Chapter 48: A Casual Conflict of Interesting

Serenith sits crumpled in the corner of the room, muttering to herself, cycling through theories with the increasing desperation of a slowly unravelling mind.

Enchantment?Brainwashing?

A blow to the head I don’t remember taking.

Maybe lingering void-magic contamination, some environmental residue I picked up in the Ashlands?

Something has to be wrong with her. That’s the only explanation for the thoughts, the behavior, the traitorous hand she’s currently staring at, still trembling slightly, still very much guilty of what it just did while she watched him work.

She bites her lip, and wonders, just for a moment, if maybe... considering everything he’s put her through, considering how thoroughly he refuses to leave her thoughts... maybe... it’s not entirely unreasonable for a divine being to grow attached to a mortal. To maybe even fall in—

A shrieking meow-moan cuts the thought off clean at the root as Lucien finishes with his last participant of the evening.

She looks up, sneering slightly, to find him standing tall and proud beside the bed where a thoroughly wrecked tiger-kin lies boneless, legs quivering, tail lolling off the mattress, eyes rolled back, mind blown clean past any reasonable definition of satisfaction and something closer to nirvana.

Lucien makes a small tick in the air.

"That’s one more off the bucket list."

Serenith just groans and covers her face.

He tugs on a gown and collapses beside the purring tiger-kin,

"Two minutes." she purrs. "Just until I can feel my legs again."

He laughs, warm and loud, entirely too proud of himself. He pats her butt fondly, and wraps his hand around her tail.

"Least you deserve, for making my introduction to feline-folk completely unforgettable."

She purrs, from deep within, low and rumbling. Hard enough to shake the bed frame.

And Lucien’s whole body lights up like a bonfire. He’s on her again in a heartbeat.

"That purring," he whispers, creamy, into her ear, "is an aphrodisiac. I cannot be held responsible for my actions if you keep doing that."

She yawns, arches her back, her rear presses into him, and she purrs even harder.

He takes that as consent, tears off the gown, and gets to work while she growls and purrs her way into round two.

"Seriously?!" Serenith mutters, "Gods, I need a drink!"

She leaves before she has to endure the rest of it.

A while later, Lucien and the tiger-kin lie in a tangled, exhausted heap.

"That was so good it hurt." He declares, a little too literally, as he pokes at scratches across his chest.

She’s too blissed-out to form actual words and just mumbles something while trying not to fall off the bed.

Lucien’s eyes drift lazily around the room, as he rests against the headboard. And then stop dead on the window.

The owl is back.

He freezes, gulps, and slides off the bed in one, badly timed, badly executed manuever. Naked, sweaty, hair a disaster, scratches decorating half his torso, he creeps toward the window with all the stealth of a man who has clearly never once needed to sneak in his entire life.

The owl doesn’t budge.

It just sits there on the sill, head cocked at an angle no ordinary bird’s head should be cocked at, two enormous, golden eyes fixed on him with an attention that feels distinctly less like curiosity and distinctly more like a performance review.

Serenith pops into the room just as he’s about to reach it and tilts her head at the worst sneak she’s ever witnessed.

"What exactly are you doing?" she snorts.

He freezes, spins, and mouths a single word: owl.

She blinks, confused, and he turns back to point... only to find the windowsill empty.

His face falls. "It was right there. The owl. The same owl. Just sitting there. Watching me. Waiting!"

"You’re delusional," she says. "All your blood’s pooled somewhere between your thighs. I’m surprised you can even form sentences."

"I’m serious! It was right there. Why will nobody believe me?!"

The tiger-kin, watching him argue with thin air, stretches, bending in ways that make Serenith wince. She pads over, tail curling along his waist.

"Might be the Beast-Mother," she says dreamily. "She takes the shape of animals. An owl, sometimes, to keep an eye on her lands. Probably making sure you’re not a threat."

Lucien’s confusion melts straight into a grin.

"Don’t," Serenith says. "Don’t even think about it."

He lifts a finger, and she goes quiet, fuming, her halo sparking lightly.

"Is she a demigoddess?" he asks the tiger-kin.

"Patron of the tribelands. Very hands-off, though. When she does get involved, it usually ends badly for someone. Not known for mercy. Or patience. Mostly eats things."

She slinks toward the door, pauses, pokes her head back in. "Your strange, a crazy man who argues with empty air... but you truly are a godsend in bed. Come back soon."

Lucien opens his mouth to answer and she’s already gone.

"Weirdest first impression I’ve ever watched you make," Serenith says, laughing despite herself.

A while later, dressed and cleaned and looking respectable again, they head back to the front desk, where the bunny-kin lights up the moment she spots him, chest puffed, eyes half-lidded, her best approximation of seductive.

Serenith can’t believe it. "Are you secretly entrancing all of them? Is that what this is?"

Lucien leans in, murmuring, "You didn’t look very entranced with your hand between your thighs earlier."

Serenith turns molten, sputters a denial that died somewhere in an earlier life time, and flaps her wings so hard the bunny-kin thought she left a window open.

Then he gives her the smirk and the wink, and the entirely unbothered aura of a man who has said his piece and gotten exactly the result he had hoped for.

He walks past without waiting for the rest of it.

"MONSTER!" she barks after him, storming off in the opposite direction.

"Thank you. Again." The bunny-kin says as he reaches her desk, "For your patronage, your contributions." she bites her lip, "And personally, for the—"

"Market research." Lucien grins.

"Market Research, " the bunny chuckles, flicking a paw, "I’d forgotten how... flexible... one needs to be in this business. Thanks for the reminder."

"I live to serve," he tells her, with a wink.

"You used that line on me too," Serenith mutters.

"The Madam," he asks, "I hope I haven’t kept her waiting too long."

The bunny-kin startles, bows, "Of course, this way please."

She leads him through a side door into a short, dark corridor that opens onto an opulent, smoke-hazed room. A kitsune reclines across a chaise, twin tails flicking lazily through the air, silk gown shimmering, pipe smoldering between two fingers.

She grins the moment she sees him and beckons him in.

"Thank you for the invitation." He bows.

Serenith appears behind him, takes one look at the kitsune, and turns her nose up.

"Be careful." she mutters beside him, "She’s a kitsune. Naturally attuned to illusion magic. This one feels strong."

"That’s why you’re here, feathers." Lucien murmurs. "I’m sure you’ll protect me."

"Don’t count on it."