Page 29

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.

I can't sleep.

Neither can Vex. He stands at the cave mouth, wings partially extended as he tastes the air for any scent the storm might carry. His scales ripple with tension, the purple highlights more pronounced when he's agitated. Every few minutes, his head tilts slightly—listening for sounds I can't hear.

"How long before they can move?" I ask, wrapping a fur around my shoulders as I join him.

"Dawn. Maybe later if the wind doesn't die down." His voice carries that low rumble that makes my bones vibrate. "But not much later."

The certainty in his tone makes my stomach clench. I press a hand to the slight swell of my belly, feeling the flutter of movement that's become more frequent. Our child grows quickly—hybrid development creating changes I can only guess at based on my medical training.

By morning, the downpour has gentled to a steady drizzle. Gray light filters through the entrance, and I know our reprieve is ending.

Vex spreads a hide map across the stone table, its surface worn smooth by years of use. Every mark, every symbol tells a story of territorial knowledge earned through countless patrols. I lean over it, studying the terrain with the same intensity I once used for anatomical diagrams.

"Show me," I say.

His claw traces the eastern ridge—a jagged line of peaks that look deceptively simple on the map. "Gargoyles approach from here. Direct flight path with updrafts strong enough to support stone bodies."

I follow the path with my finger, calculating distances, elevation changes. "How many?"

"Two specialist binders. At least three support." His claw taps a narrow passage between towering cliffs. "But they'll have to funnel through this ravine. No other approach offers the wind patterns they need."

The tactical situation becomes clearer as he explains. Gargoyles are powerful but predictable—their stone physiology requires specific atmospheric conditions for sustained flight. Unlike Vex, who can navigate any weather, they need thermals and updrafts to maintain altitude.

"Their binding technology," I say, pieces clicking together in my mind. "It targets nerve connections between brain and wing muscles."

"Temporary paralysis." His wings twitch slightly—an involuntary response that makes my chest tighten. "Five-meter effective radius for full incapacitation."

"But the equipment has vulnerabilities." I retrieve supplies from our medical cache, mixing compounds with practiced precision. "Neural disruptors work by broadcasting specific frequencies. If we can scramble those frequencies..."

The mixture I create looks innocuous—a pale powder that smells faintly of copper and herbs. But the components, when combined with the electrical activity in Gargoyle binding units, will create enough interference to disrupt their targeting systems.

Vex watches me work with something like approval. "How close do you need to get?"

"Three meters. Direct contact with their control units." I seal the powder in small pouches, each one carefully weighted for throwing. "Usually worn at the hip or shoulder."

His expression sharpens. "Dangerous."

"Everything about tomorrow is dangerous." I meet his gaze steadily. "This gives us options."

We spend the next hours setting traps throughout the ravine approach.

Vex's knowledge of mountain engineering combined with my understanding of anatomy creates a deadly combination.

We position loose rocks at precise points, create trip-wires that will trigger cascades at exactly the right moment, and identify choke points where his aerial superiority becomes absolute advantage.

The work is physical, demanding. My growing belly makes some positions awkward, but I push through the discomfort. Vex hovers constantly—not restricting my movement but ready to catch me if I stumble, lift me when reaches become too high, steady me when loose stone shifts beneath my feet.

"You don't have to—" I start to say.

"Yes, I do." His hands span my waist completely as he lifts me to reach a higher anchor point. "You carry my child. Your safety is my responsibility."

The casual possessiveness in his voice should irritate me. Instead, it sends warmth through my chest that has nothing to do with physical attraction. Somewhere between captivity and partnership, his protection has become comfort rather than constraint.

By afternoon, we've prepared as much as possible. The ravine bristles with hidden traps, carefully positioned to channel any approaching force into predetermined kill zones. Vex's aerial advantages are maximized, escape routes identified, contingencies planned for every scenario we can imagine.

It's not enough. It's never enough when facing Council forces.

Back in the den, Vex leads me through passages I've never explored. The cave system extends far deeper into the mountain than I realized, branching into a complex network of tunnels, chambers, and hidden exits that speak to decades of careful preparation.

"Emergency routes," he explains, indicating handholds carved into a vertical shaft. Faint daylight glows at its distant top. "This opens onto the northern face. Invisible from outside unless you know exactly where to look."

I examine the shaft, calculating the climb difficulty with my current condition. Challenging but manageable if necessary. "How many exits?"

"Seven." He unrolls another map, this one showing tunnel networks that branch throughout the mountain's heart. "Each leads to different terrain, different tactical advantages depending on pursuit type."

My breath catches as I study the routes. Some passages are too narrow for his wingspan—designed specifically for human use. The implications hit me like a physical blow.

"You planned for this." The words come out hoarse. "For me to escape without you."

His expression doesn't change, but his tail curls slightly—a tell I've learned indicates emotional discomfort. "Planning for all contingencies is survival practice."

"This isn't about contingencies." I trace one of the human-sized passages with my finger. "This is about you expecting to die tomorrow."

Silence stretches between us, heavy with truths neither wants to acknowledge. Council enforcement teams don't take prisoners—especially not Primes who've defied territorial claims. If Vex falls tomorrow, my survival depends entirely on routes only I can navigate.

"The secondary tunnel leads to a concealed ledge," he continues as if I haven't spoken. "Follow the red stone markers along the ridge. Three days south to valleys beyond Council control."

I memorize every path, every landmark, every cache location he describes. The information burns itself into my mind with the intensity of medical emergencies—details that might mean the difference between life and death.

But I hate every word.

"Most alphas would lock their omegas somewhere safe," I say, unable to keep the emotion from my voice. "Chain them down rather than risk escape."

His wings shift—that thoughtful adjustment I've come to recognize. "Possession without protection is meaningless."

Such simple words. No poetry, no romantic declarations. Just practical assessment of responsibility and commitment. Somehow that makes them more profound than any flowery speech could be.

Evening falls too quickly. Clear skies offer no further protection from aerial approach. Tomorrow will bring binding teams and extraction orders, Council authority backed by specialized weapons designed to neutralize exactly the advantages that make Vex dangerous.

Tension builds as we share our evening meal—preserved meat and mountain vegetables, simple food that tastes like dust in my mouth. We discuss final adjustments to defensive positions, review contingency protocols, check weapon placements one last time.

But underneath the tactical conversation, electricity crackles between us. Awareness that tomorrow might end everything we've built—this strange, complicated relationship that began with storm and claiming and has evolved into something neither of us anticipated.

When Vex finally sets aside his weapons and approaches where I sit on the sleeping platform, the hunger in his yellow eyes makes my breath catch. Not just physical hunger—though that's certainly present—but something deeper. Desperate. As if he's trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

"Amelia," he says, just my name, but it carries weight that makes my chest tighten.

I rise to meet him, pulled by the same desperate need. We might not survive tomorrow. Everything we've become—captor and captive evolved into something resembling partnership—could end with binding chains and Council justice.

The thought creates urgency that overwhelms caution.

His hands frame my face with surprising gentleness, claws carefully retracted so only the warm pads of his fingers touch my skin. When he kisses me, it's not the dominant claiming I expect but something almost reverent—as if I'm precious rather than possessed.

My clothes fall away beneath his careful touch, fabric parting without a single scratch to mark my skin.

His control still amazes me—the precision required to undress someone with claws capable of tearing through stone.

Each revealed inch of flesh receives attention from lips and tongue and gentle scrape of teeth.

When he lowers me to the sleeping furs, he follows with uncharacteristic restraint.

His massive body hovers above mine, supporting his weight on forearms that bracket my head.

The size difference that once terrified me now creates shelter—his broad chest and extended wings blocking out everything beyond this moment.