Chapter 7 Nyx
NYX
Lexa’s blood coated my hands, slick and too warm, the scent of it drowning everything else.
My claws trembled as I peeled back the shredded leather of her shirt, exposing pale skin marred by three parallel gashes.
The firebird's talons had caught her across the ribs, torn through fabric and flesh like it was nothing.
My vision tunneled. The world narrowed to those wounds, to the dark blood welling from torn skin, to the too-shallow rise and fall of her chest.
She could have died.
The thought sent fury roaring through my veins. I wanted to go back, find every firebird that had fled, tear them apart with my bare hands. Wanted to paint the desert with their blood, make them pay for daring to touch what was mine.
Mine.
The word pulsed through me with each heartbeat. Primal. Absolute. Beyond reason or control.
I forced my breathing to slow. Forced my hands to steady. Rage wouldn't help her now. She needed me calm, competent, able to assess the damage and stop the bleeding before shock took her somewhere I couldn't follow.
I could do that. I'd treated battlefield wounds before, patched up warriors mid-combat, kept soldiers functional long enough to get them to real healers.
This was different.
This was my mate, unconscious and bleeding in my arms, her face too pale, her scent wrong with the copper tang of blood and the acrid residue of firebird flame.
I examined the wounds with shaking hands.
Three gashes, each as long as my palm. Deep enough to bleed freely but not deep enough to have hit anything vital—at least I didn’t think so.
I wasn’t intimately familiar with human physiology, but a flesh wound was a flesh wound.
The firebird had caught her with the tips of its talons, a glancing blow rather than a killing strike.
Lucky.
We'd been so lucky.
My tail coiled around her waist, pulling her closer against my chest. I needed to feel her breathing, needed the proof that she was alive, that I hadn't failed to protect her.
The other wounds were less severe. Scrapes along her shoulder where she'd hit rock. Bruising already darkening her side. Minor burns on her forearm from firebird flame, blistered skin that would hurt like hells when she woke.
When. Not if.
She would wake. I wouldn't accept any other outcome.
I glanced around the outcropping. Firebird corpses littered the stone, their blood pooling in cracks and crevices.
The one Lexa had killed lay closest, her knife still buried in its throat.
Pride surged through me despite everything.
She'd fought a firebird and won, and few experienced Drakarn warriors could say that.
Magnificent.
But we couldn’t stay here. The scent of blood would draw scavengers, and firebirds were territorial. The survivors might return with reinforcements, driven by rage and the need to defend their nesting grounds.
I gathered her carefully, one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. Her head lolled against my shoulder, blonde hair matted with blood and sand. My tail wrapped around her waist again, securing her against me.
Then I launched.
My wings caught air, each stroke sending pain radiating through muscles already exhausted from the fight. I ignored it. Discomfort meant nothing compared to getting her somewhere safe, somewhere I could treat her wounds properly.
The desert stretched beneath us, endless sand and rock formations that looked identical in the darkness. I flew northeast, away from firebird territory, scanning for shelter. A cave would be ideal. Somewhere defensible, protected from the elements, hidden from predators.
Her scent wrapped around me with each breath.
Blood and smoke, and underneath it all, that sweetness that made my fangs ache.
The mate-bond pulled at me, insistent and demanding.
She was hurt. Vulnerable. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to find safety, to tend her wounds, to guard her while she healed.
To claim her.
No.
Not yet. Of course not.
But gods, it was hard to resist. Her body fit against mine like it had been designed for this, soft curves pressed to hard scales, her warmth seeping into me despite the blood loss. My tail tightened fractionally, pulling her closer.
I forced myself to scan the terrain. Focus on the mission. Find shelter. Treat her wounds. Keep her alive.
Everything else could wait.
A rock formation rose from the desert floor ahead, taller than the others, its base riddled with shadows that suggested caves or overhangs. I adjusted my trajectory, descended in a controlled spiral.
The cave entrance was narrow but opened into a larger chamber beyond. I landed just inside, my feet hitting stone with barely a sound. The space smelled of dust and old stone, no recent evidence of predators.
Good enough.
I moved deeper into the cave, away from the entrance where wind could carry our scent. The floor was relatively smooth, worn down by years of wind and sand. I set Lexa down carefully, arranging her on her side to keep pressure off the wounds.
Her face was too pale. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cooling night air.
I shrugged off my pack, dug through the contents with hands that wanted to shake. Medical supplies were near the top, easily accessible. I'd packed for injury, knowing this journey would be dangerous.
I hadn't expected to be using them on her.
Water first. I dampened a cloth, began cleaning the blood from her skin. The gashes looked worse covered in blood. Once cleaned, they were manageable. Painful, yes. Requiring careful treatment, absolutely. But not life-threatening.
The tension in my chest eased fractionally.
She would be fine. Sore, angry when she woke, probably furious that she'd been injured. But fine.
I applied healing salve to the wounds; the Drakarn mixture was designed to prevent infection and speed recovery. The scent of it filled the cave, sharp herbs and something mineral. My hands moved with easy efficiency, spreading the salve evenly, making sure every inch of torn skin was covered.
My tail moved without conscious thought. The tip found her calf, traced the line of muscle there. Soothing. Comforting.
My tail continued its movement, stroking along her leg like it had a mind of its own. The gesture was intimate, possessive, the kind of touch reserved for mates and family. I shouldn't be doing this.
But I couldn't seem to make myself stop either.
The texture of her pants fascinated my tail, the way fabric moved over muscle, the warmth of her skin bleeding through. Up her calf, circling her knee, down again. A rhythm that matched my breathing, that helped settle the chaos still churning in my chest.
She was here. Alive. Breathing. The wounds were treated. We were safe.
My tail kept stroking.
I moved to her shoulder, cleaning the scrapes there. These were less severe, skin abraded but not deeply cut. I applied salve anyway, being thorough.
Each touch was clinical. Professional. Exactly what any warrior would do for an injured companion.
Except for my tail, which continued its unconscious caress of her leg.
I bandaged the worst of the wounds, wrapping clean cloth around her ribs to protect the gashes and provide pressure. My hands brushed her skin more than strictly necessary. The curve of her waist. The dip of her spine. The soft skin just above her hip.
I couldn't stop myself.
The mate-bond sang through me, satisfied that I was caring for her, tending her injuries, keeping her safe. This was what I was meant to do. Protect. Provide. Ensure her survival.
Claim.
That last thought came unbidden, unwanted. I shoved it down.
She stirred.
The movement was small, just a shift of her shoulders, but it sent my heart hammering. Her breathing changed, became less shallow. Her eyelids fluttered.
I pulled back, giving her space. My tail, traitorous thing, stayed wrapped around her calf.
Her eyes opened. Unfocused at first, pupils dilated with pain and confusion. Then they sharpened, found me crouched beside her.
"Fuck." The word came out rough, scraped raw. She tried to sit up, gasped, fell back. Her hand went to her ribs, found the bandages. "What happened?"
"A firebird caught you with its talons." I kept my voice level, calm. "You were unconscious. I treated the wounds. All is well now. You’re safe. Sleep."
She blinked at me, processing. Her gaze swept the cave, taking in our location, the supplies scattered around us, the evidence of my emergency field medicine. Then she nodded, and her eyes drifted shut once more, her body relaxing into natural sleep.
I sat there for a long time, my tail stroking her skin, and told myself she would be fine. Whatever had caused her brief unconsciousness, shock, blood loss, something else, was past us now. She’d woken. And sleep was the best healer of all.
In time, I joined her.
Some hours later, I woke and heard Lexa groaning beside me. It was still dark outside, night refusing to give up its hold on the planet.
"How bad?" she asked.
I had to keep my voice even. "You'll live."
"That's not what I asked."
"Nothing life-threatening, but you'll be sore for days."
She tried to sit up again, slower this time. I moved to help her, my hands finding her shoulders, supporting her weight as she levered herself upright. She hissed through her teeth, face going white with pain.
"Easy," I said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're injured, and you need to rest."
"I don't need anything except to keep moving." Her eyes flashed, anger sparking. "How long was I out? How much time did we lose?"
"Not long." It had only felt like hours, weeks. Centuries. But I’d flown quickly, and it hadn’t even been an hour, I was certain. “You passed out, but then you slept. A few hours, perhaps.”
That made her more eager to sit. "Then we should go."
"You can barely get up." I tensed my tail, ready to pin her in place if necessary. A night of sleep could heal, but not completely.
"I can do whatever I need to do." She shoved my hands away, the movement making her wince. "Don’t coddle me."
Fury ignited in my chest. Not at her. At the situation. At my own helplessness. At the fact that she was hurt and in pain and still trying to push herself beyond reasonable limits.
"You could have died," I said, the words coming out harsher than intended. "You fought a firebird, killed it, and nearly bled out in the process. You don't get to pretend you're fine."
"I'm not pretending anything. I know I'm hurt. But we don't have time to waste sitting around while I recover."
"We have time for you to not kill yourself through stubbornness."
She glared at me. The anger in her eyes was real, but underneath it, I could see pain. Fear. The adrenaline crash hitting her hard, leaving her raw and defensive.
She was looking for a fight. Needed the outlet, the distraction from her own vulnerability.
I wouldn't give it to her.
"Your wounds are treated," I said, forcing my voice back to calm. "You need water and rest. We'll stay here until dawn, then reassess."
"I don't need you making decisions for me."
"Someone has to, since you're clearly incapable of making rational ones."
Her jaw clenched. "Fuck you."
"Eloquent."
"I mean it. You don't get to swoop in and play savior, then act like I owe you obedience." She sat fully up and glared at me, daring me to naysay her.
I was smart enough to say nothing about it.
"I'm not asking for obedience. I'm asking you to have some sense of self-preservation."
"My self-preservation is fine. I killed a firebird, didn't I?"
Pride surged through me again despite the argument. "You did."
The acknowledgment seemed to throw her. She blinked, some of the anger draining from her expression. "I did," she repeated, quieter. "Holy shit, I actually killed one of those things."
"You were impressive."
Her gaze snapped back to mine. Searching. Looking for mockery or condescension. Finding neither.
Something shifted in her expression. The anger didn't disappear, but it softened around the edges. She looked down at her bandaged ribs, her burned arm, the evidence of the fight written on her skin.
"It hurt," she said finally. "When the talons caught me. I didn't feel it at first, but after, when the adrenaline wore off, it hurt like hell."
"Pain means you're alive."
"Thanks, Dr. Sunshine." But there was no real bite in the word.
Silence settled between us. Not comfortable, but less hostile than moments before. I could hear her breathing, still too fast, still shallow with pain. Could smell the herbs from the healing salve mixing with her natural scent.
My tail was still wrapped around her calf.
I should move it. Should give her space, respect her boundaries, stop touching her without permission.
I didn't move it.
I let my tail lay right where it was and reached for the water flask, offered it to her. "Drink."
She took it, our fingers brushing. The contact sent electricity up my arm, made my scales itch with want. She didn't seem to notice. Just uncapped the flask and drank deeply, water running down her chin.
When she lowered the flask, she was looking at me again. That searching gaze, trying to figure me out.
Without thinking, I let my tail stroke a line down her thigh, almost teasing that forbidden flesh, but not quite.
Lexa looked alive, almost well. Whatever her injury, she would live. The salve was already seeing to that, imbuing her with energy, with life.
She sucked in a ragged breath, and her eyes flicked down to my tail. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she carefully raised her hand and ran one careful finger along the sensitive flesh.
I felt it straight to my cock.
Her gaze met mine, and there was fire there.
“Either put that thing away or touch me like you mean it.”