Kian follows shortly after. "Catriona needs to know what happened. I'll update her."
Grayson walks beside us longest, silent except for the steady rhythm of his footfalls. When his territory boundary approaches, he finally speaks.
"She handled herself well."
"She did."
"Doesn't change what comes next."
The claiming. The bond. The choice Lila will have to make about what she wants her future to look like.
"I know."
He claps me once on the shoulder, careful not to jostle Lila, then heads toward his own territory.
Rafe stays with us all the way to the cave entrance. His shadows scout ahead, checking for threats, confirming the space is secure before melting back into darkness.
"Mikhail's wounded. Phoenix blood on the cave floor means he's vulnerable right now. Regeneration takes time when the damage is this severe." He meets my eyes with predator focus. "We should hunt him while he's weak."
"Later." My arms tighten around Lila despite my attempts at control. "After she's safe."
"She won't be safe until he's dead."
"I know." The words taste like truth and failure combined. "But hunting him now, while he's desperate and cornered, means walking into another trap. We regroup. We plan. Then we end this."
Rafe doesn't look convinced but he nods. "Your call. But don't wait too long. Wounded predators are the most dangerous kind."
He disappears into shadows, leaving us alone at my cave entrance.
I should put Lila down. Should let her walk the rest of the way, give her back the autonomy she values. But the claiming urge is too strong now, the dragon too close to the surface, demanding I keep her close, protected, mine.
I carry her into the cave.
CHAPTER 9
FINN
The bioluminescent algae pulses in response to our presence, lighting the space with familiar greenish-blue glow. The pool of seawater at the back reflects the light, making patterns dance across stone walls worn smooth by centuries of tides. Home. Territory. The place where I've isolated myself from everyone and everything that could hurt me.
Until now.
I set Lila on her feet near the pool, forcing myself to release her. She sways slightly, exhaustion catching up now that adrenaline is fading, and I catch her elbow to steady her.
"You need medical attention. That cut needs cleaning and bandaging."
"I know how to treat a wound." She pulls her arm free, examining the cut Mikhail made. It's still bleeding sluggishly, the edges ragged from the ceremonial blade. "Do you have clean water? Bandages?"
I have supplies cached in waterproof containers, the kind of emergency preparation that comes from centuries of living alone. I retrieve them and watch while she cleans the wound with efficient precision.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with things that need to be said.
She breaks it first. "He's not going to stop."
"No."
"He thinks he's saving you. Helping you. Like murdering people you love is some kind of gift." Her voice carries disbelief threaded through with anger. "That's not sane."
"Sanity is relative when you've lived as long as Mikhail has. Isolation does things to immortals. We lose perspective. Forget what matters. He's convinced himself that caring is weakness, that love is vulnerability."
