She didn't wait for an answer. She stood up and led him into her apartment.
Inside, the light was dim, the air thick with the scent of lavender and the cooling embers of a hearth. As the door clicked shut, the silence of the room felt heavy, amplified by the faint, distant thumps coming from Jack's wall. Natalia turned to him, her hands reaching up to unbutton the collar of his heavy coat. Her fingers were cool against his skin, but her breath was hot.
Jack didn't hesitate. He pulled her closer, his hands finding the curve of her waist, feeling the firm, toned muscle of a woman who had already spent a lifetime running from shadows. When they kissed, it wasn't the tentative peck of a teenager; it was hungry and desperate.
He felt the slide of her silk robe hitting the floor, the pale moonlight catching the sharp lines of her shoulders and the dark, intricate tattoos that marked her back. As they moved toward the bed, the friction of skin against skin became the only thing that mattered. Jack felt the weight of her as she pulled him down, her legs tangling with his, her nails grazing the small of his back.
There was no talk of love. There were only the sharp, rhythmic breaths they shared, the heat of their bodies colliding in the dark, and the frantic, physical need to prove they were still alive. In the quiet of her room, Jack lost himself in the sensation of her—the way her skin felt like velvet, the way she arched under his touch, and the low, guttural sounds she made against his neck. They moved together with a focused intensity, a silent pact to use each other as a shield against the uncertainty of the morning.
The final forty-eight hours of freedom didn't happen in a bar or a dark alley; they happened in the middle of Juwark City's central park, and it was a goddamn circus.
Tavros looked like a man drowning in fur and muscle. He was currently wedged onto a single picnic bench, flanked by three beastfolk women—two leonine sisters with golden manes and a wolf-kin whose tail wouldn't stop thumping against the wood. They weren't just sitting with him; they were on him. One was feeding him grapes with a predatory grin, while the other two were busy competing for space against his massive chest, their hands wandering over his biceps with zero shame.
Tavros caught Jack's eye, his expression one of pure, unadulterated terror. He mouthed the word 'Help' as the wolf-kin nipped playfully at his ear.
Jack and Kenlil, sitting at the adjacent table, didn't move a finger. Jack let out a sharp bark of laughter, leaning back with a cold beer in his hand.
"Look at him," Kenlil chuckled, his arm draped casually around a petite elven girl who seemed more interested in his stories than his muscles. "The great Tavros, slayer of shadows, defeated by a bit of cleavage and some wagging tails."
"He looks like he's about to cry," Jack added, raising his bottle in a mock toast to Tavros's misery. "Hey Tav! Don't worry about the draft—I think they've already claimed you for their own private army!"
Tavros let out a muffled groan as one of the lioness sisters pulled his head back to plant a heavy, lingering kiss on his throat. He looked less like a warrior and more like a sacrificial lamb.
Standing slightly apart from the chaos was Natalia. She was leaning against a nearby oak tree, her arms crossed, watching the scene with an amused, cynical glint in her dark eyes. When her gaze met Jack's, the teasing smile left his face, replaced by a low-burning heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
Their "dates" weren't about holding hands in the park.
That night, when the group finally stumbled back to the apartments, the dynamic shifted from public comedy to private, visceral reality. There was no "courtship" with Natalia. As soon as the door to her apartment swung shut, the pretenses were stripped away as fast as their clothes.
She shoved Jack against the door, the wood groaning under the impact. Her hands, calloused and strong, didn't slide—they gripped. She took what she wanted with a blunt, graphic hunger, her teeth grazing his shoulder as she pulled him into the darkness of the bedroom.
The air in the room was stifling, smelling of salt, skin, and the sharp tang of her lavender oil. It was loud, heavy, and unapologetically physical. Jack buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hands mapping the ridges of her spine and the firm, damp skin of her thighs. There was no talk of the future, no whispered promises of letters from the front. This was a transaction of the flesh—a desperate, grinding effort to feel something other than the looming shadow of the military.
In the heat of the moment, as they tangled together on the sweat-slicked sheets, Natalia's eyes remained open, fixed on his. It was a "friends with benefits" pact sealed in the most graphic sense: using each other's bodies to drown out the sound of the ticking clock.
By the second day, the group was back at it. Tavros walked with a slight limp and a thousand-yard stare, still pursued by his trio of admirers who seemed intent on draining him dry before he reached basic training.
"You okay there, big guy?" Kenlil asked, slapping Tavros on the back.
Tavros just shook his head, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I need the army. I need the war. It's safer than those three."
Jack laughed, but as he felt Natalia's hand slide into his back pocket, her fingers tracing the line of his hip beneath the fabric, he knew he wasn't much better off. They were all just animals trying to find a bit of warmth before the winter of the war took them all.