The Warren was exactly as we'd left it. Protected. Defensible. We moved our remaining supplies there—everything worth keeping. Established the deepest chamber as our nest, arranged everything for quick access if we needed to defend this position too.
"This is home now," I said, marking the entrance with my scent. "Until we're sure Kethar is dealt with."
Hallie arranged the furs, checking sight lines even here, planning defensive positions in every space she occupied. Always thinking tactically. Always preparing.
"What if he doesn't attack tonight?" she asked.
"Then we wait. But he will." I could feel it—the desperation in the air, the way predators moved when they were running out of time. "The unbonded sickness is killing him. He's running out of time. He'll attack soon."
We flew back to the destroyed den as the sun set.
The hours until sunset were consumed by waiting on the ridge in darkness.
Hallie crouched in her chosen position, perfectly still, nearly invisible against the rock. I perched higher, watching the sky, waiting for wings.
The three moons rose. Orange sky darkened to rust. Still nothing.
Then I heard it—wings cutting through air, multiple sets. Coming from the east.
I tapped the rock twice—our signal. Hallie's hand moved slightly in acknowledgment.
Three shapes appeared against the moons. Kethar in the lead, two others flanking him. They circled the destroyed den once, checking for threats from above. Then they dropped toward the entrance.
I launched silently.
Caught the updraft, gaining altitude without the telltale sound of wing beats. They hadn't seen me yet—focused on the den below, on the prize they thought waited inside.
Kethar landed first. Folded his wings. Moved toward the entrance with the confidence of someone who thought he'd already won.
The two others landed behind him.
That's when I dove.
I hit the first ally at full speed, slammed against the obsidian wall, shaking dust loose. He went down hard, stunned but not dead yet.
Kethar spun, wings flaring in surprise. "Drav?—"
I was already moving. Caught the second ally before he could take flight, raked my claws across his wing membrane—four parallel tears that would ground him for weeks if he survived the night.
He screamed. Stumbled toward the cave entrance for cover, for darkness where wings wouldn't matter.
Hit the tripwire.
The overhang came down.
Tons of rock crashing, thunderous. The ally disappeared under the debris. His scream cut off instantly.
Kethar was airborne. I followed.
We fought in the air—claws, teeth, wings straining. He was fast, desperate, fighting for his life. A decade my junior. Stronger in some ways because the sickness hadn't progressed as far. But I had experience, had fought territorial battles before he was even born.
I drove it higher, away from the ground, away from Hallie. Forced him into a position where he had to commit energy to staying airborne instead of attacking.
He twisted mid-air, raked claws across my chest. Four parallel gashes that weren't deep but painful. Blood sprayed.
I grabbed his injured wing—the one I'd damaged in our last encounter—and tore.
He roared. The membrane ripped further, not enough to ground him completely but enough to unbalance his flight, make every movement cost more energy than it should.
