Chapter 11 - Nyx
NYX
The canyon walls pressed close on either side, carved by eons of wind into shapes that looked almost intentional.
I landed hard, my wings protesting the final descent after hours of sustained flight.
Our rest had been brief, and we’d taken off again as soon as the worst of the day’s heat had abated.
The stone beneath my feet was still radiating heat from the setting suns, turning the narrow space into an oven.
Lexa slid from my arms before I'd fully settled my balance. She moved away immediately, scanning the canyon with the competence I'd come to expect. All business.
My tail reached for her without permission. I yanked it back, coiled it tight against my leg.
She didn't notice. Already shrugging off her pack, she claimed a section of smooth stone near the far wall. At least twenty feet from where I stood.
The distance felt like miles.
I forced myself to move. Set down my own pack, began the routine of making camp.
Lexa pulled out her bedroll, spread it across the stone with easy movements. The fabric was thin, designed for minimal weight rather than comfort. She'd sleep on rock tonight, wake up stiff and sore.
Or she could share mine, let me keep her warm through the night the way mates were supposed to.
The words died before reaching my mouth.
She was making her boundaries clear. Separate spaces. Distance. Last night had been an aberration, a moment of weakness or need that she clearly regretted.
My chest ached with something I couldn't name.
I set up my own bedroll on the opposite side of the canyon. The space between us felt wrong. Unnatural. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to close that gap, to nest with my mate, to wrap myself around her and keep her safe through the vulnerable hours of sleep.
Drakarn females didn't do this. After mating, they slept together. Shared warmth and scent and space. The bonding period was sacred, a time to cement the connection through proximity and touch.
But Lexa was human.
Maybe her customs were different. Maybe this distance was expected, some ritual I didn't understand.
Or maybe it meant nothing to her.
I pulled out rations, offered her half without speaking. She took them with a nod, settled cross-legged on her bedroll. We ate in silence broken only by the scrape of dried meat against teeth, the sound of swallowing.
Her scent drifted across the space. Sweat and leather and underneath it all, that sweetness that made my fangs ache. I breathed through my mouth, trying to minimize the impact.
It didn't work.
My tail kept creeping toward her. Sliding across the stone, seeking her warmth. I caught it each time, forced it back, felt like I was fighting my own body.
She finished eating, took a long drink from her water flask. Her throat worked as she swallowed. I watched the movement, transfixed.
"I'll take first watch," she said. The first words she'd spoken since we landed.
"No." The word came out harsher than intended. I gentled my tone. "You're still healing. I'll watch. Sleep."
Her jaw tightened. I could see the argument forming, the instinct to refuse help or consideration. Then she looked down at her bandaged ribs, made some internal calculation.
"Fine. Wake me in four hours."
She lay down without another word. Turned on her side, facing the wall. Away from me.
I settled against the opposite wall, my wings folded tight against my back. The stone was uncomfortable, all sharp edges and unforgiving surfaces. I ignored it.
Four hours of watching her sleep. Four hours of drowning in her scent, of fighting the urge to cross the space and curl myself around her.
This was going to be torture.
The canyon cooled as night deepened. Not cold, never cold on Volcaryth, but the absence of the suns' direct heat made the air almost tolerable. I tracked the temperature drop through the way sound changed, echoes bouncing differently off stone that wasn't superheated.
Lexa's breathing evened out.
My tail moved without permission. Sliding across the stone, drawn to her like iron to a lodestone. I watched it go, this traitorous appendage that wouldn't obey my commands. It reached the edge of her bedroll, the tip hovering just above her ankle.
So close. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the shift in her scent that came with sleep.
I yanked my tail back. The movement was sharp enough to scrape scales against stone.
She didn't stir.
I forced myself to scan the canyon. But my eyes kept drifting back to her. The curve of her hip beneath the thin bedroll. The rise and fall of her breathing.
Mine.
The word pulsed through me with each heartbeat. Undeniable. Absolute.
Except she didn't want to be.
The hours crawled past. I counted her breaths, tracked the small movements she made in sleep. Twice she reached for something, her hand extending like she was searching. Both times I nearly crossed the distance, nearly gave her what she sought.
Both times I stayed where I was.
When four hours had passed, I woke her as promised. She came alert instantly, no grogginess or confusion. Soldier's reflexes.
"Your watch," I said.
She nodded, already moving to take up position near the canyon entrance. I settled onto my bedroll, wings spread slightly to dissipate heat.
Sleep should have come easily. I was exhausted, muscles screaming from hours of flight, mind foggy from lack of rest the night before.
But I lay there, hyperaware of her presence twenty feet away. Could hear her shifting position, the quiet rasp of her breathing, the small sounds she made checking her weapons.
What was I doing wrong?
Among my people, mating was straightforward. The bond struck, you claimed each other, you nested together. There was courtship before, displays of strength and skill, gifts exchanged. But after the claiming, the connection was established. Permanent.
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.
A massive firebird dropped into the canyon. Larger than the others, scarred and ancient. The alpha. It landed between us and the exit, wings spread to block escape.
Its eyes fixed on Lexa.
She didn't hesitate. She charged straight at it, knife ready, no fear in her movements.
The alpha's beak snapped at her. She ducked under it, drove her blade up into the soft tissue beneath its jaw. The knife sank deep, buried to the hilt.
The firebird reared back. Lexa tried to hold on, tried to keep her grip on the weapon.
The creature's weight was too much. It yanked away, taking the knife with it.
Lexa stumbled, caught herself. Reached for the blade still embedded in the alpha's throat.
The hilt snapped.
The sound was small. A crack of metal and leather. But in the chaos of the fight, I heard it clearly.
Lexa stood there holding half a knife. The blade was still lodged in the firebird's throat, useless to her now. She stared at the broken hilt in her hand, at the jagged edge where metal had sheared away.
The alpha lunged.
I was moving before conscious thought. Crossed the distance, my blade finding the firebird's eye socket. I drove it deep, twisted, felt the creature go limp.
It collapsed. Dead weight hitting stone with enough force to crack it.
The remaining firebirds scattered. Their alpha was dead, their coordinated attack broken. They fled up and out of the canyon, screeches fading into the distance.
Silence fell.
I turned to Lexa. She was still standing in the same spot, still staring at the broken knife in her hand. Blood covered her from head to toe, none of it hers as far as I could tell. Her chest heaved with exertion.
"Lexa."
She didn't respond. Just kept looking at the broken hilt.
I crossed to her, careful not to startle her. My hand found her shoulder. She flinched at the contact, then seemed to register my presence.
"I've had that knife for eight years," she said. Her voice was flat. Empty. "I carried it through basic training, three deployments, the journey on the Nostos."
I looked at the broken hilt in her hand. The leather wrapping was worn smooth from years of use, shaped to her grip. The metal showed scratches and nicks, evidence of hard use and careful maintenance.
A piece of her past. A connection to the life she'd left behind when the ship crashed.
Gone.
She closed her fist around the broken hilt. Knuckles white with pressure.
Then she shoved it into her belt. The movement was sharp, angry. She turned away from me, surveyed the canyon full of firebird corpses.
"We should move," she said. "The blood will draw scavengers."
Always practical. Always focused on the next threat, the next problem to solve. Never stopping long enough to process what she'd lost.
I wanted to pull her against me. Wanted to wrap my wings around her and let her grieve in private. Wanted to promise I'd replace everything this planet had taken from her.
But she was already moving. Already packing up her bedroll, checking her remaining weapons, preparing to leave.
Separate. Distant. Untouchable.
I gathered my own gear in silence. My body ached from the fight, muscles protesting the violent awakening. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in my chest.
She'd protected me. Put herself between me and danger without hesitation. Fought like a demon to keep me safe while I struggled to shake off sleep.
And now she wouldn't even look at me.
I didn't understand human customs. Didn't know what she needed from me, what I was failing to provide. Among my people, the bond would be enough. The certainty of belonging to each other would smooth over any rough edges.
But we weren't among my people.
We were in a canyon full of corpses, covered in blood that wasn't ours, heading toward unknown danger with broken weapons and unspoken words between us.
And I had no idea how to bridge the distance she kept creating.