I managed to snag a few hours of sleep last night somehow, despite the cramped confines of the boat. The deck was a tangled mess of bodies—hybrids of all kinds huddled together for warmth against the relentless Atlantic chill, the vessel rocking like a cradle in a storm. Salt spray misted the air, mixing with the scents of unwashed clothes and desperation. I'd wedged myself into a corner near the railing, Miko initially curled against me, but the constant sway and the press of others had separated us during the night. When I woke, the emergency lights casting erratic shadows over the chaos, I was squashed between a burly wolf hybrid snoring like a chainsaw and a fox-eared woman muttering in her sleep. My back ached from the hard wooden planks, and my legs were numb from the awkward position. Panic flickered as I realized Miko wasn't beside me—where was she?
I sat up quickly, wincing as my muscles protested, and scanned the deck. Bodies stirred around me, some hybrids already awake, rubbing sleep from their eyes or sharing hushed conversations in a mix of languages—English, Spanish, even some French. I spotted our emergency bag nearby, half-buried under someone's coat, and snatched it up immediately, slinging it over my shoulder. No way was I letting anyone make off with our meager supplies—cash, clothes, Miko's forged passport. The boat was overloaded, trust thin among strangers who'd all fled for the same reasons: fear, persecution, a shot at something better.
"Miko?" I called softly, weaving through the crowd, my heart pounding. The emergency deck wasn't huge—she couldn't have gone far. The ocean stretched endlessly around us, waves chopping against the hull, the salty wind whipping my hair. I pushed past a group of cat hybrids sharing a crust of bread, my eyes darting. There—near the bow, leaning against the railing, staring out at the horizon. Relief flooded me as I hurried over, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You scared me. Thought you'd vanished."
She turned, her amber eyes wide and bright, a smile breaking across her face despite the exhaustion etched there. "Sorry... couldn't sleep anymore. Look!" She pointed ahead, her cat tail flicking excitedly under her coat. Through the morning mist, land emerged—a rugged coastline with cliffs rising from the sea, dotted with green hills and distant villages. "Portugal. We made it."
The captain's voice boomed over the deck: "Land ho! Beach ahead—everyone off quick. Scatter before patrols spot us." The emergency vessel chugged toward a secluded stretch of sand, hidden by rocky outcrops, the engine throttling down as we neared. Hybrids buzzed with nervous energy, gathering their things, whispers of "Finally" and "Be careful" rippling through the group. The boat grounded with a soft thud on the beach, waves lapping at the hull. We disembarked in a rush—jumping into shallow water, the cold Atlantic biting at our ankles as we waded ashore. Sand crunched underfoot, mixed with pebbles and seaweed, the air fresh with the scent of salt and pine from the nearby woods.
Miko paused on the beach, looking around, taking it all in—the golden sands stretching in both directions, cliffs towering to the north, a faint path leading inland through dunes tufted with grass. Gulls wheeled overhead, crying sharply, and in the distance, the faint hum of a coastal road. "It's... different," she said, her voice awed, her cat ears twitching under her beanie as she inhaled deeply. "Warmer than Canada already. Smells like... freedom?"
I nodded, slinging our bag higher. "Yeah. But we can't linger. Let's find out where we are." We started walking along the beach, the sand shifting under our boots, the sun climbing higher and burning off the mist. After a short trek, we spotted a weathered signpost half-buried in the dunes: "Mira." A small coastal village, from the looks of it—quaint houses with red-tiled roofs visible up the path, a few fishing boats bobbing in a nearby cove.
As we entered the village, a local—an older man with weathered skin and a fisherman's cap—approached us, gesturing animatedly and speaking in rapid Portuguese. "Bem-vindos! Precisa de ajuda? Preciso de mapa? Polícia no mar—cuidado com os barcos!" His words tumbled out like a melody, hands waving toward the sea and then inland, his expression friendly but insistent, pointing at our bags and mimicking walking with exaggerated steps.
Miko and I exchanged glances, completely lost. "Uh... English?" I tried, holding up my phone like it might translate. He frowned, switching to a mix of broken English and more Portuguese: "Ah, turistas? Barco from mar? Polícia come—run! Mapa? Espanha?" He mimed boats and sirens, his tone urgent, drawing a rough map in the sand with his boot—squiggly lines for the coast, an arrow north to what looked like a border. But the rest was gibberish—something about "praia" (beach?) and "fronteira" (border?), with warnings of "perigo" (danger?). We nodded politely, smiling awkwardly, but couldn't grasp the full details. Was he warning us about police patrols? Offering directions to Spain? Directing us to a safe path? We thanked him—"Obrigado?"—and backed away, hurrying along the path he indicated. "What the hell was he saying?" Miko whispered, giggling nervously. "Felt like he was trying to tell us something important—police, boats, run?"
"No idea," I admitted, pulling out my phone to open Google Maps. The signal was spotty, but it loaded: "Mira... okay, we're on the west coast of Portugal, near Aveiro. Not far from Spain if we head north." I glanced at Miko. "We should start moving if we want to get to Spain. EU means open borders—no checks, easy cross."
She nodded, her tail swishing with determination under her coat. "Spain it is. Lead the way."
We hiked inland, the path winding through pine-scented woods and rolling hills, the terrain gentle but tiring after the boat's confinement. The air was milder here, a far cry from the biting Canadian cold—balmy breezes carrying hints of the ocean, wildflowers peeking through the snowless ground. Villages dotted the route, with locals greeting us in Portuguese we didn't understand, but smiles were universal. After hours of walking—pausing for water at a public fountain, sharing a quick snack from our bag—we reached the border. No guards, no barriers—just a sign welcoming us to Spain, the EU's open policy making the transition seamless. "Feels too easy," Miko whispered, but we pressed on.
By evening, we stumbled into Espeja, a small Spanish town nestled in the hills, its stone buildings glowing under sunset hues, narrow streets alive with the chatter of locals. We found a modest motel on the outskirts—clean, cheap, with a view of olive groves—and checked in, the clerk switching to broken English with a warm smile. The room was simple: a double bed, a tiny balcony, the air scented with distant woodsmoke.
Once settled, I pulled out my phone. "Time to call Elena and Sylvia." Miko nodded, curling beside me on the bed as the call connected. Their faces appeared on the screen, relief evident.
"You made it!" Elena exclaimed. "Europe—how is it?"
"Beautiful," Miko said, her eyes shining. "We're in Spain now. Crossed from Portugal easy."
Sylvia grinned, her fox tail visible in the background. "Jealous. We're happy for you—might follow soon. Things here are heating up. Stay safe, call when you're settled."
We hung up, the connection a lifeline across the ocean. But before we could unwind, Miko's expression turned playful, her purr starting low. "Now... to really celebrate." She straddled me, stripping slowly, her hands roaming my chest with teasing touches that sent heat pooling in my groin.
Desire flared instantly, my hands gripping her hips as our lips met in a searing kiss—tongues tangling hungrily, her purr vibrating through us like an electric current. She tasted of the pastries from breakfast, sweet and addictive, her breath hot against my mouth as she nipped at my lower lip, drawing a groan from me. "I want to try new positions tonight," she whispered, her voice husky with need, her cat ears flattening in anticipation. "Rougher, wilder... show me what you've got."
I flipped her onto her back with a growl, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, my other trailing down her body, squeezing her breast roughly, thumb flicking her nipple until it hardened into a peak. She arched into me, moaning loudly, her tail thrashing against the sheets. I kissed down her neck, biting the sensitive skin hard enough to leave marks, her purr turning to a throaty rumble that made my cock twitch. "Like this?" I murmured, my free hand sliding between her thighs, fingers finding her already wet folds, circling her clit with firm pressure before plunging two inside her, curling to hit that spot that made her buck and cry out.
"Yes... more," she gasped, her hips grinding against my hand, juices coating my fingers as I thrust faster, adding a third to stretch her, my thumb rubbing her clit in rough circles. Her walls clenched around me, hot and velvet, her body trembling as I brought her to the edge, then pulled back, teasing. "Please... don't stop," she begged, her nails digging into my arm.
I released her wrists, flipping her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so she was on all fours. "New position," I said, my voice rough with lust, slapping her ass lightly at first, then harder, the sound echoing as her skin flushed red. She yowled in pleasure, pushing back against me, her tail wrapping around my waist to pull me closer. I entered her from behind in one deep thrust, burying myself to the hilt, her tight heat enveloping me completely. We both groaned—her walls pulsing around my cock, her purr vibrating through us as I started pounding, hard and fast, gripping her tail's base to make her clench tighter. "Fuck... yes," she cried, her hands fisting the sheets, back arching as I slammed in deeper, the wet slap of our bodies filling the room.
We shifted again—she on top now, riding me reverse cowgirl, her ass bouncing as she slammed down, grinding her clit against me with each descent, her tail swishing wildly; then spooning, my arm around her waist as I thrust from behind, fingers rubbing her clit roughly while biting her shoulder; missionary with her legs over my shoulders for deeper penetration, her nails raking my back in red welts. Orgasms built and crashed—her squirting hot and wet, soaking the sheets as she screamed my name, her body convulsing; me filling her over and over, pulling out to tease her entrance before plunging back in. Sweat-slicked and breathless, we collapsed finally, limbs entangled, her purr a contented hum as sleep claimed us.
Europe unfolded before us, a new chapter beginning.