fingers worked you mercilessly, rough and steady, until your body bowed tight against the bed. You tried to hold it, tried to deny him the victory, but it snapped out of you anyway—your orgasm tearing through, breaking your rhythm.

He grinned down at you, wolf-sharp. “So strong… yet you take it so well.”

You snarled, biting at his shoulder, but your fight had lost its teeth. You clawed at him again, trying to flip him, but your body trembled from the release. He pinned you back easily, claiming your mouth with another rough kiss.

“That was a half-hearted attempt,” he mocked, voice brushing your ear. He sat up in the bed now with his back against the headboard as he flipped you around, dragging you astride him. You had a brief moment in awe of how easily he manhandled you before you realized his cock was pressed against your soaking folds, rubbing your clit but not entering.

You keened.

“Color,” Ari asked, sounding as affected as you. It tore you out of your needy thoughts, realizing suddenly how very real and intense things had gotten.

“Yellow,” you whispered.

He immediately stilled, but didn’t move away. “What do you need?”

Your heart fluttered along with your pussy. You were gonna fuck his brains out.

You reached over to the table grabbing a condom. “Just this. Non-negotiable.”

You slid back so you could put the condom on Ari’s thick cock. You loved when a cock twitched like his. Shameless, hungry.

As you slid the condom down, you took as much of him in your mouth as you could.

Ari groaned, head banging back against the headboard. You worked his shaft with one hand, twisting and squeezing, as you tried to take more of him down your throat. “Fuck,” you thought, “I need to train more.”

Ari brushed your hair away from your face and tapped your cheek.

“As much as I love the sight of your pretty lips stretched around my cock as you struggle to take it, I want you up here,” Ari breathed.

You released him with a pop and surged forward to kiss him. He met you and positioned you over him, but left you the honors. You sank down on him slowly, taking him inch by inch. You both groaned as you eased down into him. You hadn’t bottomed out yet, but you started to bounce, working toward it.

“Good girl,” Ari kissed your temple. “Keep working yourself open on my cock.”

“I’m not that much of a good girl,” you answered breathless, rhythm becoming shaky. He was just so big you were struggling.

Ari grabbed your hips and slowly started to help. “Slowing down already, sweetheart?” He teased, purposefully stoking your fight. You growled and bit into his neck as you doubled your efforts.

His hands gripped your hips, slowing you, making you take every inch at his pace.

“And you said you’re not a good girl,” Ari huffed. “You want to be a good girl for me so badly, don’t you? Because you know good girls—” he slammed up into you, making you keen, “—take it.”

You cried out, nails raking his shoulders, but your hips betrayed you, meeting his with frantic need. He set a brutal rhythm, every snap of his hips forcing another ragged sound out of you. You bit down on his neck hard enough to bruise.

Something in you shattered. Between his words and the rough but measured thrust bottoming out in you, you came again. You felt a kind of release inside you you'd never experienced before and you wanted more.

Ari looked at her in awe. Her fight and efforts had renewed, but with that fire her eyes had shifted. They might've been rolling to the back of her head as they struggled over who was taking who, but there was no mistaking the now very Lycan eyes staring back at him. Ari snapped.

He was now done with the back and forth and fucked her roughly through her second orgasm, bouncing her on his cock until she started to cry and twitch. By now she was wrecked—sweat-drenched, pliant, moaning freely. Begging, the fight stripped down to its last embers.

“Please,” she gasped, voice breaking, her body arching under his hold.

Ari groaned, hips slamming harder, savoring the way she opened for him. “Color?”

“Green!” she sobbed, “Green. Green.” She was a mumbling mess as she rode out the aftershocks of her last orgasm.

Ari flipped her onto her knees, one hand anchoring her hip, the other closing firm around the back of her neck. He pressed her cheek into the mattress and shoved inside of her in one hard thrust.

“Good” he snarled in her ear as he drove into her from behind, steady, relentless, savoring every sound.

He growled, driving her harder into the mattress, ripping a scream from her throat as her body arched helplessly beneath him.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Is this what you needed? Someone you couldn’t fight because you’re just so frustrated? Yeah… you need me to fuck it out of you until you’re so limp the only bone in your body is mine.”

Her body shook, every nerve lit. She moaned, begged mindlessly, no fight left.

“Again,” he growled, driving into her, pounding harder, until the world narrowed to heat, muscle. Pinned face-down into the sheets, his grip iron at the nape of her neck, she shattered around him one last time. The orgasm dragged her under as he shuddered his own release. He pulled out, his instincts taking over. If he couldn't knot her, he'd at least mark her. He removed the sheath she’d applied and pumped the rest of his spend on her ass and back. He guided her to turn over and did the same to her breasts and belly. Satisfied, he rubbed it all into her skin and held her until her breathing evened out.

You came back to yourself, feeling Ari's hands massaging your body. It was so pleasant you hummed and leaned into it. “There she is,” he murmured into your neck.

He brushed damp hair from your face. “Color?”

Your lips curved, weak but satisfied, voice hoarse. “Green.”

Ari gave you the most gorgeous smile and you realized you were smiling back at him. You basked in the afterglow. You had fought harder and longer than you'd ever been allowed to before and you'd had yielded. It was everything.

His thoughts must've been in a similar vein.

“So strong,” he murmured against your throat, “you take it so well.”

As happy and satisfied as you were, his acknowledgment had you feeling playful again. Your smile edged sly. “Not bad, lumberjack.”

Ari huffed a laugh through his nose, surprising you both. “Such an impertinent pup.” He poked your rib making you laugh.

You gave a content sigh and eased back into him, letting him hold you while your body trembled.

They lingered cuddling and chatting, about nothing really. They showered together, cleaning up and enjoying the easy intimacy as they prepared to part ways for the evening.

As Ari left the club to head back to the apartment he realized, for the first time in years, he didn’t feel restless. He felt… sated.

The lobby was quiet at this hour, just the hum of lights and the soft shuffle of the concierge behind the desk. Ari pushed through the glass doors, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, hair still damp from the club shower.

He didn’t expect to find Lloyd waiting for the elevator with three bags of takeout dangling from his hand.

“Well, well,” Lloyd drawled, eyes flicking up and down Ari in a quick sweep. “This is awkward. I figured you two would be working—or sleeping. Surprised Jake’s been okay on his own this long.”

Ari huffed a laugh. “If you were also out, I’m amazed he wasn’t blowing up our phones.”

The elevator opened and they stepped in.

“I brought a peace offering.” Lloyd lifted the bags. “I suppose you can benefit, too. I got you a steak stir fry, greens, and fried rice. And the very sweet lady insisted we try something called ‘crab rangoons.’”

Ari focused on the varying scents coming from the bags. “Thanks. Smells good.”

After a comfortable silence Lloyd’s mouth curled into a wicked smile Ari didn’t trust. “You must be hungry after such a strenuous night.”

Ari just sighed, and Lloyd laughed.

“That scent doesn’t suit you, by the way,” Lloyd added.

Ari’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Relax, Wolfman,” Lloyd smirked, straightening as they exited the elevator. “I mean whatever soap they had, not her sweet scent—which is very pleasant.”

Ari stopped midstride.

Lloyd quickly corrected himself. “Her scent is pleasant on you. The blend suits you, unlike whatever soap is still lingering on top.” He eyed Ari with a hint of chastisement at his defensive posture. “I’m Lamian. I can hardly ignore scents any more than you can.”

Ari sighed and muttered an apology.

“No worries,” Lloyd said cheerily, slipping back into his teasing tone. “Though I thought you’d be more relaxed with empty balls.”

Ari groaned as they stepped inside the apartment.

The apartment lights were still on when they pushed through the door, the glow from the TV flickering across the living room. Jake was sprawled on the couch, but his head snapped up the second he saw them.

“Finally,” Jake said, pausing the show. His eyes narrowed, flicking from Lloyd with his armful of bags to Ari’s damp hair and loose shirt. “Where the hell have you two been?”

“Relax, mama bird.” Lloyd kicked the door shut behind him, setting the takeout on the counter. “Brought food. That should count for something.”

Jake didn’t budge, gaze bouncing back and forth between them like he was solving a crime. “Food doesn’t answer why you both smell like trouble.”

Ari just shook his head and toed off his boots. “Trouble? When are we ever in trouble?”

Lloyd laughed.

Jake leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “No, seriously. Lloyd, where’d you vanish to? Ari, why do you smell like cleaner?”

Lloyd shot Ari a sidelong look and breezed right past Jake’s question, “I told you. Not a good scent.” Lloyd reached for the bags, opening a carton with exaggerated care. “I considered getting you the chicken lo mein, but I wasn't sure if that was cannibalism.”

Ari laughed while Jake just sighed.

“So, I got you the Hunan shrimp,” Lloyd continued, “with spring rolls and chow mein.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed further. “You’re dodging.”

“Of course I am,” Lloyd said cheerfully, handing him the bag. “What fun is life without a little mystery? Besides…” He turned, grin sharp, “…we should really be talking about your stellar performance tonight, Mr. Jensen.”

Jake frowned, looking up from his chopsticks. “What?”

“The name thing,” Lloyd said, dropping into a chair with his own carton. “You know—‘Jake… Jensen.’ You panicked.”

Ari bit into his stir fry, watching with faint amusement as Jake sputtered.

“I didn’t panic,” Jake argued, pointing with his chopsticks. “It was… improv. I just…realized we never actually did my name, so I said the first human surname that came to mind.”

“Improv?” Lloyd laughed. “You turned us into a goddamn German cake. Hansen and Jensen? Do you know what a Hansen Jensen Torte is? It’s a fruitcake, Jake. You made us a fruitcake.”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Ari huffed, shaking his head. “Is it even a common fruitcake? Rogg didn't seem to realize.”

“True,” Lloyd said smoothly, gesturing between himself and Jake. “The man clearly didn't know his desserts.”

Jake shook his head, relaxing. “He does seem like the type to skip dessert.”

“Well, that settles it,” Ari added without missing a beat. “He clearly can’t be trusted.”

They finished their food talking about everything and nothing—Rogg, his lackeys, Jake’s show. Ari got up without preamble, tossing his containers in the trash. “We should get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

The others acknowledged him, Lloyd with a nod and Jake with a small salute.

He headed to his suite and got ready for bed. He stared in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He paused, shifting his eyes—just like her eyes had been. He hadn’t imagined it. She was part Lycan. She had to be only part, otherwise they would’ve scented each other long before their eyes ever met.

He rinsed, thoughts turning over. His eyes had kept drifting to her form. He must’ve realized on some level. How was that possible, and what did it mean?

He undressed and stretched out in bed, arm behind his head. He thought of her smile, the way she constantly challenged him. He loved it. She wanted desperately to be a good girl for a worthy mate—and her standards were high.

He smirked to himself. Of course she’d found human men lacking.

His groan slipped out as his hand wrapped around his half-hard cock. She’d felt so good wrapped around him, teeth in his neck. Gods, he regretted not tasting her properly. Fuck, he wanted her musk all over him.

He remembered how good she’d looked when she’d gazed up at him, struggling to swallow his cock and enjoying every second of it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, stroking himself harder, faster, thoughts spiraling. He wanted to claim her in every way. The next time she wanted his cock in her pretty mouth, it’d be while he fucked her perfect tits.

His hips bucked into his hand, chasing release. It’d never be enough. He needed her… and he didn’t even know her name.

You were exhausted in the best way possible. You admired all the marks Ari had left on you while you did your nightly skin care. God, what was that? You didn’t even know sex could be that good. What a swing from all the disappointing encounters.

You were definitely feeling yourself after such an evening. You put on your favorite little sleep shorts and your softest crop top, enjoying the occasional twinge of your muscles as you got into bed.

You couldn’t help but play with your breasts as you thought of Ari’s big hands and how thoroughly he’d ruined you. Fuck, the mere memory had you needy all over again.

You shimmied back out of your sleep shorts and reached for your vibrator. You were still almost too sensitive, but tried to imagine what Ari would say right now. You can take it for me, can’t you, little one? Be my good girl.

Fuuuuuck—your body jolted, writhing, but it wasn’t enough. You whimpered, trying to chase the edge but just not getting there.

That toy isn’t going to cut it anymore, princess.

You could just imagine how smug Ari would be if he could actually see you. Then again, if he could actually see you right now, he’d help you out. Grind harder. Bully that little clit.

You didn’t know when you’d flipped onto your stomach, but you were grinding your vibrator into the mattress, desperate, chasing it. You started whimpering his name, begging a man who wasn’t even there to help you.

You imagined his weight at your back and his voice in your ear. Tsk. Poor thing. I’ll take care of you next time. But for now… come.

And God help you, you did. You came hard… and passed out.

You woke up with your alarm the next morning. You weren’t exactly refreshed, but it wasn’t your worst morning. You fished your dead vibrator out of the sheets and tossed it in your drawer to deal with later.

You tossed everything—including your linens—into the hamper and took a shower. The warm water was relaxing and grounding. It let you think.

You had to see Ari again, that was obvious. But would he want to see you? You hoped so, but there were no illusions about what it was—or what it started out as, anyway. Maybe sex was always that incredible for Ari and you were just another night.

That thought pained you and you literally snarled. “No,” you said out loud to yourself. “That was incredible. You’re just having dark thoughts because you need to eat and could use more sleep. Stop it.”

You opted for a white turtleneck under your pale blue scrubs. You’d have to remember not to pull up your sleeves as you were wont to do. Your watch could hide the marks on one wrist, but the other—you still had some silicone bracelets from the last event, right?

You checked yourself in the mirror. No one at the clinic or shelter should look twice, you thought. You giggled. Covering up Ari’s marks was a wonderful way to pick your look for the day.

You phoned in your breakfast order for pickup, grabbed your purse, and headed out into the world, heart thrumming.

Chapters

Grafting a Dream: Andy/Prologue, Part 1

The Company We Keep: Andy/Prologue, Part 2

The First Hunt: Ari, Part 1

Marked: Ari, Part 2

Prey: Ari, Part 3

Into The Wilds: Ari, Part 4

Polls

First Story? Ransom, Lloyd & Fowler, Ari, or Jake?

Uh...how many words is too many words?

Shenanigans

The nickname rolled off his tongue like it had always been there. You gave him a weak smile, grateful. Andy’s arms came around you from behind—slow and solid. He rested his chin lightly on the top of your head.

“Hey,” he murmured. “She’s my Sunshine.”

Lloyd raised his hands in mock surrender. “Borrowing. With affection.”

Andy huffed a quiet laugh and kissed the side of your head. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “They’re going to love you. And if they don’t…” He gave a slow shrug you could feel against your back. “They’ll learn.”

You let yourself lean into him. The nervous buzz was still there, but now it had warmth braided through it.

The library they were building stood nearby—half-finished, magic humming in the walls. You’d helped organize what little had been shelved already, your handwriting now mixed with Andy’s on the cataloging tags. It wasn’t finished, and neither were you. But this place, this life—it fit. In some ways, it had felt so fast—and in others, you couldn’t remember life before all this.

You and Andy had gone over everything in the weeks since.

He hadn’t rushed you. You’d walked through it together—your job, your apartment, your bank account—your old life. What to keep. What to let go. You’d tried to explain the feeling and found your voice catching, oddly solid despite the weight of it all. “I thought it would feel like grief,” you’d said. “But it feels like pruning. I’m genuinely relieved.”

Andy had looked at you then, expression unreadable for a beat. Then he nodded, slow and proud.

“Some of it I tossed without thinking,” you added. “But... my family. That’s different.” You glanced down at your hands.  “I don’t need to be in their daily lives. I choose this life. I choose you. I just... I don’t want to disappear on them. Maybe I could send a letter sometimes? And I want them to know you. Maybe we could attend weddings and milestones? Send holiday cards, even?”

He held you closer, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I’d love to know your family. If nothing else, I want them to know how cherished you are—even if they can’t know the details.” He shifted slightly, thoughtful.  “It’s not impossible,” he said. “But it is complicated.” Then a pause. A faint smile. “If anyone could figure it out, though,” Andy murmured, “it’d be Jake. Sounds like the kind of challenge he’d enjoy.”

You nodded, even though Jake didn’t know you existed yet. No one did—not really. Not outside this orchard and the half-built library at your back. But they would. Soon. And when they did, you wanted them to know you’d chosen Andy. You’d chosen Themorea. And you loved it. Even if you still wanted to send your family Christmas cards.

———

Andy’s request for a Concord—an official meeting of The Circle and The Circle only—had been acknowledged three days ago. Now, it was time.

He walked beside you through the winding paths of the Agora, his cloak heavy across your shoulders, the hood pulled low. Your heart beat a little faster with each step. The shops and passageways of the central square bustled around you, but no one gave you a second glance.

If only they knew a human walked among them.

The Council Hall rose ahead, gleaming in the mid-morning sun. Unlike the surrounding structures, which pulsed gently with the organic magic of their respective provinces, the Council Hall was clean stone and a weathered copper dome. The columns bore no crests, only the etched lines of the Circle’s sigil over the arched entry—accorded neutral ground.

“This is where we gather with the seconds,” Andy said quietly as you climbed the steps beside him. “Concords are only for The Circle and are held in The Ring. They’ll wait here until the Concord ends. They usually handle a lot of the unofficial discussions while we’re in session. Truth be told, we rarely call Concords—most meetings happen here with our seconds present.”

You nodded beneath the hood, unsure if you were relieved or disappointed not to meet them yet.

Inside, the Council Hall was quiet—almost reverent. Long stone benches lined the outer chamber where any observers would sit. At the center stood a wide circular table, and off to the side the portal gate to The Ring sat on an elevated platform of silver-veined marble, carved with the sigils of each region.

Your eyes traced the inlaid symbols and their slow, rhythmic glow. Your throat tightened.

Andy turned to face you, lifting a hand to gently adjust the hood over your forehead.

“Once we step through,” he said, “we’ll be in The Ring. They’ll come in after us, one by one. They’ll expect something—but not you. Not this.”

You exhaled slowly. “And when they realize?”

“They’ll see what I see.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Eventually.”

You searched his face, trying to pull courage from it. Andy’s hand brushed your cheek, grounding.

“They’ll hear us out in The Ring,” he said. “That’s the law. They can be surprised. They can be angry. But they will listen. And they will understand.”

“I hope so,” you murmured.

“They’ll love you, given time. And don’t forget—you already have friends in there. Lloyd and Fowler will be with us.”

He hesitated a beat, then offered his hand. “Come on, Sunshine. Let’s show them.”

———

You stepped onto the platform with him. The sigils flared bright. Light swelled. And together, you vanished into the heart of Themorea.

Light receded, revealing a garden framed by crystal and stone. The Ring shimmered around you—vast, echoing. Geode walls arched high overhead, faint glints of amethyst catching the drift of floating lights near the ceiling.

Other portals ringed the space.

“Those are our private gates to The Ring,” Andy murmured, following your gaze. “That one’s mine,” he added, nodding toward a portal flanked by two flowering trees. “We rarely use them—only in emergencies. It’s considered rude not to be seen arriving through the main gate. An old-world courtesy, but it's stayed with us.”

You nodded, absorbing each detail.

At the center of the Ring stood a circular open-air pavilion of smooth opal columns crowned with a jade roof. A single, massive table of burled olivewood anchored the space, surrounded by mismatched chairs, each one unmistakably tailored to the ruler it belonged to.

Andy led you toward the table, his hand loosely holding yours beneath the cloak. At the edge, he paused. With one gentle sweep, he pulled the fabric more fully around you, veiling your features as you tucked behind him. He glanced down at you, quiet reassurance in his eyes, then turned to face the center of the space and waited.

———

The main portal flared once. Then again. And again. One by one, the others arrived.

Maria. Ari. Jake. Natasha. Curtis. Steve and Bucky. Ransom. Lloyd and Fowler came last, unreadable as they slipped into their usual seats with nods of greeting.

Their gazes swept the Ring—and Andy—but no one seemed to notice you tucked at his back. Once everyone was seated, Natasha started: “You called for a Concord.” Her tone was cool, probing. “That’s rare.”

“It is,” Andy replied. “But warranted.”

He didn’t elaborate. Not yet.

Ari studied him. “You’ve been quiet since returning from the mortal realm.”

“Noticeably missing,” Natasha added, arms folding.

“So what is it?” Curtis asked, calm but direct.

Maria’s eyes narrowed speaking before Andy could answer. “I received a report—of a human woman in the Grove.” She looked directly at Andy. “Is that what this is about?”

Heads turned. Andy didn’t flinch.

“Andy,” Steve said, uncertain. “You didn’t—”

“You brought a human here?” Natasha cut in, sharper now. “Is she—do you mean to keep her here?”

“She’s not some souvenir,” Andy said evenly, annoyed at being derailed so quickly. “She is my mate. My companion. And she will rule the Grove by my side." He paused before adding, "Forever.”

The words landed like stone in still water. Ripples of disbelief moved around the table.

You could feel the shift—the tension, the judgment, the weight of every gaze you hadn’t yet met. Andy straightened, voice low but unshakable. “She’s here, you know. She hears you.”

Silence fell harder. Then—all eyes turned to you.

Heart hammering, you stepped forward, easing the hood back. You gave a small, nervous wave. “Hi.”

Another beat of stunned quiet.

“You actually brought her here?” Ransom blinked, incredulous.

“I told you,” Andy said, placing a steadying hand at your lower back. “She’s not an accessory. She’s mine. This isn’t temporary. This isn’t a game. And if any of you speak about her like she isn’t standing here again…” His voice edged lower. “We’ll be having a very different kind of Concord.”

Tension tightened and Natasha’s gaze sharpened. “The pact is maintained?”

The words meant something to everyone in the room except you.

Andy’s reply was steady. “We’ll need time before that.”

A pause.

Maria leaned forward, exhaling. “A good sign,” she murmured. “He hasn’t lost all sense.” Her eyes flicked to you. “Maybe he didn’t lose it at all.”

That broke the stillness. A few quiet nods followed—cautious, but no longer hostile.

Then the scrape of a chair. Natasha stood.

“I would speak with her,” she said, voice clear and firm. “Alone.”

She turned to you—not cruel, but not optional either.

“Please follow me.”

You glanced up at Andy.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You're not in trouble.”

Still, your legs felt shaky as you stepped toward her. Natasha led the way, guiding you back through the portal. The Ring vanished behind you.

A graceful woman with features similar to Natasha's visibly startled at Natasha’s sudden reappearance in the Council Hall. Her gaze landed on you, assessing—curious.

Without a word, she fell into step behind you as Natasha led you down a quiet corridor and opened the door to a small side chamber.

Inside, the air was calm. Soft chairs circled a low table. The woman moved with quiet efficiency preparing tea while Natasha gestured for you to sit.

You sat. Waiting. Ready, or at least trying to be.

———

As the portal shimmered closed behind Natasha and Sunshine, a taut silence lingered. Andy didn’t move.

“She’s mortal,” Maria said at last. “You know what that means.”

“I do.” His voice was steady but raw. “And I tried. Gods, I tried not to feel it. I left the realm. I ran halfway across the world. I didn’t go looking for her.” He glanced around the table, jaw tightening. “I fought it. Weeks of silence, distance, rationalizing. I told myself I wasn’t feeling what I was feeling—that it wasn’t real.” His gaze lifted. “But it is. She’s mine. And I’m hers. I won’t run from that.”

“Even knowing what she’ll lose?” Bucky asked quietly.

Andy didn’t flinch. “She knows. And she’s still here.”

Curtis leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, studying Andy. Silent. Unreadable.

Lloyd whistled low. “Andy’s not reckless,” he said. “He wouldn’t be standing here unless he was damn sure.”

“She’s unexpected,” Fowler added, languid in his coil, chin resting in one hand. “But maybe that’s the point. When has fate ever brought us what we expect?”

Ransom snorted, expression dry. “True. It’s always the unexpected ones that shift the tides.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “If she truly understands the cost and still chooses Andy…. She might actually belong here.”

Steve hadn’t spoken, but now shifted forward slightly, elbows on the table. “I don’t like surprises,” he said. “But I know your word, Andy. If you say this is right—” He gave a short nod. “Then I’ll listen.”

Curtis stayed still, watching from behind folded arms. “You’ve always held the line,” he said simply. “No one questions your loyalty to Themorea or to The Circle. But this will change everything.”

From his side of the table, Bucky gave a low hum of agreement.

Ari’s fingers tapped the arm of his chair—slow, deliberate. “This path you’re starting—it’s not built for her kind. It won’t be easy.” Then, after a beat, he added, “But if anyone can walk it with her… it’s probably you.”

Andy inclined his head in silent thanks.

Jake gave a short chuff, feathers rustling as he tilted his head, sharp eyes glinting. “You said she knows what she’s giving up. But have you two considered what she doesn’t have to lose?” His fingers flexed against the table as he glanced around the Ring. “There are ways. Pathways. We’re not without options.”

Andy took a slow breath. “We’ve been thinking about that. About the long road ahead. We had some ideas… but they’ll need refinement. And infrastructure.” He met Jake’s eyes. “If anyone could find a way, it’s you.”

Jake raised a brow, amusement flickering. “Well. That does sound like my kind of problem.”

Around the table, a few glances were exchanged. The air, though still wary, had softened.

Andy turned back to the group. “I brought her here to The Ring before you all because she’s my future. I won’t be parted from her.”

Maria finally leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “No one wants to lose you. We’ll see what Natasha says.”

———

Natasha settled opposite you. “This is Yelena,” she said simply. “My second.”

Yelena nodded once, setting a delicate cup in front of you before taking a seat at Natasha’s side. Her eyes—unlike Natasha’s—gave more away: keen, alert, kind.

The questions began. Not rapid-fire. Not aggressive. Just... precise.

How did you meet Andy?

When did things shift between you?

What did he say when he told you the truth?

How did he treat you?

Do you have your own space?

Do you freely move around his estate?

It wasn’t an interrogation—but it wasn’t small talk either. At first, you answered plainly. Honestly. You told them about the kind man who tried to soften a horrible day. How he saw you when you felt invisible. How he made space for you—gently, steadily—and how it ached when he tried to stay away. How you’d never felt so drawn to someone.

But something in Natasha’s eyes made you pause.

She wasn’t looking at you. Not entirely. She was watching for something—listening between the lines. And suddenly, you understood.

This wasn’t about you. It was about him.

Not whether you were good enough. Whether he was safe enough.

They weren’t trying to measure your worth. They were trying to protect you from the possibility that this was something else—something darker. Grooming. Manipulation. Imbalance cloaked as fate. And you realized—they weren’t judging you. They were trying to save you.

The realization strengthened your resolve. You didn’t try to impress them after that. You focused on truth. Reassurance. You told them that you hadn’t gone looking for Andy either—but now that you found him, you wouldn’t let him go. That your world had settled around him before you had words for what it was. That love had never felt like home until him.

No flowery language. No grand declarations. Just one truth, grounded and steady: “I’ve never felt so cherished or safe. I want to give him the same. He’s my everything.”

You hoped that simple truth shone in your eyes. Then held their gaze and waited.

After a fraught moment Yelena leaned back in her seat, one brow lifting slightly. “I like this one,” she said, her voice quiet but certain.

You weren’t sure if it was approval or solidarity, but it felt like both.

Natasha’s gaze stayed steady a moment longer. Then she nodded, slow and thoughtful. “Me, too,” she smirked.

She reached for her own teacup, movements graceful but purposeful. “We’ll talk logistics soon. There will be things to consider—protections, expectations, adjustments.” Her tone shifted, less testing now. More grounded. “But if what you feel is real, then we’ll find a way.”

Yelena gave a small, satisfied hum beside her. And for the first time since stepping into the unknown, you felt something loosening in your chest. You were welcome here.

The air softened after that. Natasha asked fewer questions, and Yelena—who’d quietly claimed a second cup of tea—chimed in now and then with dry, unexpected humor. You found yourself relaxing by degrees.

They asked about your background, your hobbies, how you’d handled discovering a world you never knew existed. The conversation meandered with gentle curiosity, not inspection. It was very… easy.

When Natasha finally set her empty cup down with a quiet clink, she studied the delicate swirl of leaves at the bottom. “That should be enough time,” she murmured.

You blinked. “Enough time?”

Her mouth curved with a hint of mischief you wouldn't have assumed possible from her. “For Andy to convince the others, of course.”

Your breath caught. “He’s—They’re—” You weren't sure what you wanted to say exactly but the two gorgons understood all the same.

“Oh yes,” Yelena said breezily. “They’re probably all brooding about it together. Lots of meaningful silences and dramatic nods.”

You laughed despite your rising panic, but Natasha only gave a quiet, almost fond sigh. “I’ve known my friend a long time,” she said. “I trust that he’s fighting for you. I just had to be sure he wasn’t injuring himself—or you—in the process.” That truth settled over you like a warm blanket. You weren’t here because they doubted you. You were here because someone loved Andy enough to make sure he was okay, even in his joy. And somehow, that made you feel even safer.

“Come. Let's get the issue settled.” Natasha said standing. She shared a look with Yelena who nodded and headed out the door back to the other seconds. Natasha led you back to The Ring.

———

You and Natasha stepped through the portal together, her expression playful while you were clearly at ease. The Circle looked up.

Andy stood immediately, his eyes locking on yours. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding eased out of him.

Natasha returned to her chair as you returned to Andy's side. She faced the others and said, simply: “My new friend is lovely. I'm looking forward to getting to know her better.”

The meaning wasn’t lost on anyone. It wasn’t a verdict—it was a statement of alignment. Natasha wasn’t just approving you. She was joining Andy’s side. She turned to him, her voice softer now. “I’m very happy for you.”

“We all are in our own ways,” Lloyd added quickly, keeping the positive momentum going.

"It goes without saying, really,” Fowler followed smoothly.

You smiled. You saw right through those two and appreciated it all the same.

A quiet hum of approval rippled through the room.

Jake was surprisingly the first to speak. “Cool. This is actually a good transition into something I wanted to bring before the Council today. I know I didn’t send out an addendum—it’s last minute.”

He waited for a few nods.

“Pronge is still looking into Andy. He’s even managed to track down a few of our vendors.”

A murmur of discontent stirred, but Jake held up a hand. “Relax. He’s not a threat. Just... annoying.”

Andy muttered, exasperated, “He thinks I’m running a damn mafia.”

The others stilled—

Maria spoke first. “...Could we?”

Jake grinned. “I kinda get it. Dark money, shadow networks, unexplained disappearances.” He waggled his eyebrows at you at that part and you laughed. “And the best part? He already believes it. We give him the story he wants, he stops digging. We stay clean.”

Ransom actually laughed. “We are unreasonably attractive and well-dressed. Feels on brand.”

“Oh, I like this,” Lloyd offered, leaning forward. “No one wants to poke the mob too hard. They're more likely to assume you’re corrupt than immortal.”

Steve frowned. “We can’t let them think we’re criminals. If we’re seriously considering more contact with the mortal world, we need clean fronts. Reputable channels.” He paused. “Pronge may be the sleaziest of our contacts but our business with him was still above board. If we even pretend to dirty our hands now, it’ll cost us later.”

Silence followed. No one refuted Steve—but no one seemed sure where that left them.

You broke the silence.

“Then… give him what he expects. Legit business. Clean records. A team of very polished executives…” you gestured to the room, “…who just happen to have a hint of something darker behind the scenes.”

You fought down a giggle—it was your favorite kind of fantasy: mafia meets billionaire CEO.

No one noticed the mischief in your eyes except Andy. He raised an eyebrow and squeezed your thigh under the table, but said nothing.

Jake perked up. “Oooo, dramatic. A corporation with whispers. The kind of brand that makes government men lean away.”

Fowler tilted his head toward you. “She gets it.”

Andy sighed, smiling despite himself. “And now they’re the problem.”

Lloyd grinned. “Oh, she gets it.”

You, Maria, Natasha, and Ransom all laughed. Even the others cracked smiles.

Curtis raised his hand slightly. “Before you all get carried away with Jake and Andy’s new project—may I suggest we close this Concord?” His eyes met yours. “Its original purpose is clearly resolved. Welcome.”

You nodded, warmth spreading in your chest.

Curtis returned to addressing the room. “Whatever front we use, I think we should council with our seconds.”

“Agreed,” Maria said immediately. “Shall we?”

One by one, they began making their way back toward the Council Hall.

———

Yelena had already gathered the others.

Cole—a Satyr and Andy’s second—was the first to approach, slipping easily to your side with the casual grace of someone already considering you family.

“I take it went well?” he asked, voice pitched low and friendly. “I’ve been nervous. Not everyone appreciates these kinds of grand gestures.”

You smiled at him, touched, but Andy answered before you could.

“It went very well,” he said. “I’ll explain everything in Council.”

He guided you gently forward, where the others were gathering around the central table. The seconds found their places with practiced ease—some quiet, some curious, all assessing. Andy remained standing.

“The formal Concord is concluded,” he said, voice carrying easily through the space. “This is now a working session. We need input. And we need alignment.”

A few nods met his words. No one objected.

Andy glanced around the table before continuing. “Some of you know already, but for the rest—this is my partner. She’s the reason I called the Concord.”

His voice softened as he offered your name. No one missed the weight the shift carried. Reactions varied from surprise to amusement.

“I’ve chosen her. She’s chosen me. And after speaking with The Circle we’re moving forward. Together.”

There were no interruptions, only measured silence.

Andy moved on, his tone sharpening. “While that remains personal, it connects to something larger. Jake raised an issue just before we adjourned: Pronge.”

That earned a collective groan from a few of the seconds.

Jake gave a short shrug, feathered brow raised, about to elaborate when Lloyd cut in: “Before we get into that, why don't you all introduce yourselves to Sunshine here.”

“Sunshine?” an ethereal being with a flanged voice next to Jake asked.

“It’s what we call Andy’s darling mate,” Fowler offered smirking.

“Ah, I see. Greetings, Sunshine. I am ELARA, Lord Jake's second—Sentinel of the Aerie.”

Jake beamed. “ELARA: Executive Logic and Adaptive Response Assistant. Most brilliant construct you’ll ever meet.”

ELARA nodded politely.

A cyclops sitting next to Maria leaned forward. “I’m glad to finally have a good look at you. You’re even lovelier up close. I’m Nick, Warden of the Anvil—second to Lady Maria.”

Andy raised an eyebrow and turned to Maria. “Report, huh?” She shrugged without apology.

Yelena was next. “You know I’m Natasha’s second, but my formal title is Steward of the Red Redoubt. We're going to be good friends. I can tell.”

A man with a warm smile seated beside Steve gave a small wave. “I’m Sam—Skywarden of the Reach.” He gestured to Steve and Bucky, “Second to these two.” He then patted the bird at ease on his shoulder. “And this is Redwing, Falcon of the Reach.”

The bird puffed up with pride and chirped once. “Flirt,” Sam muttered. You smiled.

A pale man with an easy manner offered a nod. “I’m Benoit, milady.” He greeted in an accent hinting at something not quite American South to your ear. “Ransom’s second—Harbormaster of the Drift. It’s a pleasure.”

A regal figure with antlers gave a dignified incline of his head. “I am Thranduil, Seneschal of the Wilds. I serve Lord Ari.”

A tall, imposing woman followed with a nod. “Val. Chatelaine of the Hollow, second to Lord Curtis.”

And finally—

“Gant,” said the last man, giving you a little salute. “Chamberlain of the Veil. Second to these two snakes.” He winked as he pointed a thumb at Lloyd and Fowler.

———

Once the greetings had passed, Jake refocused the room.

“Pronge’s still digging—into Andy, into our vendors, our activity trails.”

“I’m fairly certain he thinks I’m mafia,” Andy muttered, still annoyed.

That got a few smirks.

“We all agreed we can’t risk exposure,” Andy continued. “But we also can’t ignore the world we came from—especially if we plan to maintain any contact, no matter how quiet or careful.”

Gant nodded, arms folded loosely across his chest. “You want a front.”

“A clean one,” Steve added. “If we’re doing this, we do it right.”

“Public enough to explain our presence,” Natasha said. “But private enough to disappear when needed.”

Jake leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “A sleek brand. Executive types. Whispers of shadow networks, but nothing provable.”

Thranduil hummed. “Bespoke secrecy. It’s elegant.”

“That’s where we’re leaning,” Andy said, glancing toward you just briefly. “And I’d like you all involved. If this front is going to work, it needs legitimacy. Structure. And the appearance of something human.”

Val nodded, considering. “Shell corporation?”

“Something like that,” Andy replied. “A multinational. Quiet. Nimble. With enough red tape to keep nosy contractors confused for years.”

Jake grinned. “Sounds like we’re going corporate.”

Maria sighed but didn’t argue. “Then we’d best get to work.”

———

Groups broke off. Notes were exchanged. Maria already had a framework in motion. ELARA projected layered data strings, shifting with each input. Andy stood quietly beside you, but you could feel his shoulders had eased. The path ahead wasn’t clear, but it was forming.

Eventually, someone—maybe Ransom, maybe Curtis—murmured the name that stuck.

The Morea Group.

“Isn’t that too obvious?” Natasha worried.

Yelena pondered. “It could muddy the waters if anyone somehow gets real information. Plus, you have to admit—it’s hilarious.”

Bucky approved with a quiet nod. Jake, who you were realizing was a bit of a troll, was practically glowing.

With the name agreed upon Lloyd spoke again, cutting across the murmur.

“All right,” he said, tipping back slightly in his chair. “If we’re playing the long con, I have a requirement.”

“Oh gods,” Natasha muttered.

Lloyd grinned. “We need codenames. Something cool. Something ominous.”  

Natasha didn’t even look up. “No.”

Fowler chuckled. “Let him have this.”

“I’m just saying,” Lloyd continued, completely unbothered, “if we’re all going to be high-powered shadow execs fronting a vaguely sinister multinational—”

“A legitimate consultancy,” Steve interrupted.

“—we should at least have codenames,” Lloyd finished, unrepentant. “Stylish ones.”

Ransom gave a soft snort. “You already have one in mind. Let's hear it.”

“Mr. Lloyd Handsom.”

The collective groan was impressive.

“What?” Lloyd said, mock wounded.

“Let’s go with Mr. Lloyd Hansen. Still insufferable, less suspicious," Jake countered.

“Barely,” Gant muttered, smiling

“I’ll allow it.” Lloyd answered at the same time.

Curtis murmured, “Children.”

ELARA chimed in without missing a beat. “Assigning internal identifiers could assist with compartmentalization and communication protocols. Though I suggest numerical pairings.”

“Buzzkill,” Jake muttered. “I vote Buzzkill as ELARA’s codename.”

“I do not require a codename,” ELARA replied dryly. “I am already classified.”

“I’m already known as Mr. Andy Barber,” Andy said, finally stepping in with a grin tugging at his mouth, “No point in changing it.”

Fowler immediately jumped in on the fun gesturing to Nick. “I’m stealing your name. I think Mr. Nick Fowler has a nice bite to it. We need a good looking Nick.”

Nick was completely unbothered. “If I ever get sent out, I’m going as Mr. Nick Fury.” He eyed Maria. “Just to annoy Maria.” Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.” He laughed teasing her further,  “Oh, I absolutely would. It’s a strong brand. I’ll wear the eyepatch and everything.”

Gant laughed. “Love it. I’ll follow my lord's lead. We do need a good looking Nick, so I’ll be Mr. Nick Gant if I’m ever called on.”

Yelena snorted. “You lot are menaces.”

Natasha was smiling, “As long as the illusion holds, I don’t care what they call themselves.”

Curtis leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, voice calm but firm. “This is a solid foundation. But it’s still just theory and details.”

Ari, ever the blunt one, nodded once. “It doesn't actually mean much if we can't get it up and running.”

The shift was immediate. ELARA’s projections stilled. Jake’s posture straightened. Natasha’s eyes narrowed, already calculating next steps.

Maria was the first to speak. “I have half a dozen leads that need scrubbing before we make any move. If we’re serious about operating in the human realm, we’ll need clean contacts.”

Nick was already adding notes to a faintly glowing scroll. “I’ll handle our back-end metadata, make sure The Morea Group looks boring enough to avoid real scrutiny.”

“We can’t all go,” Steve said. “And we can’t send the wrong mix—too strange, too magical, too memorable.”

“We need a team that can blend,” Natasha added, “but still carry weight if it comes to that.”

Jake was already rising. “I’ll go.”

Andy lifted his head. “You sure?”

Jake’s smile was razor-sharp. “Please. You think I’ve never run a covert human-side operation before? I built ELARA in a garage in Atlanta.”

“You also nearly blew up said garage,” ELARA said mildly.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Jake muttered, but he was already gathering things. “Someone needs to establish the system—lay the foundation. Talk to contacts. We’ll need infrastructure, digital pathways, real-world logistics.”

Fowler leaned toward Lloyd, voice quiet but firm. “One of us should go, and you match Jake's energy better. ”

Lloyd arched a brow. “Tempting.”

“You blend in,” Fowler continued. “Too well. And no one sees you coming when you’re smiling.” They shared a look that was more than a look.

The room went still for a beat.

“I’ll go,” Lloyd said, slowly stretching to his full height. He straightened his cuffs, voice dry. “Can’t have Jake doing something brilliant and accidentally starting a war.”

Jake grinned. “You love it when I start things.”

“And I love it more when I finish them,” Lloyd returned.

“I’ll go with them,” Ari sighed, rising with quiet finality. Thranduil did a double take, studying his lord. “We need someone who can track. And protect.” Ari's gaze flicked briefly to you, then to Andy. “If she’s connected to the mortal world, so are we.”

Andy gave a single, grateful nod. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to.

Thranduil nodded.

Curtis glanced at the group and gave a soft grunt of approval. “That’s a strong trio.”

“Agreed,” Maria said. “But move quietly. And don’t start anything unless you’re ready to finish it.”

“Would we ever?” Lloyd grinned.

“Yes,” came multiple voices in unison.

Lloyd didn’t argue.

“Have fun babysitting, Ari.” Nick teased.

Jake laughed and pulled up a map overlay from ELARA’s systems and tapped a glowing dot. “We’ll start here. Pronge has a trail and I have a few old threads we can pull. If we do this right, we won't just throw him off. We’ll use him.”

“Use him how?” you asked softly.

Jake smiled. “As a megaphone.”

Ari’s mouth curved into something almost approving and entirely predatory.

Natasha raised her drink in mock toast. “To subtlety.”

Minotaur!Andy

The Rulers of Themorea known collectively as The Circle—

Gorgon!Natasha

Lamia Brothers!Lloyd & Fowler

Spartoi Twins!Steve & James (Bucky)

Siren!Ransom

Fury!Maria

Griffin?Jake

Lycan!Ari

Hyperborean!Curtis

....maybe some others.

Let me know who you'd be excited to see!