Chapter 36 Restrictive.

Chapter 36: 36 Restrictive.

The doorbell chimed just as I was finishing my second cup of coffee, making Ayra’s ears shoot up like radar dishes.

She dropped to all fours and galloped to the front door, skidding across the hardwood adorably. "What is that wretched noise?!" Ayra squealed as her tail went taut behind her.

The dog-girl’s disgusted and appalled facial expression was one for the books.

I laughed at the sound of the doorbell. "That would be the delivery guy with the stuff you ordered."

"My clothing has arrived?!" she exclaimed, bouncing on her toes before remembering herself and assuming a more human posture.

I peeked through the peephole. Yep, just a regular delivery guy, not another hottie from beyond. Small mercies. "Duck around the corner," I warned. "Keep those ears hidden."

Ayra obediently nodded and retreated to the hallway while I signed for enough boxes to outfit a small army.

The moment I closed the door, she pounced on them like a kid on Christmas morning, shredding cardboard with sharp, black nails I was just now noticing.

"These are lovely," she declared, holding up jeans that actually looked like they’d fit her longer legs. "Though I’m uncertain how to accommodate my tail."

From the doorway, Elsa watched with the general vibe of someone pretending not to care while obviously caring intensely. Her eyes tracked each revealed item like a cat watching a laser pointer.

"I’ve been thinking about that," I said, gesturing for them to sit. "And about a bigger issue. We need to talk."

Elsa glided to the couch, immediately claiming her throne. "What troubles plague your mind, my champion?"

"Not troubles exactly," I clarified. "But you can’t stay hidden forever. You need to learn how to function in human society."

Ayra’s head tilted in an impossibly cute way. "But Master, I believed you preferred our concealment?"

"To a point," I agreed. "But realistically? You’re here for twenty years. We can’t be hermits that whole time. You need to blend in and learn to interact with humans without setting off their internal alarms."

"I perceive no difficulty," Elsa sniffed. "My venture into your settlement was flawlessly executed."

"You asked about crotchless panties at full volume," I reminded her. "Half the town’s probably still talking about it."

She had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

The next hour became Integration 101. I outlined my master plan: disguise Ayra’s ears with a strategically chosen beret, wrap her tail around her waist under loose clothing, and practice normal human behavior in the town bordering Millfield where no one knew us.

Technically it was a sister town, still under the same Sheriff’s jurisdiction, but I never went there before, so it would be a fresh start even for me.

"Rules," I announced, pacing like a drill sergeant. "No magic talk. No ’Master’ or ’Champion’ titles. No demanding the peasants bow to your royal magnificence."

Elsa looked personally offended. "How shall I convey my station?"

"You won’t," I said firmly. "Here you’re just Elsa, my cousin from overseas. Same for Ayra."

Elsa frowned. "Can a princess engage in sexual intercourse with her cousin in these lands?"

I blinked. "No."

Her brow furrowed devastatingly. "Not even anal? It is the exception in Elfheim."

"I don’t think so," I admitted.

"Then I do not like this guise."

I closed my eyes and massaged my temples in exasperation. "It—it doesn’t matter. We’re in public. When we’re at home—"

"Anal is on the table then," she said, one corner of her lips bending upward into a self-satisfied little smirk. "Excellent."

The dog-girl thankfully kept the conversation moving when it had almost derailed entirely. "I shall be a most convincing human!" Ayra declared with gleeful enthusiasm. "When do we commence this deception?"

"Right now."

An hour of wardrobe warfare later, we’d transformed two obviously non-human women into... well, two slightly suspicious but plausibly human women.

Ayra’s tail created a weird bulge under her blouse, but the beret successfully hid her ears.

Elsa rocked my baseball cap with her sundress, looking adorable but mildly annoyed about it.

"Remember," I said as we climbed into my truck, "you’re just regular people. No magic, no other realms, no supernatural anything."

"Your lack of faith wounds me, Sir Grey," Elsa huffed. "I’ve already mastered human subterfuge."

I bit my tongue about her so-called mastery journey mostly consisting of traumatizing small-town shopkeepers. Hell, even calling me "Sir Grey" all the damn time was conspicuous, which is to say nothing of when she refers to me as her "fated mate".

Our destination was Coffee Culture in Grantville, a town just big enough that three odd strangers might become front-page news if we fucked up badly enough.

The advantage this place had over Millfield was that no one here knew us.

The barista greeted us in a monotone that suggested she’d rather be anywhere else than at work serving us. "Welcome to Coffee Culture. What can I get started for you?"

I ordered black coffee, then turned to my companions. "What sounds good?"

Elsa squinted at the menu board in confusion. "These appellations are nonsensical. What manner of beverage is a ’frappa-chino’?"

"It’s like a coffee milkshake," I translated. "Sweet, cold, probably right up your alley."

"Very well," she declared regally. "I shall sample this ’frappa-chino’."

Ayra bounced with excitement. "May I have the one with this cream that has been brutally ’whipped’, Mast—Grey?" She caught herself, but not before the barista’s eyebrow made liftoff.

"Let’s see... We’ll try one caramel frappuccino, one vanilla with whipped cream, and a black coffee," I ordered in a friendly voice that sounded a bit forced.

I almost laughed at myself when I realized I was basically doing an impression of a person who had a normal life.

We claimed a window table where Ayra immediately started swiveling her head to track every passerby.

"You’re being obvious," I murmured.

"But they’re fascinating!" she whispered. "That female has purple hair! And that male has facial metal not unlike my nipple rings!"

I choked on air. "Please never say that again in public."

Our drinks arrived, providing a welcome target for conversational refocusing.

Elsa approached her frappuccino like a wine taster sampling a new vintage, swishing the cardboard mug in her hands. One sip later, and her eyes went wide.

"This is... adequate," she pronounced, and she immediately took a much larger sip that left milk froth on her nose.

Without thinking, I reached over and wiped it away with my thumb.

She leaned into my touch, practically purring, while the couple at the next table gave us knowing looks.

Ayra attacked her drink next, creating an impressive whipped cream mustache. When I pointed it out, she immediately dropped to her knees beside the table.

"My slovenliness brings shame to you," she whispered urgently. "No doubt, I require—"

"Napkin," I interrupted, hauling her back into her chair as people started staring. "Just use a napkin like a normal person, please."

She pouted but complied. "Human protocols are excessively restrictive. Do masters not beat their unruly bitches into submission in your world?" she whispered.