"I know. They won't be back." She sat down heavily, wincing as the fire in my fractured chest flared. "At least not until next season when new females might arrive through the portal. By then you'll be healed and flying again."
"You defended our territory completely alone."
"Yes."
"While pregnant. While injured. While I was essentially useless."
She looked at me directly. "You weren't useless. You were healing, which is different. There's a significant difference between the two."
"I should have been able to help you."
"You did help. By trusting me to handle it. By not trying to fight injured and making yourself worse, which would have left us both vulnerable." She moved closer carefully. "That's partnership. Knowing when to let the other person carry the weight."
I pulled her against my chest as carefully as our respective injuries allowed, mindful of her ribs and my bound wing.
"I hate being grounded like this," I said.
"I know you do. But your wing is healing properly now. Another three days and the membrane will have closed enough for limited flight at least."
Three more days. Three days where she'd defended successfully while I recovered, where she'd shown tactical brilliance that had driven off threats without my help at all.
"You're incredible," I said.
"I'm practical." But she smiled slightly. "And I learned from the best teacher available."
Day twenty arrived with morning and overwhelming need.
Not pain exactly. Not wounds demanding attention. Just overwhelming need for her that had been building for two days. Two days since we'd last bred, which was the longest gap since bonding. My body was screaming for connection, for the bonding hormones that regular breeding provided. The withdrawal was starting to affect me physically.
Hallie was still asleep but I could see the signs on her too—flushed skin, restless movement in her sleep, her body needing mine as desperately as mine needed hers.
I woke her gently. "Hallie."
She opened her eyes and her pupils dilated immediately. "I need?—"
"I know. Two days is too long between breedings."
"But your wing?—"
"Will be fine. We'll be careful about it." I pulled her closer despite the discomfort. "Even wounded, I'll breed you. Always."
She moved to straddle me slowly, mindful of both our injuries. Worked my cocks free from my clothing. They were both hard already, had been hard since I woke. My body knew exactly what it needed.
"Slow," I said, hands on her hips to guide her gently. "Careful movements. Don't stress your ribs."
"Agreed."
Wincing, I positioned myself under her. She sank down slowly, and the stretch made her gasp but she kept moving, taking me fully despite the discomfort of the angle.
"This is what bonded means," I said, hand on her hip guiding her gently. "Even wounded, even hurting, we still need this. Still need each other."
"Yes." She started moving, rolling her hips carefully in ways that avoided stressing her cracked ribs. "Need you. Need this connection."
This wasn't about desperation or urgent need. This was about biological necessity that couldn't be ignored, about bonding hormones our bodies required for proper healing.
She came quietly after several minutes, trembling with fear running through her body. The anchor took hold, anchoring us inseparably. I came immediately after, seed flooding into her and triggering the bonding hormones we'd both been missing for too long.
The relief was immediate and overwhelming. The withdrawal symptoms eased throughout my body. My wing's pain dulled noticeably—the hormones accelerating healing in ways rest alone couldn't achieve. Her breathing evened out visibly—the ribs causing less discomfort than they had moments before.
