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"No," he admits, honesty replacing empty reassurance. "Not forever."

The simple admission creates intimacy deeper than our physical claiming the night before. This shared vulnerability, this mutual recognition of mortal danger, transcends the captor-captive dynamic that defined our beginning.

"We need to prepare," I say, pushing aside terror in favor of action. "Emergency supplies. Escape routes. Communication methods if we're separated."

Vex's expression shifts to something like respect. "We start now." He rises to his full imposing height, wings adjusting behind him. "Pack the essential medical supplies first. Focuson pregnancy needs and emergency treatment. Light, portable, waterproof."

The clear instructions provide structure that helps steady my racing heart. This is something I can control—organizing medical gear, prioritizing treatments, preparing for emergencies. My hands move with practiced efficiency, medical training taking over where emotional courage falters.

As I work, Vex moves through the den with predatory purpose, selecting weapons, gathering survival tools, checking defenses with methodical attention. We function as a team despite the tension crackling between us, each focused on tasks that contribute to our mutual survival.

When I finish packing the medical essentials, Vex approaches with something clutched in his massive hand—a small leather pouch attached to a cord designed to hang around the neck.

"Emergency location markers," he explains, opening the pouch to reveal small red stones with distinctive purple veins threading through them. "Drop one every thousand steps if we're separated. I'll find you."

The simple statement—not "if I survive" or "if I can escape" but the absolute certainty of "I'll find you"—creates emotions I can't untangle. Fear at the possibility of separation, gratitude for his preparation, dependence I never wanted yet now can't imagine living without.

"The resistance fighter mentioned similar markers," I recall, taking the pouch with careful fingers. "Red stones marking safe paths to the southern valley."

"Same system." Vex secures the cord around my neck, the pouch settling between my breasts like a promise. "Mountain communication network. Resistance cells recognize these markers and will help you if Council forces manage to separate us."

This revelation—that his cooperation with the resistance extends to established emergency protocols specifically for my protection—shifts my understanding again. The alliance network he's built isn't just for territorial advantage but includes contingencies designed around my survival.

"You've been planning for this," I realize, pieces clicking together. "Since before the pregnancy. Since Captain Kain's first visit."

"Yes." He doesn't elaborate, but the single word reveals priorities more clearly than speeches could—my survival positioned as a goal equal to his own territorial defense.

As evening approaches, storm clouds gather over the northwestern peaks—dark, heavy formations promising serious weather. Vex watches them from the den entrance, his wings shifting with each gust that carries the scent of approaching rain.

"The storm will buy us preparation time," he observes, nostrils flaring as he reads the air. "Gargoyles hate flying in heavy rain. Water soaks into their wings, makes their stone bodies even heavier."

"How long?" I ask, joining him at the entrance. Close enough that his wing automatically adjusts to shelter me from the rising wind.

"Twelve hours minimum. Twenty-four if the storm stalls over the western ridge."

A full day's advantage if the weather cooperates. Time to finalize preparations, strengthen defenses, ensure emergency plans are solid. Yet even with this temporary reprieve, the reality remains unchanged—Council forces are coming for me specifically, with technology designed to permanently cripple the Prime who dared claim me against their orders.

As night falls and the first heavy raindrops strike the stone outside our den, I find myself moving closer to Vex, seeking the security his presence provides while it lasts. His arm curvesaround me without comment, his wing extending to create shelter from the increasing downpour.

"We'll survive this," I say, the words part statement, part desperate prayer.

Vex's response comes after a thoughtful pause, his voice carrying conviction despite the odds we face. "Yes. Together or apart, we survive. These mountains have weathered worse threats than binding teams."

As the storm intensifies around us, I find myself believing him despite every logical assessment suggesting otherwise. Not because his protection guarantees safety, but because something fundamental has changed between us—the claiming marks on my neck no longer representing just ownership but connection that transcends how we began.

Whatever comes for us across the storm-lashed peaks, we'll face it not as captor and captive, but as something new the Council's rigid categories can't contain. Something dangerous precisely because it defies the established order of their carefully controlled world.

The baby flutters in my belly as thunder rolls across the mountains, and I press closer to Vex's warmth. Tomorrow may bring binding teams and separation and horrors I can't imagine. But tonight, sheltered by his wing while the storm rages outside, I allow myself to believe in survival.

In us.

CHAPTER 19

PREPARATION FOR BATTLE

Amelia's POV

The storm batters the mountain with wind and rain fierce enough to rattle the stone walls around us. Each gust sends ice-cold water trickling through cracks in the cave entrance. The sound echoes through the den like whispers of approaching death.