Chapter 16
Avery
I’m wearing a dress with a fitted bodice and a full skirt that flares out from my waist, hitting just above my ankles.
It’s a soft powder blue with tiny white polka dots scattered across the fabric.
The neckline is modest with a collar that sits flat against my collarbones, and the sleeves have little cuffs that button at my wrists.
I wouldn’t have been caught dead in this dress back on Earth. The shoes are even worse. They’re white kitten heels with a small strap across the top, but they’re flats now. I broke off the heels because there’s no way I’d be able to walk around a forest without breaking my neck if I didn’t.
“I look like my grandmother,” I sigh, picking at some fuzz on the dress.
“Then your grandmother was a beautiful woman,” Erik says fondly, looking me over. “Didn’t like the red dress?”
“No, it was too heavy. At least I can move around in this one,” I say.
“I can’t fucking tie this stupid… tie,” Sigurd grouses.
“I can do it.” I walk over to him. “My dad made me learn how to do it one summer when he broke his hand at work. I think I still remember how it goes.”
Sigurd has to lean down so I can do it, but muscle memory serves me well, and it only takes three tries for me to produce a fairly respectable-looking Windsor knot.
“Is that how they’re supposed to look?” Erik asks, glancing at the magazine. “I might need some help too.”
“Yeah, I fucking give up,” Ivar mutters, his tie now tight around his neck, but it looks like he just tried to tie a bow and missed a few steps.
“Give me a minute to get Erik’s done and I’ll take care of yours too,” I say, laughing under my breath as I watch Ivar fumble with the knot.
I never expected this skill to come in handy. It was just one of many that became useless after the meteor was spotted. I certainly never expected to be tying ties for three mates in a cave on an alien planet called Mallow.
I get a respectable Windsor for Erik, then move over to Ivar. He looks like he’s choking, but too proud to admit it. I loosen the knot he’s tied, straighten his tie, and repeat the same motions I used on his brothers until I have one that looks presentable.
“There, all set.” I smile proudly as I take a step back.
“I can’t believe these people wear these things by choice,” Ivar grumbles, picking up a hat, which doesn’t look much different from a fedora. “And what the fuck is this for? Cloth helmets?”
“They’re not helmets, they’re just for style,” I laugh. “They stopped being popular on Earth a long time ago. Then they sort of became a meme.”
“Meme?” Erik asks. “Intergalactic Translator doesn’t seem to know what to do with that word.”
“It means they just made fun of people for wearing them, then created artwork about it,” I say, hoping it makes sense.
“Ah, parody,” Erik says. “Got it.”
“Close enough,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “But if we’re going to blend in, there’s another thing you’ll have to consider. You guys have a lot more facial hair than the men in the catalog. Your hair is also too long.”
“Do you think it will matter?” Ivar asks.
“It could,” I say. “You’re already pretty tall. That could draw attention. Best if there’s nothing else that does.”
“Fuck, I don’t want to shave,” Sigurd complains. “I haven’t shaved my entire beard off since I was a kid.”
“It’ll grow back, brother,” Erik sighs, yanking a knife out of his belt. “We need to blend in, and our mate is right. None of the men in those catalogs looked like us.”
“I’d offer to help, but I’m no barber,” I say, stepping out of the way.
We walk down to a stream and they use their knives to shave their beards. Sigurd cuts himself several times, and I do my best to doctor the wounds. Once that is done, Erik cuts Ivar’s hair, then Sigurd’s. Ivar gives Erik a trim, the stream washing it all away.
They’re quite handsome once they’re cleaned up, but I miss their beards already. I’ve gotten used to their savage looks, so it doesn’t appeal to me like a clean-cut man would have back home. They looked like warriors. Now they just look… tame.
“Will these people be able to understand us if we talk to them? Will they have translators?” I ask curiously, cleaning myself and adjusting my hair so it looks somewhat presentable. “I couldn’t read any of the words in the catalog.”
“We should be able to communicate with them, if their language is similar to other languages in the universe. Just takes the translators time to learn the language, which they should already be doing,” Ivar says, rubbing his smooth face.
“And if the translators can’t do it remotely, we’ll just kidnap a native and put a translator on them. That always works,” Sigurd says. “Erik made some modifications to ours, so that we can translate text. Yours won’t do that.”
“Hopefully we’re not here long enough for me to want to read a book,” I say.
“I’ll modify yours, if you want,” Erik offers.
“For now, let’s just focus on getting home,” Sigurd says, putting on his fedora before walking away from the stream.
“It’ll only take a minute,” Erik says, removing a handheld device from his pocket and holding it near my face. “You might hear some static while the Vik-Touch interacts with the translator.”
I hear static, just like he warned. Fuzzy noise that is so loud it makes me cover my ears, except that doesn’t do anything, because the static seems to be in my head. Finally, it clears. I don’t feel any different.
“That did it?” I ask.
“Yep,” Erik confirms.
“Shall we?” Sigurd asks, gesturing toward the forest.
“It’s a long walk. We should call our wolves,” Erik says.
“I like the sound of that,” Sigurd growls. “Avery, you can ride me. And this time, I’m not talking about my cock.”
I haven’t seen their wolves yet. I heard a howl after Erik left. I know Sigurd transformed when he went hunting, but I didn’t see it. I can’t help being a little curious.
“Wait, won’t you rip up your clothes if you turn into wolves?” I ask.
“No, Fenrir’s Mark protects what we’re wearing. It’ll return once we shapeshift back into men,” Ivar says.
Erik is the first one to call his wolf. He sinks down on all fours, howls, and red fur ripples across his skin that is a shade lighter than his hair.
It looks similar to transformations I’ve seen in movies, but it happens a lot quicker, and his clothes seem to disappear into his fur.
The emerald green in his eyes flickers, then his jaw stretches out, fangs appearing where teeth once were.
His hands and feet become large paws with talons that dig into the dirt.
Once he’s fully transformed, he’s a very large wolf. One that would have had me running screaming for my life if I encountered him on Earth. Instead, I feel strangely aroused by the sight.
And despite the ferocity in front of me, I still feel the pull. In fact, it almost seems stronger now. Maybe I really am a mate for their wolves, just like I’m a mate for them. My body certainly seems to react.
Ivar is next to transform. His wolf is sandy-colored, like his hair, and he’s almost the same size as Erik.
Sigurd shifts once Ivar is done, letting out a howl that is heavier than his brothers, like rocks being crushed in his throat.
His wolf is dark brown, and towers above the other two.
He’s so big, he has to lower himself to his belly so I can climb on.
His fur is thick and coarse against my legs, but he’s incredibly warm.
I’m not sure what to hold onto, so I just grab chunks of fur and lean forward as he begins to move.
The arousal gets stronger until my clit is throbbing between my legs.
The feeling of Sigurd between them just makes me wetter, his warmth seeping into my skin, even through the uniform.
“Riding a wolf. Yet another thing I never thought I’d do,” I say.
“Hold on tight,” Sigurd says. “We’re going to speed up in a moment.”
“Oh, you can talk while you’re wolves? Cool,” I say, tightening my grip and leaning closer to him.
“We haven’t changed that much,” Erik chuckles.
We keep a steady pace until the ground is flat, then Ivar takes off like a sandy streak, and Erik follows him. Sigurd speeds up as well and everything gets blurry as we cut through the underbrush and around trees. I lower my head when one nearly hits me in the face.
“You like being on my back, don’t you?” Sigurd rumbles, nudging me back into position when I nearly slip. “I can smell your sweet honey.”
“Yeah,” I admit, squirming against his back, feeling the heat between us.
When we get close enough for me to get a good look at the city, it definitely looks like something out of the 1950s.
There are skyscrapers, but they aren’t what I would call modern.
Most of the buildings we pass as we dart through the alleyways are what I would call vintage, just like the clothes I’m wearing.
The cars seem to match the aesthetic, most of them with large chrome bumpers and tail fins. Most look recently washed and waxed.
“Lots of people out today,” Erik says. “Wasn’t like this last night. Let’s find somewhere to shapeshift and then we’ll continue on foot.”
“Dang, I was getting used to this,” I say, squirming against Sigurd again, still highly aroused.
“I’ll let you ride me all night long, mate,” Sigurd says firmly. “And this time I am talking about my cock.”
We find a spot behind what looks like an old supermarket that was closed years before. Sigurd lowers himself to his stomach and I get off. Once I’m safely on my feet, the three of them shift, fur receding as their clothes reappear and they stand up. Even their fedoras reappear on their heads.
“So, what’s our cover story?” I ask. “If memory serves, people on Earth were quite paranoid during this era. But Erik, you said they’re peaceful, right?”
“Based on the last time the Intergalactic Alliance scanned them, but we’ll be careful,” Erik answers. “First stop is the library. Nothing suspicious about that.”