"Shut up and fight," I growl back, parrying a thrust that would have taken her in the ribs. Our blades flash in lethal harmony, turning the snow black with undead ichor.
A Draugr lunges between us, and I cleave it in half without breaking stride. "Would you rather I let you get skewered?" The words come out clipped as I parry another attack aimed at her blind spot. "Because that can be arranged."
"I've fought battles before you were even turned," Bryn snaps, her shield smashing through a rotting skull. Her remaining wing adjusts instinctively for balance, which she no longer has, making her stumble slightly. I catch her elbow, steadying her before she can fall.
"And now you're fighting injured," I counter, Grave Warden, singing through the air to intercept a blade meant for her neck. "Your center of gravity is off. Your left side is exposed. You're—"
"Analyzing my fucking technique?" She spins, her sword taking a Draugr's arm at the shoulder. "Really? Now?"
Theflash of her eyes holds more danger than the undead surrounding us. But beneath her fury, I catch something else—frustration, yes, but fear, not of the enemy, but of her newfound vulnerability.
"Just trying to keep you alive," I mutter, ducking under her swing to gut another corpse. Our movements flow together despite her anger, despite my hovering—like some deadly choreography neither of us consciously chose.
"I don't need—" she starts, but her words cut off as she twists wrong, her missing wing throwing her off balance again. This time, my arm slides around her waist before she can fall, pulling her against my chest as I dispatch the Draugr that nearly capitalizes on her mistake.
The contact lasts barely a heartbeat before she shoves away, but it's enough to make my cock rock hard.
Her warmth lingers against my chest as she launches back into the fray. Her movements are more aggressive now as she fights both the enemy and her limitations. A Draugr's blade whistles past her ear as she overcorrects, and my hand instinctively finds her lower back, steadying her.
"Get your hands—" she growls but breaks off to slam her shield into an approaching corpse. "—off me!"
"The moment you stop leaving yourself open," I counter, Grave Warden's blade separating another undead head from its shoulders. The mate-bond pulses with each point of contact between us, making it harder to focus on the battle and not on how perfectly she fits against me.
Heimdall's voice booms across the battlefield, ancient words of power turning three Draugr to ash. But more keep coming, pouring from the shadows like a tide of death.
"This is ridiculous," Bryn snarls, her sword arm trembling slightly from exhaustion. Her remaining wing pulls tight against her back, overcompensating. "I don't need a keeper."
"No?" I spin her away from a deadly thrust, taking the blow on my shoulder instead. The pain is worth it for the flash of surprise—and something deeper—in those beautiful eyes. "Because from where I'm standing, you need someone to watch your blind spot until you adapt."
Shecurses, but she doesn't pull away when I position myself at her vulnerable side again. If anything, she leans into our shared rhythm, letting me cover her weakness while she focuses on offense.
A huge Draugr charges through our defensive line, its ancient blade aimed at Bryn's heart. Time slows as instinct takes over—I grab her waist, spinning us both away from the attack. She flows with the movement, using the momentum to bring her sword down through the creature's skull. We end up pressed together, her back against my chest, both breathing hard.
"I had that," she pants but doesn't immediately pull away.
"Of course you did," I murmur near her ear, feeling her slight shiver. "I just wanted a better view."
She elbows me hard in the ribs, breaking free to face another wave of undead. But there's less bite in her movements now, less desperate need to prove herself. We fall into a deadly rhythm—her sword extending my reach, my strength compensating for her imbalance. Every time she starts to tilt, my hand finds her waist or back, steadying her without comment.
"This doesn't mean anything," she grits out between strikes, though her body betrays her by leaning into my touch.
"Nothing at all," I agree, dispatching another corpse while admiring how the frosty light catches both colors in her eyes. "Just two warriors watching each other's backs."
Heimdall's battle cry draws our attention—the god stands surrounded, his armor splattered with dark ichor. But his eyes meet mine across the battlefield, and something knowing glints in that ancient gaze.
Through the chaos, Heimdalls voice carries like thunder. "To the caves! Now!"
I grab Bryn's arm as she starts to charge toward another cluster of Draugr. "Time to go."
"I'm not running," she snarls, yanking against my grip—her warrior's pride blazes, even as exhaustion shows on her beautiful face.
"It's not running," I growl, pulling her closer as a wave of undead surges toward us. "It's a tactical retreat. Besides," I add, taking down two more corpses with a single sweep of Grave Warden, "your form is getting sloppy."
Shewhirls on me, fury and something else dancing in her eyes. "My form is—" A Draugr's blade slices through the air where her head was before I yank her aside. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I mutter, keeping my hand on her lower back as we fight toward the cave entrance.
Heimdall covers our retreat, blocking the entrance as we duck inside. The god's power radiates outward, turning the first wave of pursuing Draugr to ash. But more move in.
