Episode Forty-Two We’re All Going to Die

N adira

The last week has been the oddest combination of pain and pleasure.

Oh, the pleasure. Every night, my two mates and I climb to the heights of passion as we discover new ways to explore and adore each other. The many ways three bodies fit together is the most remarkable thing I've ever experienced.

I quickly got over my shock at the idea of two males loving each other—body and soul. I've found a way to take pleasure from watching them together.

It's sexy watching two males who take such scrupulous care to treat me like I'm breakable when they treat each other with no restraint. Their muscled masculine bodies in the moonlight, sweat-sheened and moving with the grace of leashed animals, are a sight to behold.

It never fails to get me ready for them, no matter how many times I've reached the pinnacle of passion before they slake their thirsts with each other.

The pain? The pain occurs every other hour of the day. Despite our vows to the contrary, all four of us are lying to each other.

Thallose is so sweet, so attentive, his face so soft when he looks upon me or offers to grab me a morsel of food or drink of water. My two real mates pretend there is nothing odd about his behavior.

Nor do any of us mention how bizarre it is that he sits on his furs night after night watching, sometimes stroking his cock, sometimes exploding in pleasure, yet never joining us. None of us have invited him over.

Worse yet is the look I catch on his face sometimes when he doesn't know I'm watching. It's completely inscrutable. Somewhere underneath a half dozen other emotions is desire, but I have no idea what, or who, his desire is for.

Every afternoon, the four of us meet in a private, sunny spot in a clearing and plan our next moves. It's only during these times that all four of us have an equal say. Even Thallose.

We're wrapping things up, pulling our plans together for our first attack. Most of Thallose's avians have joined us and are camping nearby. Some have built bird nests in the trees, others, like the griffon and some big bat-like creatures, have built lean-tos on the ground. All these creatures will help with passing information as well as assaulting the heights of the Tower.

We've agreed that the first foray will be conducted mostly by monks and orcs. The monks will be able to climb and do recon. The orcs will be muscle. That incursion will hopefully be stealthy as they gather information about the layout of the bottom residential floors, the ones closest to the top of the seldom-used elevator shaft. I believe those are mechanical and storage rooms, but I was never allowed there and have no firsthand knowledge of it.

We've visited the two hovers we've captured—one from my descent and one from Alliana's. Alliana and her mates, Mirron, Deklan, and Luka met us there. Between the eight of us, we figured out how to fly the vessels. The males on the recon trip will try to bring back fuel for when we make our actual attack.

We're sitting as we have for the past few days, the suede side of a pelt between us as we draw on it with thin sticks dipped in charcoal from last night's fire.

During our first day's planning, I drew the layout of the upper floors. Goodness knows I've traveled them wearing nothing more than the see-through "traveling gown" all women must wear to traverse the hallways Up Above. It was designed by the despicable males to steal our power, make us feel small, and force us to always, always fear a male pouncing on us and taking what we didn't want to give.

The elevator shafts rise from Down Below in a cylindrical tower just wide enough to bear the weight of the upper floors. When I drew it for my mates, Dhar exclaimed, "Ah, kind of like a very tall mushroom."

"Right," I'd replied. "The stem is a means to get to the top floors. Then there are one hundred upper floors, the circumference much wider than the elevator shaft. Those house the entire population of the tower."

For what seems like the thousandth time, I imagine how the first incursion will go. It will be just a recon mission. I picture the monks climbing the shaft until they're directly under the wider residential area, then breaking into the building in the middle of the night and looking for weapons, fuel, and information.

Instead of what I've been picturing for the last few days—everything going perfectly—I picture everything going wrong.

Suddenly I realize the males from Down Below will have spears, bows, and arrows, while those Up Above will have lasers and sophisticated surveillance systems.

The monk village is now edged by two encampments, one brimming with over five hundred orcs, the other with an untold number of avians. For the first time, I imagine the males I've grown to care about being bombarded by guns designed to kill from afar, maybe even long-range missiles.

Even worse, I imagine the males from Up Above jumping into hovers and not only picking off the intruders, but searching for innocents in nearby Down Below communities, including ours.

It's so clear, so stark in my mind, I can hear the laser fire and smell the stench of death.

I must have moaned in grief because all of our planning grinds to a stop.

Dhar's large hands pull me into his lap as Azael moves close and surrounds us both in a hug.

"What's wrong?" Azael asks, his voice full of compassion.

"It won't work," I say, my voice hollow. "None of it. If we do it this way, we're all going to die."