You wake up around midnight to the sound of wind howling like a pissed-off animal. The RV rocks slightly, creaking with every strong gust. Metal groans. The frame shudders. You sit up from the black leather recliner you passed out in, stiff joints popping from the cold. You glance out the nearest window—visibility’s crap. Just whiteout snow and black trees swaying hard in the wind.

The smart part of your brain whispers that maybe letting Blue pick this remote-ass spot wasn’t the best call. Out here, you’re hours from the nearest outpost, deep in the sticks where the roads don’t exist and GPS might as well be a Ouija board.

Outside, you catch the muffled sounds of a herd moving through the storm—heavy, slow bellows. Probably Pachyrhinos. You can make out the low grunts of bison mixed in. Both species huddling together, driven to the same place by the same brutal cold.

You settle back down with a long exhale, the kind that fogs up the window if you get too close. Your gaze drifts across the RV's dim interior. It’s quiet inside, just the occasional rattle from a loose panel or the soft whine of wind working its way through some gap in the insulation.

Blue’s passed out on the couch opposite you, curled up like a cat. She’s got her snout buried in Ripper’s chest—using her tits like a goddamn pillow. There’s no shame in it either. She’s drooling a little, eyes twitching in REM sleep, limbs twitching like she's mid-chase in a dream.

Ripper, on the other hand, isn’t sleeping that easy. She’s half out. Her head’s tilted back, mouth slightly open, fangs just peeking out. But every time the storm picks up—when the wind whistles sharper or something thuds against the RV—her snout twitches into a grimace. Her claws flex and curl with no rhythm, like her body’s ready to fight even while her brain’s trying to rest. Old habits. Probably instinct.

The RV creaks again, harder this time. You hear snow slide off the roof in chunks. More piling around the edges. You’re slowly getting buried in.

The only real heat in the place is radiating from your two mistresses. The RV’s heater died sometime yesterday, and while you’ve got emergency gear stashed, you haven’t needed it—because Blue and Ripper run hot. You’d swear they’re part furnace. Between the two of them, the air in here stays just warm enough to survive.