The air inside Alistair's quarters was molten.
The storm outside had passed, but the tempest within these four walls was just beginning a slow burn, the kind that didn't rage but simmered beneath the surface, a fire waiting for the right spark.
Alistair Von Wolfenstein leaned against his desk, the half-empty bottle of black rum forgotten at his side. His cutlass rested within arm's reach, but his attention was far from the blade.
Because standing before him were Seraphina Blackthorn and Isolde Greaves.
Two storms, both deadly in their own way.
Seraphina wild and untamed, her dark hair still damp from the rain, her leathers clinging to her like sin. The twin daggers at her thighs gleamed, but not half as much as her eyes a dangerous blend of fury and desire.
Isolde precise and elegant, her loose shirt slipping off one shoulder just enough to hint at the scars beneath. She was a blade wrapped in silk, and the way her fingers hovered near the hilt of her rapier was a reminder that, for all her cool composure, she was just as dangerous as the storm itself.
The tension between the three of them wasn't subtle it crackled like skyfire, hot and waiting.
Alistair let the silence stretch because sometimes silence said more than words ever could.
Finally, he broke it.
"Is this a meeting of the Let's Kill Alistair Von Wolfenstein club," he drawled, "or did you both just miss my charming company?"
Seraphina's smirk was a dagger's edge. "I could kill you if you want."
Isolde's lips curved in a colder smile. "Or we could skip the theatrics and get to the point."
Alistair chuckled softly, though the heat pooling in his gut was anything but casual. "Which is?"
Seraphina stepped forward slow, deliberate until the space between them was a breath.
Her fingers trailed up his chest, pausing just above his heart. "You know what it is, Captain."
Isolde didn't move not yet but her gaze was a blade, slicing through the moment. "You think you can have both of us," she said softly, dangerously. "Don't you?"
Alistair's smile sharpened. "Is that a challenge?"
The space between them shrank.
Seraphina's hand slid down Alistair's chest, resting lightly on the hilt of his cutlass. "I don't share," she murmured though there was a flicker of something more dangerous beneath the words.
Isolde, finally stepping closer, tilted her head. "Neither do I."
The room's heat climbed.
Alistair, caught between them, let out a slow breath. "Ladies," he said softly, "if you're both planning to kill me, at least give me a fighting chance."
Seraphina's smile was all fire. "Who said anything about killing you?"
And then
She kissed him.
It wasn't soft no, it was a clash of storms. Her mouth met his with the same ferocity she wielded her daggers, fierce and unyielding. Alistair's hand found her waist, pulling her closer the taste of salt, leather, and danger on her lips.
But then
Another hand.
Isolde.
Her fingers curled into Alistair's collar, yanking him back just enough to break the kiss only for her lips to replace Seraphina's, a kiss colder but no less intense. It was a battle of wills of ice against fire and Alistair was caught in the middle, a willing casualty.
When she pulled away, her smile was sharp enough to cut.
Seraphina's breathing was ragged. "I should gut you for that."
Isolde's smirk was pure sin. "Try it."
Alistair, his pulse thundering, chuckled though it was a rough sound, raw and wanting. "You two are going to be the death of me."
Seraphina's hand slid down his chest again, this time lower. "We haven't decided yet," she whispered.
Isolde's lips brushed his ear. "But you'll enjoy it either way."
The storm was gone but the fire…
The fire was only just beginning.