Chapter 31 – Worth the Wait
We make it back, and the Feisty Dwarf is alive tonight—warm firelight spilling across polished oak tables, dwarves roaring with laughter at the bard’s booming drinking song, and the scent of roasted boar thick enough to taste.
Our booth is a little bubble of comfort in the chaos. Kit’s curled lazily against my shoulder, tail flicking with every sarcastic quip, while Raka works through a platter of ribs like a wolf who hasn’t seen meat in months.
It’s been a long day of shopping battles… but we survived. And we’re better for it.
Three ales in, with Kit practically purring against me—more feeling the music than listening to it—I let myself sink into the moment.
Then I bring up the HUD.
Time to see where we stand.
[Vincent (Leader – Harem-Master) | Tier 1 | Level 18]
[Kitta (Bonded Companion) | Tier 1 | Level 18]
[Raka (Bonded Companion) | Tier 1 | Level 18]
[ED (Bonded Summon) – Available for Summon]
Selecting and scrolling for a moment, I find what I’m looking for—or at least, I almost do. The HUD blurs just a touch, blue‑white light smearing at the edges as I squint at it, trying to focus through the warmth settling behind my eyes.
Yeah… three dwarven ales will do that. Even to a half-giant
Raka notices. Of course she does. Her gaze flicks from the platter, to me, to the hovering glow only I can see. Then, without a word, she reaches for the pitcher. Another mug. Full. She sets it down in front of me with a quiet thunk—heavy, deliberate.
“Drink,” she says simply.
I glance at it. Then at her. “…helpful,” I mutter.
Kit shifts against me, already grinning, her tail brushing lazily across my leg. “He’s doing important work,” she purrs. “Very serious.”
Raka snorts. “Then he can do it with a full mug.”
I shake my head, but I take it anyway—because of course I do—and take a long pull, the warmth settling in deeper this time. The HUD steadies as I exhale, vision sharpening just enough.
[Party: Combat Inventory]
[Vincent Locke]
Defense (Body):
Fitted Chain Shirt with Reinforced Pauldrons (Tier 1 – Mastercrafted)
Defense (Off-Hand):
—
Offense (Two-Handed):
Stormcast Long Spear (Tier 1 – Rare)
Accessory (Ring):
Ring of Sanguis (Tier 1 – Very Rare)
[Kitta]
Defense (Body):
Supple Black Leather (Tier 1 – Mastercrafted)
Offense (Main Hand):
Elvish Curved Dagger (Tier 1 – Uncommon)
Offense (Off-Hand):
Elvish Curved Dagger (Tier 1 – Uncommon)
Accessory (Neck):
Locket of Spectral Armor (Tier 1 – Rare)
[Raka]
Defense (Body):
Half-Plate with Hide & Fur Padding (Tier 1 – Mastercrafted)
Defense (Off-Hand):
Starburst Heavy Steel Shield (Tier 1 – Rare)
Offense (Main Hand):
War Axe (Tier 1 – Standard)
Accessory:
—
I start breaking it down—combat roles, stat overlap, where we’re strong, where we’re thin. The HUD expands under my focus, panes layering out, numbers lining up like I can force clarity out of them if I stare long enough.
Yeah… that’s not helping.
A slender, pale hand with just a hint of claw drifts up into my vision, fingers splaying across the glow like someone brushing sand across a beach drawing. The panels smear, distort—then try to snap back into place. I blink. The hand does it again. Slower this time. Deliberate.
“Stop that.” Kit purrs.
Her head’s slipped from my shoulder into my lap at some point, silver‑white hair spilling across my thigh, eyes half‑lidded and just a little unfocused—but very, very intent. She swipes at the HUD again, ruining everything with surprising accuracy.
“I’m working,” I protest weakly.
“You’re thinking,” she corrects, voice soft but firm. “Too much.” Her tail flicks lazily against my side. “We’re done fighting for tonight. Time to play”
I look down at her… then at the flickering mess of numbers trying to reassemble themselves.
Yeah… she’s right. Time to play.
I let the HUD fade.
I’m full, buzzed, and—if I’m being honest—feeling pretty good. The fire’s warm. The noise is easy. My girls are close. And maybe… just a little mischievous.
A barmaid approaches—a red‑haired dwarven beauty with curves that could start a bar fight—leaning in to drop off another round of tankards.
Then I feel it.
That urge to do something stupid but only recognise that it was a bad idea a second too late.
“Watch this,” I murmur, low enough for only Kit and Raka to hear.
Then I focus—just a touch. Not enough to flare. Just enough to lean into it. I’ve never tried it on someone outside the bond before. The magic settles behind my eyes, low and controlled.
And when I look at the well endowed dwarven beauty—
[Smoldering Gaze]
It hits like a slow wave—then keeps going. Not overwhelming. Not forceful. Just… present. Warmth settles first—then focus. Like the world narrows just enough to notice—just enough to linger.
Intentional.
Closer than expected—
—and held there.
The flush comes quick, easy, but instead of losing herself to it, her lips curve—slow, knowing. Her breath catches—the warmth familiar—and the dwarven woman appraises me like a piece of meat… and clearly doesn’t mind the view.
Then she leans in just a fraction more than necessary, buxom nearly spilling as she sets the tankards down, voice dropping low—private, playful.
“…careful, love,” she murmurs, a teasing edge slipping in.
Her eyes flick to mine, then down—then back again.
“…I get break in about an hour.”
A small wink.
“…wine cellar’s quieter for a good romp if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”
And just like that—she straightens, all business again, flashing a quick, easy smile like nothing happened at all before slipping back into the crowd.
The table goes silent for half a heartbeat. Then Kit bolts upright out of my lap—quick, a little unsteady—but laughing as she turns on me, ears high, eyes bright and alive with it. “Oh my gods—” she gasps, words just a touch loose. “Master… you are such a jerk.” Raka nearly spits her drink, coughing once as she drags a hand across her snout, shoulders shaking with a low, rough laugh. “…you did that t’ her?” she rumbles, voice thicker now, eyes narrowing with open amusement. “Just like that?”
I open my mouth—
Kit cuts me off immediately, pointing at me, her finger wavering just slightly. “Oh no—no, don’t even start,” she laughs. “You don’t get to pretend that went your way.” She leans in closer—too close—grin bright and mischievous. “She turned that right around on you.”
That lands.
Raka huffs another laugh, leaning back, arms crossing a beat slower than usual as she watches me with that slow, sharp grin. “Reckless,” she says, satisfied. A moment passes. “…effective. But she handled you.” Kit nods emphatically, tail flicking as she settles back against me again. “Absolutely handled,” she agrees. “You thought you were being clever…” Her eyes flick up at me, wicked, a little unfocused—but very sure. “…and she just raised the stakes.”
Yeah.
…that tracks.
Probably a bad idea. I realize that. Absolutely.
…which is exactly why I lean into it.
I lean forward, letting the warmth of the ale and the magic coil together inside me like a storm.
[Smoldering Gaze]
Kit freezes mid-grin, her ears twitching as her violet eyes snap up to mine. Raka’s growl thrums low in her throat again—but this time, it’s hungry. Kit shivers, lips parting as her breath catches, her usual sharp wit slipping for a heartbeat. Her tail lashes once—sharp—then coils tight around my leg beneath the table like a living rope.
Raka doesn’t look away. She doesn’t want to. Her claws flex against the edge of the table, her frame shifting forward like a wolf scenting something worth claiming. Her voice comes low, rough, dragged across silk.
“…finally.”
The tavern fades—not gone. Just… not important anymore. Fire, music, noise—muted. There’s only the three of us now, caught in that pulse, the bond tightening, heat building in the space between us.
Kit swallows, leaning in close, her voice softer now—less teasing, more intent.
“…then finish your drink, Master,” she murmurs near my ear. “…because I think Raka’s done waiting.”
A breath.
“…and I think we could use some handling.”
We all finish our last round with eager eyes.
Raka rises first—towering, her eyes soft but burning like twin moons. Kit slides out of the booth after her, hips swaying, tail curling in deliberate invitation. Neither of them looks back to see if I follow. They don’t have to.
I’m already moving.
The tension doesn’t break—it shifts. Deepens. Simmering just shy of boiling over as we make our way upstairs. Kit brushes my arm with her tail on purpose, smirking up at me with that wicked sparkle in her amber eyes.
Then the door shuts—
—and reality hits.
The scent of the market, ale, and pine clings to all three of us. Kit scrunches her nose dramatically, laughing as she flicks a bit of water from the ewer in my direction.
“Oh no, Master,” she says, still grinning. “We are not making memories smelling like boar meat and dwarven ale… and we already ordered a bath.”
Raka grins wide—all teeth—as she leans one hand against the doorframe.
“I think he smells delicious,” she rumbles, amused. “But if we must…”
Her gaze settles on me, golden eyes steady.
“You first.”
Playful. Firm. A challenge.
Kit’s smirk deepens as she hops up onto the bed, settling in like a lounging cat, stretching out just a little too deliberately.
“Go on,” she purrs. “Don’t keep us waiting…”
The water steams, scented faintly with soap and mint. I strip out of my new armor, slide into the warmth, and feel the tension bleed out of every muscle. There’s something ritualistic in it—a quiet before something bigger. I take my time, scrubbing every trace of the day clean. The razor drags slow and precise along my jaw, and when I finally rise from the water, steam clings to me like a second skin.
The mirror catches me—strong, bare-chested, a towel slung low around my hips.
The door creaks open.
The girls look up—
—and freeze.
Kit’s ears twitch, her playful smirk faltering just enough to betray the hitch in her breath. Her gaze roams shamelessly—across my chest, my arms, the taut line of my stomach. Her tail lashes once, slow and deliberate, the motion giving away more than her expression does.
Raka’s reaction is different. Hotter. Hungrier.
Her golden eyes widen, that fierce confidence cracking just enough to reveal something deeper—want. She draws in a slow breath through her teeth, the sound low, almost a growl… but not quite. Something heavier.
I cross the room, water still dripping from my hair, the towel loose, leaving strength and shape in the firelight without trying to hide it.
Kit’s voice comes first—soft, amused, but edged now.
“…not bad, Master.”
Raka tilts her head, a slow, knowing smile curling across her lips.
“Your turn at the bath is done,” she says, voice low.
“Ours isn’t.”
The door shuts softly behind Kit as they head for the bath, steam curling through the crack. Fresh water fills the basin again, the sound soft and steady.
I’m left stretched out on the harem bed, still warm from my own bath, the subtle pulse of the bond humming against my skin like a second heartbeat.
Time drags along a knife’s edge.
And then it clicks.
They’re making me wait.
The bond teases me with it—little flickers of emotion slipping through the link. Kit’s smug satisfaction. Raka’s low, amused warmth. It keeps me restless. I roll onto my back, muscles taut, staring up at the ceiling as my thoughts spiral tighter with every passing second. Every moment I don’t see them, the heat coils just a little more.
Kit doesn’t walk back in—
she arrives first.
Lean, alabaster skin still damp from the bath, droplets tracing the vine-like tattoos that glow faint lilac in the candlelight. Her silvery hair clings in soft waves, but her body… bare from the waist up, save for the delicate drape of a towel that isn’t doing much.
One hip cocks, tail curling lazily behind her like drifting smoke.
Those amber eyes lock onto me—mischief bright, controlled, intentional.
Her lips curve into a grin I feel before I fully see it.
“Waiting for us, Master?”
Before I can answer, Raka fills the doorway behind her—
—and the air shifts.
She’s something wilder, something heavier. White and silver fur still damp, catching the candlelight like moonlight in motion. Loose braids thread through it where Kit’s hands have been, softening the edges without taming what’s underneath.
The towel around her clings where it should, slipping where it shouldn’t, hinting at strength and weight beneath it. Her chest rises and falls, generous curves barely hidden as she adjusts the wrap.
Kit crosses first, the wrap whispering to the floor as she sheds it like a discarded secret. Firelight catches along her form—sleek muscle, soft skin—every movement deliberate as she slides into the bed beside me, her fingers tracing idle paths over my stomach.
“Your turn,” Kit murmurs, eyes flicking toward Raka.
The wolfkin hesitates—just a heartbeat—and then the towel loosens. It slips, slow as snowfall, pooling at her feet. For a moment, she’s still, strong hands at her sides, letting me drink in the sight: a predator’s grace wrapped in curves, moon-pale fur clinging to her hips, breasts full and heavy under the soft shimmer of silver fur. Her eyes burn molten gold as she takes the first step toward the bed.
The bond flares—heat lightning under my skin—as she lowers herself to the edge of the bed, still towering even now, and moves in closer. Slow. Deliberate. A huntress that already knows the outcome.
Kit leans in, her whisper curling warm against my ear.
“Worth the wait?”
The bond hums like a live wire. Heat rolls in waves off the three of us, thick and dizzying as the last of hesitation burns away. Kit presses against my side, lips teasing at my jaw, her fingers tracing lazy circles across my stomach. It’s the calm before the storm—a soft, electric calm that knows exactly what’s coming.
Then Raka moves. Not gracefully, not like Kit’s sleek form, but with raw, uncoiled power. Her hands—large, calloused, trembling slightly—plant on either side of me as she lowers herself down, fur brushing my skin, the scent of bath oils and wild musk filling my lungs. Her breath ghosts over my collarbone, hot and uneven, before her tongue—a slick, velvet stroke—drags along the base of my throat.
I shudder. Hard.
Kit laughs low and wicked, nipping at my ear. “Easy, wolf,” she teases, but her eyes burn with mischief.
Her hand slides lower, tugging away my towel, knuckles grazing sensitive skin.
“He’s not going anywhere.”
Raka growls softly—a sound deep in her chest, vibrating through my bones—and then she’s tasting me, tongue tracing the hollow of my neck, my shoulder, teeth grazing just shy of pain. There’s a tension to it—power held back just enough to keep from tipping too far. Still, she leans in closer—warm, solid, present as her hands find my chest, fingers spreading wide across muscle before gliding lower… slower… stopping just shy of where she wants, claws twitching like she’s fighting instinct.
The heat between us is molten, but it’s not without stumbles.
Raka’s confidence flickers as her grip finds me—hesitant at first—claws hovering, like she’s measuring every ounce of pressure for the first time—Kit’s hand guiding hers gently—but her fingers twitch, the sharp points catching the low firelight. I tense instinctively, and she notices.
Her ears flatten, a low whine slipping free as she jerks her hand back like she’s burned me.
“Claws…” she murmurs, voice rough with frustration.
I catch her wrist before it falls away completely, pressing a kiss to her furred knuckles.
“You’re fine,” I whisper. “You’re perfect.”
Kit leans in, brushing her lips against Raka’s cheek.
“If you’re worried about cutting him, there are… other ways,” she purrs, eyes glinting wickedly.
Raka freezes for a beat, then her lips peel back in a grin that’s equal parts feral and nervous. “Other ways,” she repeats softly, and then she moves.
She slides down my body in a sinuous ripple of fur and muscle, her breath warm against my stomach. When she dips between my thighs, my heart jackhammers. There’s a moment—a long, tense moment—where her sharp white teeth catch the firelight, and Kit’s teasing smirk falters into something closer to concern.
“Uh…” Kit and I say almost in unison, the air thick with hesitation.
Raka pauses, growling softly—not in anger, but frustration—and pulls back, her chest rising and falling hard.
“Too many… teeth,” she mutters, ears folding back like wilted petals.
For a heartbeat, she looks almost… defeated.
Then her eyes lift to mine—golden, focused, and fully aware.
Her lips curl into a slow, sly grin.
“Teeth aren’t everything.”
The next thing I feel is her tongue. Gods. Long, hot, slick—starting at the base and dragging up in a slow, sinful stroke that makes my spine arch and my breath shatter.
“Holy…hell,” Kit whispers, half to herself, eyes locked on the wolfkin’s movements.
(Fade to Black)
The room smelled of sweat, heat, and something sweeter—belonging. The three of us sprawled across the bed in a heap of limbs and fur, breath still ragged, hearts still thrumming like war drums. My girls—no, my pack—looked spent and satisfied, faces soft in the firelight.
I let out a long exhale, one arm draped over Kit, the other resting across Raka’s flank, her silver fur warm against my skin. For a long moment, none of us spoke—just the sound of slow, shared breathing filling the space.
Then I chuckled under my breath, breaking the silence.
“She’ll need to be small,” I murmured, voice low, teasing, “or we’re going to need a bigger bed… our healer.”
Kit groaned a laugh into my chest, too tired to lift her head. “Gods… I’m voting halfling.”
Raka snorted, curling her arm tighter around us like a wolf guarding her den. “As long as she can keep you alive, Master… I don’t care if she’s a pixie.”
That earned another laugh—soft, sleepy. We didn’t talk after that. We didn’t need to. Warmth and bond wrapped around us tighter than the blankets, and as exhaustion claimed us, the last thought lingering in my head was the same one humming through theirs:
The dawn could wait. Tonight… we were perfect.