“Female is mine to protect until she chooses otherwise. Portal doesn't change that. Female's escape attempt doesn't change that.”
I should argue. Should insist I'm not his, not anyone's. But I'm wrapped in his coils, belly still slightly swollen with his proto-eggs, alive only because of his protection and care. The facts speak louder than my protests could.
“I still hate you,” I say, but it comes out soft. Almost fond. Nothing like the venom of before.
“Known fact. Sleep now.”
I wake to him cleaning my wounds again. His forked tongue extends, each tip working independently. One fork cleans while the other applies fresh saliva. The sensation is deeply intimate—his tongue inside my wounds, tasting my blood, my pain, my healing.
The shoulder wound is holding well, already starting to properly scab beneath his biological bandage. The flesh is knitting together faster than should be possible.
“Healing faster than expected,” he observes, tongue still working along the wound edges. “Modification helps recovery.”
“Modification helps everything apparently.” I wince as he probes a particularly deep bite on my back. “Makes me need you, makes me heal for you, makes me?—”
“Makes female survive. That's all evolution cares about. Survival and breeding.”
“And you? What do you care about?”
He pauses, tongue still extended, the tips frozen mid-lick. “Unexpected questions from female today.”
“Near-death experiences make me philosophical.”
He continues his work in silence, but I can feel him thinking. His coils shift in that subtle pattern that means he's considering something carefully. The silence stretches while he cleans each wound, applies fresh saliva, checks the seal.
“Care about female who throws rocks at shadows,” he finally says. “Female who builds useless traps while dying of need. Female who bites me during breeding but curls against me after. Female who says she hates me with no venom in the words.”
“That's not caring. That's entertainment.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps same thing for serpents. We are not human. Don't love like humans. But we... notice. Remember. Protect what interests us.”
The conversation feels too vulnerable, too real, so I change the subject. “The skirlings will come back.”
“Yes. Different pack claiming territory. But not today. Can smell their fear-markers. Pack is scattered. Three dead sends message.”
“You killed three in seconds.”
“Killed three that were killing you. Would have killed thirty. Three hundred.” His coils shift, agitated. “Female was bleeding out. Dying. The rage...”
He doesn't finish, but I understand. I've never seen him truly angry before yesterday. Amused, patient, sometimes frustrated. But not the pure fury of finding me being torn apart.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For saving me.”
“Female is mine to protect or release. No one else's choice. Skirlings tried to take that choice.”
There it is again. That possessiveness that should make me angrier than it does. Instead, wrapped in his coils with my body still recovering from both attack and breeding, it makes me feel... safe.
By evening, I can walk. Sort of. It's more like controlled falling forward, but I insist on getting to the pool myself. Pride might be a luxury, but it's my luxury.
It takes ten minutes to cover fifty yards. I have to stop three times when my legs shake too hard. My pussy throbs with each step, already beginning the slow build toward needing him again. The proto-eggs from this morning are starting their work.
“Female should be carried,” he suggests from the water, already waiting for me.
“Female needs some dignity.”
“Dignity is for creatures not dying of modification withdrawal.”
“Fuck you.”
