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"I saved you from bleeding out in a storm." His grip tightens slightly, not painful but possessive. "I could have left you to die and claimed someone else."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because the moment I scented you, I knew." His voice drops to that register that seems to vibrate directly through my bones. "My omega. Mine to protect, mine to provide for, mine to breed until you're round with my offspring."

The casual mention of breeding should terrify me. Instead, it sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. We both know he's already filled me countless times with his seed, my body accepting every drop during those endless heat cycles. "What if nothing comes of it?"

"It will." The certainty in his voice makes me shiver. "Your body was made to carry my young. Every time I knot you, every time I pump you full of seed, we're creating the future that belongs to us both."

I want to deny it, but slick is already dampening my thighs despite the cool mountain air. My scent gives me away as surely as if I'd spoken the words aloud.

"Not here," I manage, even as my body screams for his touch.

"Why not?" His free hand moves to my waist, claws carefully retracted. "Afraid someone might see? Might witness how perfectly you respond to your alpha?"

"We need to focus on survival training," I say weakly, grasping for rational thought while his proximity scrambles my brain.

"This is survival training." His thumb traces my lower lip, and I have to fight not to draw it into my mouth. "Learning to trust your alpha. Learning to accept protection instead of fighting it."

"Is that what this is? Protection?"

"Everything I do protects you." His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck, fingers spanning the claiming marks that brand me as his. "Teaching you to hunt protects you. Teaching you to navigate protects you. Teaching you to submit protects you."

"Submit." The word comes out breathless.

"When the time comes for you to run, you'll need to trust your instincts. Trust your alpha's commands. Trust that I know what's best for your survival." His grip tightens slightly, just enough to remind me of his strength. "Can you do that, omega?"

The question isn't just about wilderness survival, and we both know it. It's about everything between us—the claiming, the bond, the future neither of us can predict.

"I don't know," I admit.

"Then we keep training." He releases me, stepping back with that infuriating control he always maintains. "Until you do."

The loss of his touch leaves me cold and aching, my body demanding contact I know I shouldn't want. As he moves away to continue our lesson, I catch the bulge in his pants that tells me I'm not the only one affected by our proximity.

We spend the remaining hours of daylight working through emergency protocols—escape routes, cache locations, survival priorities if separated. But underneath every instruction runs the current of tension that makes my skin feel electrified.

When he corrects my stance for better crossbow accuracy, his hands linger on my waist longer than necessary.

When I demonstrate field medicine techniques, he watches with focus that has nothing to do with medical knowledge.

When we practice moving silently through underbrush, he follows close enough that his scent surrounds me like a living thing.

By the time we head back toward the den, my entire body hums with unfulfilled need. Every step reminds me of the slick coating my inner thighs, evidence of how thoroughly he's affected me without even trying.

"Tomorrow we work on cold weather survival," he says as we navigate the final climb to the cave entrance.

"More lessons in submission?" I ask before I can stop myself.

His rumbling laugh follows us into the den. "Every lesson teaches submission, omega. The question is whether you're finally ready to learn."

As we settle into our evening routine—him checking perimeter defenses while I prepare our meal—I find myself watching his every movement with new awareness. The fluid grace of his walking, the careful way he handles tools designed for claws, the unconscious dominance in every gesture.

When he stretches his wings to their full span, I don't look away this time. When he catches me staring, I don't deny what he sees in my expression.

"Tomorrow," he says quietly, folding his wings as he approaches where I'm tending the cooking fire.

"What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow you stop fighting what you want." His hand touches my shoulder briefly, just enough to send heat spiraling through me. "Tomorrow you learn what it means to choose submission instead of having it forced on you."

The promise hangs between us as we eat in charged silence, and I know that whatever happens next will change everything between us.

Whether that change leads to freedom or deeper captivity remains to be seen. But as I catch him watching me across the firelight, pupils dilated with want that matches my own, I realize I'm no longer sure which outcome I'm hoping for.