Siren Alpha✔️ [A mmf shifter story]

Chapter Thirty: Our First Run

Dustin

Freya woke up with a start, "I want to go running today," she said, slipping out of bed and walking to the shower. "I haven't shifted in two months! That's not healthy."

"It's not?" Riley asking, shooting into a sitting position under the bedcovers.

"No!" Freya answered from the bathroom. "How often do you guys shift?"

Riley and I exchanged looks. Should we tell the truth, or lie to make ourselves look competent?

"Four months, five months," Riley said. It was the truth.

"When we get bored," I added. Also the truth.

Her head appeared in the doorway. "You're joking," she stated, deadpan.

"Uhhhhh," Riley went on, looking uncomfortable.

"Well, out, out, out!" She shooed us out of bed. "We need to shower and head out."

We all crammed into the small bathroom and I, not for the first time, thought about us getting our own house with a way bigger shower and bathroom.

Freya grabbed her shampoo and conditioner, and knelt at the foot of the bathtub.

Riley saw and stared at her from the door of the shower. "Wouldn't that be easier in here?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "But Dustin has to get to work and we're burning daylight."

"Freya, my mom owns the company, I can go in whenever I want. Or not at all," I joked. I walked over to her, picked up the hair products, then held her arm and pulled her up onto her feet. "Come here, I've been dying to do this."

I pulled her in the shower and sat her down.

Riley got the gist and grinned. "Ohhh, we're washing hair now. Who knew Dust was such a big softie?"

"Shut up, Riles."

We wet the burgundy tresses, combing our fingers through them as Freya leaned back, passive and relaxed. The act calmed us too. It felt nice to have this moment. Wolves and coyotes bonded with their packs through touch. It felt just like that. We were bonding with Freya.

Our mate.

Deep down we really knew she kept it long for just us. We also knew that nothing we could say, save for lying and saying we hated and wanted her to cut it, would get her to decide otherwise.

When it got drenched in water, the hair got really heavy and I had to cup my hand behind her neck to offer support.

Riley went crazy with the bubbles. He formed a thick massive foam blob in Freya's hair and spent years massaging the shampoo into her scalp. It smelled like strawberries.

We rinsed it. Wrung It. Then conditioned and wrung again.

Somehow Freya showered last. We waited for her and when she came back we sat her down at the dressing table.

We picked up brushes and combs, and whatever else could comb the knots out of this mass of sweet, sweet madness.

Damn, I loved her hair.

In the mirror Riley wore the same reverent expression as me.

"Punk princess," he murmured to himself, but we were shifters and of course we heard.

Freya pursed her lips.  "I like the sound of that."

"Nickname?" he asked.

"No. I love my name. One of you should stick to it."