But Lexa was human. Maybe she needed more. Maybe one night wasn't enough to cement anything, to prove my worth as a mate.
Maybe I needed to court her properly. Show her what I could provide, what I could be for her.
I could do that. Could hunt for her, protect her, demonstrate my value. Could give her space when she needed it, closeness when she allowed it. Could be patient.
Even if the patience was killing me.
I closed my eyes, forced my breathing to slow. Exhaustion pulled at me, dragging me toward sleep despite the turmoil in my head.
Her scent wrapped around me. Smoke and sweat and that underlying sweetness. I breathed it in, let it fill my lungs, pretended she was closer than she was.
Sleep took me under.
I was flying. Lexa in my arms, her body pressed against mine. But something was wrong. She was falling, slipping through my grip no matter how tight I held her. I beat my wings harder, tried to climb, but the ground rushed up to meet us.
Her shout cut through the air.
I jolted awake.
Not a dream. Real.
The canyon exploded with sound. Screeches that scraped against my eardrums, the rush of wings, the smell of sulfur and rage.
Firebirds.
At least four, maybe more. Diving into the canyon from above, talons extended, beaks open to show rows of serrated edges designed for tearing.
I lunged to my feet. My body was sluggish, reflexes dulled by exhaustion and interrupted sleep. I reached for my blade, found the grip, pulled it free.
A firebird dove straight at me.
Lexa hit it from the side.
She'd launched herself from her position, crossed the distance in a sprint, and drove her shoulder into the creature's flank. The impact knocked it off course. Its talons raked empty air where my head had been.
She rolled, came up with her knife in hand. The blade flashed as she drove it into the firebird's exposed throat. Dark blood sprayed across stone.
Another one dove. I moved to intercept, my claws cutting through membrane and bone. The firebird shrieked, veered away, trailing blood.
But there were too many. They came from every angle, coordinated in a way that spoke of pack intelligence. Herding us, separating us, trying to isolate the weaker prey.
They thought Lexa was the weak one.
They were wrong.
She moved like violence given form. Every motion brutal, designed to end threats quickly. Her knife found vulnerable spots with unerring accuracy. Joints. Soft tissue beneath wings. The gap between skull and spine.
I'd seen her fight before. Sparred with her in training, watched her take down the firebird two nights ago. But this was different. This was her protecting me while I shook off sleep, covering my vulnerability with her own body.
My mate was defending me.
Pride and shame warred in my chest. Pride that she was mine, that her strength was undeniable. Shame that I'd needed defending, that my exhaustion had made me a liability.
I forced the emotions down. Focused on the fight.
We fell into rhythm without planning it. She drove them toward me, I finished what she started. When one got past her guard, I was there. When two attacked me simultaneously, she eliminated one before I had to choose which to block.
We moved like we'd trained together for years instead of days.
