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17

HAWK

Darkness pressed down. I fought my way up through it, clawing against a pressure inside me that made it feel like I was drowning even though I was miles from water. Sound bled in first—low murmurs, alien and guttural. The soft, grating clink of metal on stone. Then sensation—a raw, grinding throb between my ribs, pulsing like a second, jagged heartbeat. Bandages scraped rough against skin. And heat. A thick, ambient heat that clung to everything.

My eyelids were fused shut. I forced them open, blinking against the glare of heat crystals dotting the cavern ceiling like embers. Panic detonated—a pure adrenaline dump before memory caught up. The ambush. Stone shattering. Ignarath claws ripping air. Pain exploding through my chest like a shaped charge. Khorlar?—

I tried to surge upright, a feral instinct to move, but hands clamped down, firm and unyielding. My vision swam, focusing slowly on Selene's face—sharp angles, brown skin, eyes that missed nothing.

"Easy," she murmured, her voice low. It was steady and clinical. Her fingers probed the bandages wrapping my torso. "Move like that, and you tear the sutures." It was blunt and practical.

Reality slammed back. I remembered the sickening crunch of my own bones. I tasted the copper tang of blood flooding my mouth. I heard the roar that had ripped from Khorlar’s throat as I went down—a sound primal enough to shake the stone. My heart hammered against the cage of my ribs, each beat agony.

"Khorlar," I rasped, the word torn from a raw throat. "Where—? Is he—?" The question died. I couldn't ask it.

"He's fine," Selene said. A minuscule tilt of her head indicated the space beside me. "There."

I turned my head. Muscles screamed, protesting the simple movement. Pain lanced through me, sharp and immediate. But the sight stopped my breath cold.

He sprawled on a wide stone slab nearby, his immense form terrifyingly still. His power was leashed by exhaustion. One wing, its leathery membrane marred by neat, precise stitches—Selene's work—draped off the edge, inert. His chest rose and fell, slow, deep. Gray scales drank the molten light.

He was alive. Not broken.

Relief hit like a physical blow. Weakness flooded me, dizzying and unwelcome. My gaze traced the lines of his face, unguarded in sleep, the harsh angles softened. A rare, dangerous vulnerability.

"What—" I cleared my throat, forcing the words past the knot tightening there. "What happened?"

Selene's fingers continued their assessment, efficient, detached. "You took a killing strike. Your lung collapsed. There was severe internal bleeding." Her eyes, dark and direct, met mine. No softening. "Three ribs fractured." She paused, letting the starkness land. "He carried you to the healing caverns. Just in time."

Just in time. Those were words like ice picks. A breath away from too late. The abyss yawned.

"The others?" I demanded, gritting my teeth against the relentless throb.

"Stable. Kira is recovering from sedation. Minor injuries elsewhere." Her expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "Reika and Rachel are already back in their quarters, they were just knocked out."

My eyes kept dragging back to Khorlar. There was an invisible tether to him. "Is he hurt?" I couldn't filter the edge from my voice. Couldn't pretend indifference.

"It's exhaustion. Lacerations and wing tears." Selene’s mouth twitched, a fleeting acknowledgment of something complex passing between warrior and healer. "He refused treatment until I confirmed your life-signs stabilized. Refused to leave this slab until he physically collapsed. I threatened to sedate him. It took Mysha coming in here and staring him down to get him to back off."

Something hot and volatile coiled low in my gut, unrelated to the pain. The thought of him, standing guard, bleeding, refusing aid while I hovered near death … The image pulsed through me, a dangerous resonance. Control slipping.

"How long?" I needed the measure of the gap. Needed to know the time stolen.

"Long enough," Selene replied. "I'm still learning Drakarn healing, but they have some out of this world herbs. It accelerated your healing. It looks like you've been recovering for weeks, not days. But you are far from recovered."

My fingers brushed the thick layers wrapped around my torso. It felt like a cage of gauze. "I need to?—"

"You need to rest," she cut me off, sharp as flint. Then her gaze softened fractionally, following mine to Khorlar. "Although … proximity has its own restorative properties, it seems."

Heat crawled up my neck. Proximity. It was a clinical word for something raw and unnamed. "He needs to know," I muttered, the admission escaping before I could lock it down.

Selene nodded. "Can you stand? The pain will be severe."

Every movement was fire. Agony licked along my ribs, grinding bone on bone with each hitched breath. But Selene's grip was steel beneath my elbow, an impersonal support. The need to reach him was a physical force, overriding pain, overriding reason. It was a gravity I couldn't fight. When we reached the edge of his slab, I hesitated, suddenly adrift in the space between wounded animal and … something else.

"I have other patients." Selene released my arm, her voice quiet but firm. "Do not compromise my work, Hawk."

She slipped away into the shadows, leaving me swaying, the air thick with Khorlar's heat and scent. Up close, the scale of him was staggering. Hard muscle lay beneath gray plates, the sharp line of his jaw relaxed in sleep, one arm flung outward, palm up, claws loose. Reaching.

For me.

The thought struck like lightning. This warrior. This alien predator. He’d smashed through every defense, breached every wall I’d ever built. He had carved out territory inside me where none should exist. Watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, feeling that inexorable pull, I knew it with chilling certainty. There was no going back.

Every instinct honed for survival, for self-reliance, screamed betrayal. Silenced by something older. Deeper. More savage.

Mine. His claim, echoed back from my own core.

Deliberately, gritting my teeth against the fire, I lowered myself onto the edge of the warm stone. No hesitation now. I eased down beside him, fitting myself into the curve of his massive body, sliding under the shelter of that outstretched arm.

Contact sent a shockwave through me. It wasn't pain, but ignition. His body radiated heat like a furnace core, seeping into my chilled marrow, driving out a coldness I hadn't known I carried. I rested my head against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart pulsed against my ear—stronger, deeper than human. Thrumming.

It felt like surrender. Like stepping into the heart of the sun. Terrifyingly like home.

My eyelids turned to lead. Exhaustion, heavy and absolute, dragged me under. Here. Beside him. Safe wasn't the word. Claimed felt closer. Marked.

I surfaced later to movement. A sharp inhale beneath my ear. Tension snapped through the arm under my head, muscle turning to stone. Molten gold eyes flared open, shock locking his features as he stared down at me.

" Vrakasha ," he breathed, the Drakarn word vibrating against my cheek. It was rough and possessive. His free hand hovered near my face, claws extended but unsteady. Trembling? "You live."

A faint smile pulled at my lips, cracking the mask of pain. "Apparently. You too."

His nostrils flared, drawing in my scent, assessing me in that wild, unnerving way. His arm tightened—a brief, crushing pressure—then instantly eased as memory of my injuries surfaced. He was careful now. Lethally careful.

"I thought …" His voice was raw, stripped bare. Unfiltered. "When you were struck … I felt the bones give beneath my hands." A shudder wracked his frame, immense power momentarily losing purchase. "I did not understand fear. Not until then."

"Takes more than a little fight to get rid of me," I murmured. I aimed for defiance. Landed somewhere raw. Vulnerable. Hated it.

His hand settled in my hair, claws impossibly gentle against my scalp, mapping the short strands. Confirming reality. "I cannot lose you." Simple. Stark. Absolute. "It would break me."

The confession wasn't emotional weakness. It was structural truth. Gouged in bedrock. This creature of fire and violence, tethering his existence to mine. My absence wasn't loss. It was annihilation.

Terror should have seized me. Sent me scrambling for distance, for the hard-won isolation that kept soldiers alive.

Instead, my own hand rose, ignoring the screaming protest of stitches. I traced the sharp ridge of his jaw. Solid reality under my fingertips. "I'm not going anywhere," I promised. A vow torn from me, echoing his intensity. "Not now. Not ever."

His eyes flared, pupils swallowing the gold. Pure predator. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine. It was more intimate than any kiss. His breath washed over my face—stone dust, ozone, Khorlar.

"When you are healed," he rumbled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, a physical force. "I will claim you. Properly. Before all. There will be no doubt." A statement of intent. Unshakeable. "You are mine."

The promise, raw, absolute, sent a tremor through me that had nothing to do with injury. My fingers tightened on his jaw. Acceptance. Challenge. Agreement.

"I'm counting on it," I whispered back, the words tasting like recklessness.

His answering growl rumbled through my bones. Pure, male satisfaction. His arms shifted, cradling me with infinite care against the solid heat of his chest. His wing settled over us, a living shield of black membrane and scaled muscle, cocooning us in shadow and warmth.

"Sleep," he commanded, the word rough-edged, possessive. Almost gentle. "Heal. I'll watch."

Wrapped in his heat, anchored by the steady beat of his heart, I let myself sink. Into the certainty of his presence. Into the terrifying, exhilarating knowledge that I'd found something immense, unbreakable, dangerous. Here. In this violent world.

In him.

"By the First Flame's boiling blood, this is a healing sanctuary, not a … a nesting ground!"

The voice, sharp as obsidian shards, sliced through the warm dark. Yanked me back to awareness. Pain flared, hot and immediate, across my ribs. A female Drakarn stood at the foot of the slab, scales shimmering with indignation, wings flared tight with disapproval. Mysha. The head healer. Crystal adornments woven into her head-frills chimed with her rigid stance.

"Six hours! I attend the lower caverns for six hours, and I return to find my most critical patients … entwined!" My translator offered “entwined.” Her tone suggested “fucking like rabbits.”

A choked sound escaped me—half laugh, half gasp of pain. Khorlar’s arm tightened instinctively, a low growl vibrating against my back, possessive and immediate.

"She required comfort," he rumbled, deep, unwavering. Stating fact. Like gravity.

"Comfort?" Mysha sputtered, frills flaring wider, radiating annoyance like heat waves. "Survival protocols dictate minimal contact, not … cuddling!"

I pushed myself up slightly, wincing as stitches pulled. "To be fair, I'm pretty sure my blood's exactly where it's supposed to be now." Sarcasm as armor.

Mysha’s glare could have cracked granite. "Humor. From a human. While recovering from near-fatal trauma. Excellent." She stalked closer, the healer overriding the outraged elder. Her gaze swept over my bandages, clinical, assessing. "Do you have any breathing difficulty? Sharp pain on inhalation? Vertigo?"

"Just … sore," I admitted, hating the concession. Letting her check the bindings with claws that, despite their sharpness, moved with practiced gentleness. "Like something large and pissed off used my ribs for target practice."

"Hmph," she sniffed, though her claws were deft, "but the impact trauma was … significant." She straightened, frills settling fractionally. "Your human physiology metabolizes the restorative minerals with unexpected efficiency." A grudging admission.

"I'm cleared for duty, then?" I shot back, hope a stubborn weed despite the grinding ache.

Khorlar’s growl dropped lower, gaining a menacing edge. "No." Absolute. Final.

"That is my determination, Stone Fist," Mysha snapped back, though a flicker of something—approval? respect for his claim?—crossed her sharp features. She looked back at me. "Light duty. Minimal exertion. No combat maneuvers. No flight stressors. And no activities which might … place undue strain … on the regenerating tissues." Her gaze flicked between us, pointed and unambiguous.

Heat flooded my face. Damn her clinical precision. "Understood."

"See that you both do." Mysha gathered her implements, crystals tinkling like fractured ice. "Now, remove yourselves from my primary healing chamber. I have actual invalids requiring attention, not … bonded pairs treating sacred restorative spaces like personal territory."

"Bonded?" The word hit like a physical weight, settling deep in my chest. Irrevocable.

Mysha rolled her eyes, a startlingly human gesture on that alien face. "Please. The bond-scent radiating from you both is thick enough to taste. It disrupts the chamber's healing harmonics." She flicked her tail dismissively, a gesture of finality. "Out. Now. Before I decide a vivisection would yield more useful data than your convalescence."

She turned sharply, muttering about "disrespectful off-worlders," "primal preoccupations," and "improper nesting instincts," stalking towards another alcove, radiating disapproval.

I looked up at Khorlar. Found a rare spark of something like amusement softening the hard lines of his face. Dangerous territory, that softness. "Bond-scent?" I asked, raising an eyebrow despite the pull of stitches. Testing the word.

His amusement vanished. Replaced by that molten intensity that stole the air from my lungs. His gaze locked on mine. Burning. "Yes," he rumbled, the word heavy. Certain. "Undeniable. Unmistakable." His hand came up, claws tracing the line of my jaw, possessive heat sinking into my skin. Branding. "Mine."

Without thought, without resistance, accepting the inevitable gravity, I leaned into his touch. "Yours," I whispered. The word felt like stepping off a cliff into fire. His eyes promised I wouldn't burn alone.

"Let's get out of here," I added, voice steadier than the ground felt beneath me, "before she comes back with something sharp and experimental."