I woke slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my face pressed into Bella's chest. For a mont I didn't know where I was—the room was dim, warm, quiet in that soft morning way—and a bolt of panic shot through , expecting cold restraints, expecting Laura's voice hissing in my ear again.
But no... that nightmare was over.
I was here. With them.
My lionesses. My protectors. My future wives.
Their bodies were wrapped around mine with a desperation that felt almost primal. Bella had one arm slung over my waist, holding like I was going to dissolve into smoke. Elara's arm was locked around my chest from behind, her forehead pressed between my shoulder blades.
I couldn't even shift an inch—not only because I was weak, but because they refused to let go.
And God... I didn't want them to.
For a mont I forgot everything—the blood, the screaming, the shackles, the way Laura whispered "property" like it was my na. For a mont I just basked in the warmth of the two won who tore through the world for .
They murdered soone yesterday. For . Because of .
That truth floated sowhere in the back of my mind, dark and heavy and strangely comforting. Most people would be horrified knowing the people who loved them had killed. But ? I wasn't horrified.
I rembered the first ti Elara ca ho after dealing with Sara—how terrified I was, how confused, how unprepared I was to be loved that fiercely.
Back then she slipped out in the middle of the night without telling . This ti... they told their plan. This ti they brought Liz over to keep watch while they hunted.
I wonder if Liz knows what they were doing. What they did. What they'd do again without blinking.
It felt strange—knowing I was loved like this. Loved to the point of violence. Loved to the point of no return.
Strange... and amazing. Frightening... and warm.
Because no matter how twisted our world had beco, one truth wrapped around as tightly as their arms:
I was theirs. And they were mine. And after everything... I was lucky to still live this life—with my two monstrous, beautiful won holding like they'd never let disappear again.
"Maybe I should get tattoos of their nas... y'know, to show them how much I love them," I whispered to myself, mostly joking—yet not really.
I didn't even realize Elara's loud snoring had gone silent until her voice, low and gravelly from sleep, slid right into my ear.
"That'd be so hot," she murmured. "Put 'em on your pelvis... mine on the left, Bella's on the right. Just like how we sleep around you."
Her breath brushed my neck, rough and warm, and it sent goosebumps dancing down my spine. Even half-asleep she sounded like sin wrapped in velvet.
"I agree," Bella chid in suddenly, her voice muffled before she lifted her head to kiss the top of mine three slow, soft tis. "We should get them today..."
I jumped slightly—not from fear but because I didn't even realize she'd been awake. She stretched lazily, sliding her thigh over mine while Elara's hands wandered my chest, rough palms gliding over my skin with that tender heaviness only she had. Those hands... God.
When they were gentle they soothed to sleep, and when they were rough— ...yeah. I'd have to ask for that later.
"Well," I breathed out, scratching my stomach lightly, "sounds like I've got sothing to look forward to now."
My fingertips brushed the faint cuts Laura had left on my tummy. They weren't deep, but the sting was still there—sharp mories under the skin.
I prayed they wouldn't scar, even though part of knew Elara and Bella wouldn't care if they did. Their touch never hesitated, never slowed, even when the wounds were fresh.
"Can I get up? I need to make pancakes..." I asked.
Instantly—instantly—their arms loosened from around . Hunger beat out possessiveness for once, and they practically rolled apart like soone had hit an ergency release button.
"You don't have to cook, Noah," Elara said gently. "You just got back. Let us—"
I shook my head and pushed myself upright. "I want to. Let do this. I love you both... you deserve it."
Their smiles hit like warm sunlight. Bella glowing soft and sweet, Elara smirking with that proud, hungry look that made my stomach flip.
My heart fluttered as I slipped off the bed, toes brushing the carpet. I padded into the bathroom, closing the door behind and leaning against it for a mont—breathing out, grounding myself.
Ti for my routine. Ti to make breakfast for my girls. Ti to feel normal again... even with the faint sting of healing wounds reminding of the week spent in hell.
I felt a little off as I rubbed the face wash into my skin, like my body wasn't fully convinced I was safe yet.
Days without my routine left this strange emptiness in —as if sothing had been scraped out and not put back properly.
But I knew nothing was missing. I just needed to slip back into the rhythm of being again.
At last I rinsed, spat into the sink, cupped water into my mouth to gargle, spit again, and set my toothbrush into the holder. When I lifted my head, my reflection actually looked a little more alive. Not fully—but getting there.
I stepped out feeling lighter, stretching my arms above my head with a big yawn. On my way to the kitchen, I caught sight of Liz knocked out on the couch, sprawled in the ugliest, funniest position imaginable. Her mouth was completely open, head tilted back like she was trying to inhale the ceiling.
A broken little snore rattled out of her.
I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.
"Yeah... I'll let her sleep," I whispered to myself as I slipped into the kitchen.
I opened the fridge and grabbed what I needed—milk, eggs, the container of pre-mixed pancake flour already on the counter.
Making pancakes truly from scratch was too much of task in the mornings; I just wanted quick results. But maybe soday I'd try doing the whole thing myself... the right ingredients, a little vanilla, so lted butter... sothing special for my girls.
I set the kettle on and the water began humming imdiately, heating fast.
Perfect.
I scooped flour into a bowl, cracked a couple eggs one-handed the way Elara liked to brag I could do, then poured in milk until the batter turned thick and goopy. Stirring it made that comforting sticky sound—like childhood breakfasts and Sunday mornings.
The pan on the stove was already warming, heat curling into the air in soft waves as I ladled the first circle of batter onto it.
Sizzle.
I smiled at the sound.
"Christ..." I muttered under my breath, watching the pancake bubble. "With Liz here, I'm gonna have to make like forty of these."
But even then, even after everything, the thought made ... warm.
"Oh well," I said, flipping the pancake and watching it turn golden. "Gotta do it for my family."
And for the first ti in days, it actually felt like a family morning again.
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