"You're not fine." She pulled me into the cave despite my size advantage, surprisingly strong when she decided to be stubborn. "Sit. Let me look at these."
I sat because arguing with a pregnant mate seemed like a bad idea. She worked efficiently—cleaning the wounds with water, applying the healing paste I'd used on her earlier, wrapping the worst gashes with strips of fabric torn from something I didn't recognize.
Her hands were gentle but confident, and I sensed her concern mixed with determination to take care of me the way I'd taken care of her.
"The wyrm would have reached our caves by tonight," I said while she worked. "It was tracking your scent. Pregnant females attract predators from miles away. Their pheromones trigger hunting instincts in anything large enough to consider you prey."
"So this is going to keep happening?"
"Yes." I caught her hand, making her look at me. "Until the eggs are laid. Your body gives off pheromones I can't mask. Every predator within miles knows you're here."
She processed that information the way she processed everything—practically, without panic. "And Kethar's males?"
"Six of them. Camped at our boundaries. Waiting for the right moment to attack."
"So we're being hunted by Kethar and by the local wildlife." She finished wrapping my arm with more force than strictly necessary. "Great."
Her determination solidified. Not fear. Not panic. Just practical assessment of threats and immediate planning for how to handle multiple attack vectors.
Strong female. Perfect mate.
"Drav." Her hand on my face made me focus. "You need to heal. How long?"
"Three days for the wing membrane to repair completely. The rest will close by tomorrow."
"And you need breeding to heal faster?"
I blinked, surprised she'd figured that out. "How did you?—"
"The bond." She moved to straddle my lap, careful of my injuries but determined in ways that made my cocks respond immediately. "You heal faster with breeding. The bonding hormones accelerate tissue repair. So let me take care of you."
She was already opening her suit seals, already positioning herself over my breeding cock which had hardened the moment she'd touched me.
"You're injured?—"
"I'm pregnant and sore and I don't care." She sank down onto me in one smooth motion that made us both groan. "You heal faster this way. So we're doing this."
The bond flared white-hot, erasing the boundary between us. Her determination, her satisfaction, her pleasure at being the one giving instead of receiving. Felt the role reversal—usually I was the one initiating, the one demanding. Now she was claiming me and it felt right in ways I hadn't expected.
She rode me slowly at first, mindful of my wounds but insistent. Her hands found safe places on my shoulders, using them for leverage.
"Through the bond," she said, moving faster now. "Can feel that you're in pain. Can feel that this helps."
I gripped her hips carefully, letting her set the pace. The knot was already swelling—my body desperate to lock with hers, to take comfort from the breeding and the bonding hormones flooding my system.
"You're mine too," she said, leaning down to speak against my throat. "Not just me belonging to you. You belong to me. My mate. My male. And I take care of what's mine."
"From now on, I’m keeping you full,” I growled. “Morning, noon, and night."
The possessive words from her mouth triggered my orgasm.
The anchor took hold, anchoring us inseparably, and I flooded her with seed while my whole body shuddered. Through the bond I felt her satisfaction—not just physical pleasure but emotional. She'd taken care of me. Provided what I needed.
We stayed locked for maybe thirty minutes. When she pulled off carefully, I was already healing faster. The bond hormones working through my system, accelerating tissue repair in ways that would have my wounds closed by tomorrow.
"Better?" she asked.
"Better."
