He didn't have a response for that one.
That night, she cooked.
Or tried to.
The stew was barely edible. Charred meat in thick root broth. Smelled like wet fur.
Rein took a bite anyway.
Zeraka stared at him across the fire, unmoving, gaze sharp.
"Well?" she asked.
He swallowed carefully. "It's… bold."
"That means good?"
"It means I didn't die."
She leaned back, clearly satisfied. "Then I've nourished my mate."
"I'm not your—"
She reached over and dropped a single claw on his lips. "Shhh. Let me have this."
Rein sighed, chewing another bite.
Across from him, Zeraka tilted her head, watching him too closely. Not as a beast watches prey.
As someone watches a miracle they don't know how to keep without breaking.
"I don't beg," she said suddenly.
He looked up. "What?"
"I don't beg," she repeated. "Not for power. Not for loyalty. Not for touch."
A pause.
Then quieter.
"But I'd kill every living thing in this cursed land if it meant you'd keep looking at me like you did last night."
Rein blinked. "How did I look at you?"
"…Like I wasn't just muscle."
Her claws twitched once in the dirt beside her. A small tremble.
Then she turned her head, muttering,
"Stupid scent. Stupid face. Stupid mouth. Making me feel things. I should bite you again."
Rein coughed into his soup. "You what now?"
She stood up abruptly. "I'm going to go fight something bigger."
And just like that, she stormed out into the dark.
Rein sat in silence, the strange stew in his lap, heart beating a little too fast.
Not from fear this time.
The next time Zeraka returned to the den, her eyes were too bright.
Her knuckles dripped red.
She didn't speak.
She just dropped the cracked skull of a horned lizard-beast at Rein's feet, then stood there breathing hard—watching him like she was still on the battlefield, like he was the next conquest, and she was deciding whether to bite or bow.
Rein sat on the edge of the pelt-bed, sharpening the edge of a bone spoon she'd given him earlier that day—part tool, part survival ritual. He set it down.
"You kill that because it sniffed at me wrong?" he asked, half joking.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she crossed the space between them in a few quiet, prowling steps and crouched low, eyes never leaving his face.
"I've decided something," she said.
"Oh no," Rein muttered.
"You belong here. With me."
He gave her a flat look. "We've been over this."
"No," she growled. "We circled it. I'm done circling."
Before he could reply, she lunged—not to hurt him, but to pull him down into the nest of furs, pinning him with one knee between his thighs.
Her claws found his wrists.
Her weight pressed close.
Her lips hovered above his neck.
"You haven't said it again," she whispered. "The thing that made me shake."
Rein's pulse spiked. "Zeraka—"
She leaned in closer, breath warm against his skin.
"Say it," she murmured.
"You're going to mark me if I do, aren't you?"
She didn't deny it.
He tried to twist free, but she caught his jaw and bared her fangs.
Not to threaten.
To bite.
"I'll only make it shallow," she purred. "It won't even scar—unless you want it to."
"Zeraka, don't—"
Her lips brushed his neck.
And that was enough.
Rein's hand shot to the pouch at his hip, fingers clenching the last emergency powder bomb.
He snapped it open and threw it into her face.
Puff.
A burst of pale blue dust erupted between them.
Zeraka blinked.
Then swayed.
Then scowled. "What… what did you…"
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed forward—straight into Rein's lap, snarling through the haze.
Then groaned softly.
Then stopped moving.
Rein sat there in stunned silence, staring at the beast queen passed out half-naked across his thighs, arms limp around his waist, silver hair pooling in his lap like a fallen banner.
Her ear twitched once.
He didn't move for a long time.
Then, almost unconsciously, he reached up and brushed the hair gently away from her face.
It was relaxed now.
Peaceful.
The fangs didn't show. The scars seemed smaller somehow.
She looked…
Not soft.
But tired.
He let out a breath.
"Gods," he muttered. "You really are a good girl, aren't you?"
Her tail flicked once.
Even in sleep.