Chapter 12 - Lexa
LEXA
Nyx appeared beside me, silent as death despite his size. I was staring at the firebird corpses littering the canyon floor, counting them for the third time like the number would change if I just tried hard enough.
We'd killed seven of the bastards.
"Are you injured?" His voice was careful, measured. The tone you used when approaching something that might bite.
"What?”
“Are you hurt?” he asked it slower this time.
My body ached, still not fully recovered from my first run in with these monsters, but I was pretty sure there were nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. “I’m fine.”
"Let me check your wounds. The bandages might have …"
"I said I'm fine." The words came out sharp. I didn't look at him, couldn't, because if I did, I might fall apart, and I couldn't afford that right now.
My hand dropped to my belt and found the broken knife hilt where I'd shoved it.
The leather was still warm from my palm, shaped by years of grip and use and reliance.
Eight years. Through basic training, where I'd been the only woman in my unit.
Through deployments to places that made Volcaryth look friendly. And now …
Gone.
Snapped like it was nothing. Like those eight years meant nothing. Like every scar on that blade, every nick and scratch that told a story, was just metal waiting to break.
Rage surged through me. Hot and irrational and overwhelming. I yanked the broken hilt from my belt and hurled it at the canyon wall with everything I had.
The impact was satisfying. Metal struck stone with a sharp crack, the sound echoing off the walls. The hilt clattered to the ground, rolled, came to rest against a dead firebird's wing.
Useless. Broken. Discarded.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to punch something until my knuckles split. Wanted to go back in time and tell myself not to get attached to anything because this planet would take it all eventually.
"Lexa." Nyx's voice was soft. Too understanding.
"Let's just get the fuck out of here."
I grabbed my pack, shoved my arms through the straps with enough force to make my ribs protest. The pain was good. Satisfying. Something to focus on that wasn't the hollow feeling in my chest.
Nyx didn't argue. Just gathered his own gear in silence. When he was ready, he approached slowly, giving me time to refuse.
Like I could. I needed his wings to get where we were going, and standing here drowning in my own anger wouldn't find Larissa or the others.
His arms came around me. Gently. Like I was something that might shatter if handled wrong.
Maybe I was.
The flight blurred. Desert gave way to rougher terrain, rock formations that jutted from the ground like broken bones. The air changed and tasted different. Drier somehow, though I wouldn't have thought that possible. Less sulfur, more dust.
I should be paying attention. Taking in landmarks, memorizing the route, scanning for threats. Instead, I kept seeing that knife hilt hitting the wall. Kept feeling the wrongness of my empty belt, the absence of weight I'd carried for years.
Stupid. It was just a knife. Just a tool. I had other weapons, other ways to defend myself. Getting emotional over a piece of metal was ridiculous.
But it wasn't just metal. It was proof I'd survived. Evidence of who I'd been before the crash, before Scalvaris, before everything changed. One more connection to Earth, to the life I'd left behind.
One more thing this planet had taken from me.
Nyx's heartbeat thudded against my ear. The rhythm of it tried to soothe me, tried to pull me out of my spiral.
I didn't want to be soothed.
The landscape below shifted again. Narrow canyons cut through the rock, shadows pooling in the depths. Nyx banked toward one, descended in a controlled glide.
We landed in a small clearing between towering stone walls. The space was sheltered, hidden from aerial view, defensible. A good tactical choice.
I slid from his arms the moment my feet touched ground. I needed to put distance between us before his scent could wrap around me and make me forget why I was angry.
The canyon was too quiet. No wind, no distant screeches of predators, no sounds of life at all. Just stillness that pressed against my eardrums.
Wrong.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Instincts honed by years of combat, ones that had kept me alive through situations where I should have died were screaming at me.
Something was watching us.
I scanned the canyon. Nothing. No movement, no shapes that didn't belong. Just rock and shadow and that oppressive silence.
My hand went to my belt and found empty space where my knife should be. The absence sent fresh anger surging through me.
I was about to ask Nyx if he felt it too, if his Drakarn senses picked up whatever was making my skin crawl.
He was crouched beside his pack, his back to me. His wings were folded tight, his tail coiled near his feet. He was digging through the contents with careful movements, searching for something.
The wrongness I'd felt intensified.
He found what he was looking for and stood slowly, turning to face me.
In his hands was a blade.
Not forged for a Drakarn hand. The proportions were wrong, the design too delicate. The grip was wrapped in dark leather, the pommel balanced and small in his palm.
Human-sized.
Nyx took three steps forward. Then he dropped to one knee.
The gesture was formal. Ritualistic. He bowed his head, held the blade across both palms, offered it up like a supplicant presenting tribute to a queen.
"For you, kyvara."
I stared at him. At the blade. At the careful way he held it.
"What is this?" My voice came out rough.
"A knife."
"No shit." I took two steps toward him and took it from his hands. The weight was perfect. Not too heavy, not too light. The balance point sat exactly where it should for my grip.
I pulled it from the sheath.
The blade was beautiful. Darker metal than human steel, with a subtle pattern running through it like water frozen mid-flow. The edge was sharp enough to split air. But it was the grip that made my breath catch.
The curve of the leather matched my palm, accommodated the calluses I'd built up over years of weapons training. The pommel fit against the heel of my hand like it belonged there.
This wasn't a spare weapon. This wasn't something he'd picked up in Scalvaris markets.
"This is made for a human hand." I looked down at him, still kneeling, still watching me with those silver eyes.
"For your hand, kyvara."
That word again. The one he kept using, the one I'd been avoiding asking about because I was terrified of what it might mean. But I couldn’t keep running forever. "You keep calling me that."
"I do."
My fingers tightened on the grip. "Why do you have this knife?"
"Because it's yours."
"But why?" The question came out desperate. Demanding. I needed to understand what was happening, what he was offering, what it meant that he'd been carrying a custom-made blade built for my hand.
The intensity of his gaze was hit enough to burn. "Because I'm yours. If you'll have me."
The words hit hard. Knocked the breath from my lungs, made the world tilt sideways.
I'm yours.
If I'd have him.
All the feelings I'd been shoving down for two days surged up at once.
The dreams that had been tormenting me for weeks.
The way my body responded to his proximity.
The hollow ache in my chest every time I put distance between us.
The terror of wanting someone this much, of needing them, of admitting that maybe I wasn't as independent as I'd always believed.
He was still kneeling. Still waiting.
How long had he been carrying this blade? How long had he been planning this moment, preparing for it, hoping for it?
The knife in my hand was an answer to a question I hadn't dared to ask. He'd made me a weapon. Had armed me, prepared me to be stronger, trusted me to use it well.
Well. Fuck it.
I'd made my choice the moment I decided to leave Scalvaris. Had made it when I let him come with me, when I'd slept with him in that cave, when I'd thrown myself between him and the firebird this morning without thinking.
I'd been fighting the inevitable. Pretending I had control over something that had been decided the moment our eyes met during the Skalanth.
I was done fighting.
I sheathed the knife. Set it carefully on the ground beside us. Then I grabbed the front of his armor and yanked him up.
He rose smoothly, following my pull. His hands found my waist, steadying me. Not restraining. Just there.
I looked up at him. At the silver eyes that had haunted my dreams, at the scales that caught the fading light, at the mouth I wanted to taste again.
"Yes," I said.
Then I kissed him.