They remained camped in the grotto, hunting mostly the font’s inhabitants for food, supplementing the bountiful ‘sea fare’ with their rations and a few odds and ends gathered on the trip. With Jack hunting for extra health using Devouring Shadows, they were able to force feed Erin enough healing to clear her wounds by the end of the day after the fight with the boss shrimp.

However, by the time she was healed, she had built up a serious urge to clobber both Jack and Layla. On some level, she understood they were helping her, but watching them make out to move the health around was frustrating.

She was frustrated. She was especially frustrated that she found it kinda hot.

By the time Layla fixed her left arm and started working on accumulating enough health with Bloody Kisses to heal her right forearm, the succubus had figured out exactly what was making the dreadnought cranky and used Enticing Mirage to imitate her as much as possible. Compared to both her real body and the form she normally wore, her illusion was slightly taller, much lither, with shorter hair and a great deal more muscle tone. It definitely made it easier to get Jack’s engine going and break through his innate resistance to Mortal Appetites.

Erin was both irritated and touched by the effort, especially because, though it alleviated the issue of her irrational jealousy somewhat, the second problem was definitely worse. There was probably something worth some self-reflection in that, but the situation was already fucked up enough as far as she was concerned.

Jack wasn’t oblivious to the issue, but he figured he’d make it up to her when her arm wasn’t a purple and black swollen mess that wouldn’t even fit inside her gauntlet. Though Layla draining his life force, or whatever Health actually was, didn’t inflict any actual wounds, it left him exhausted each time she stole three-quarters of his Health to refill half of Erin’s. He soldiered on, considering it a small sacrifice to make, rather than watching Erin deal with the pain of a shattered arm for days while she naturally regenerated between Layla’s searing recovery spells.

Earlier that day, Jack had harvested as much of the mantis shrimp’s tough carapace as possible, as well as parts of the bladed arm and the hammer. Rory’s Appraise skill identified both the arm bits as ‘damaged crafting materials’, so into the bags they went. By now, Jack had begun wrapping their loot inside their bedrolls and tying it to their packs with extra bits of rope. They’d need to unload most of their haul back in Mistelein before starting the trek to the shrine across the Northern Front.

As the day drew to a close, Layla cast Cauterizing Flare for the final time. Erin bore the agony with a grim expression and a furious grunt, then rose and shook out the still-smoking limb. She silently buckled up her gauntlets, then turned and walked to the edge of the grotto, where she found a tall, brilliant red coral.

Then she demolished it, one titanic punch at a time. Her screams of frustration and rage echoed across the coral forest of the Strand. When she’d reduced the crimson coral to blasted chunks of calcium, she turned and stalked over to where Jack was knelt by the campfire, quietly chopping the ingredients of their dinner.

She grabbed his belt and hauled him upright.

“Hi,” he said carefully.

“Let’s go,” she replied, her face still an angry mask.

“Where to?” he was still neutral.

“Anywhere but in front of them,” she jerked her thumb at Rory and Layla sitting on the other side of the fire, also deliberately silent.

“Alright,” he replied, dusting his hands off and grabbing his sword.

She took his hand and led him away from the camp, out into the coral forest, avoiding anything that didn’t flee from her stomping steps. When they reached a quiet grove of corals and seaweed that seemed to float in defiance of gravity, she began stripping off her gauntlets and then her blouse.

“Are you sure you want to do this now? Your arm, and-” he started.

“Shut up, Jackson. I’ve watched you make out with the sex demon all day, and I’m angry, and jealous, and insecure, and... weirdly turned on…” she paused. “So we’re gonna deal with ALL OF THAT, right now.”

He smiled softly at her and started removing his gear.

“Is she a better kisser than me?” she looked away.

“Nah, too much forked tongue,” he smiled dryly.

Her head spun back at him, a shocked expression on her face. Then she saw his grin. Finally, she laughed, long and hard, then she went to him and cried, her head on his shoulder. The tears lasted far longer than the mirth.

“It’s ok. Everything’s ok,” he stroked her hair and held her tightly.

She pulled away from him, staring into his eyes.

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” he smiled gently again and kissed her.

Their bodies finished what his mouth started.

-----

When they returned to the camp, they wordlessly went back to their tasks. Erin to jury-rigging a temporary fix for her blasted armor, and Jack to finishing their dinner. Rory had chopped the rest of the ingredients while they were otherwise occupied.

“So… you guys get everything worked out?” Layla sipped at her cup of tea.

Erin’s head turned slowly, nearly with an audible creak, as she focused on the succubus sitting demurely by the fire.

“No more kissing my boyfriend,” she said, low and dangerous.

“Pfft. He kisses like my Uncle Earl. That mouth is no prize,” she held eye contact with Erin until Rory suddenly turned.

“Your… what do you mean, ‘like your unc-” his mouth hung open.

Suddenly Erin and Layla began to giggle, which grew into an outburst of unrestrained laughter.

“I’m lost,” Rory turned to Jack.

“It’s an old in-joke between them,” Jack’s brow scrunched up. “I’m not an Uncle Earl.”

The girls broke into a new round of laughter at his defensive tone.

“Well, what’s it mean?” Rory pressed.

Erin finally recovered enough air to answer him.

“Uncle Earl is an older guy who only dates really young women, cause they don’t know any better. Phones in the sex, the kissing, the whole relationship, cause she doesn’t have better standards,” she replied.

“Oh, yeah. I know the type,” Rory made a disgusted face.

“I’m not an Uncle Earl,” Jack said quietly.

“Nah, you’re not. But it made Erin laugh,” Layla chuckled.

“But serious, El. No more smooching my man,” Erin squinted at her.

“Oh, please. I could taste how hot and bothered you were. We should just proceed directly to menage-a-trois, do pass go, do collect two-hundred orgasms,” she grinned.

Erin’s backpack soared across the camp, smashing into Layla with the force of a boulder and tossing the succubus ass over teakettle, twice.

“NO MORE KISSING MY BOYFRIEND, LAYLA!”

The succubus laid in the wreckage of Erin’s backpack for a moment, then she began to stand, aggravation clear in her jerky movements. Her expression was unreadable, as some article of green fabric and straps hung from her right horn, obscuring her face. She fought with the contraption for a moment, finally wringing it free. She waved it about, shouting expletives, until she realized what she was holding.

Dangling from Layla’s fingers was the tattered, round-the-house bra Erin had been wearing on their last Saturday on Earth.

She stared at the bra, then back at Erin, then back at the bra. Then she began to laugh again. Erin watched as Layla pointed at the bra, then back to her, then again back to the bra. She couldn’t help it, the anger simply evaporated.

“Put that thing away. If I’d known we were gonna get kidnapped by a giant snake god, I’d have worn something cute,” she groused.

“We’ve got to talk about your temper, legs,” Layla dried a tear from her eye. “You can’t just go smashing people for no good reason.”

“I had a good reason,” Erin pouted.

Rory interrupted them, “No. You didn’t. Layla and Jack were uncomfortable doing what they did, and they did it for you. So you wouldn’t have to spend days in agony with a busted up arm. And you repay them by dragging Jack off into the damned dungeon to salve your ego, then you assault Layla for making a joke.” He turned on the succubus, “A joke in bad taste, might I add, miss ‘I-am-not-blameless-in-all-this’. This is the same thing as you trying to throw Jack off the damned boat because of something he couldn’t even stop from happening. Your temper has been getting the best of you for a while now, and just because you can take it out on us, doesn’t mean you should.”

The camp was utterly silent, the quiet slowly stretching on. They watched Erin’s expression progress through several emotions, first angry at Rory for speaking out, then resentful of the others for not stepping in as he dressed her down, then finally embarrassment as she realized.

“You’re right,” she said quietly.

“I damn well know I am. Communication is bloody key. You think living with a goddamn career soldier missing half a leg is EASY? He hated everything and everyone for months after getting out of the hospital, me included. Jesus, Erin, every time another man even looked at me for nearly a year, I could see D planning the ways he could kill them with his bloody crutches. They helped you. And you’re punishing them for it,” he sighed.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s ok, legs,” Layla replied.

“No, it bloody is not. Accept her goddamned apology,” Rory snapped.

“Ok, ok, fine. I accept your apology,” she capitulated.

“Jack?” Erin looked up.

“You know I do,” he smiled.

Silence settled, for a few minutes, until Layla opened her mouth one last time.

“Does this mean no threesome?” she grinned, then adopted a remarkably disingenuous wounded expression.

A thick piece of crab sailed across the campfire, slapping with a wet, meaty THWWP against her face, where it slid down her cheek and into her bodice.

“I deserved that.”