You hadn’t always known Cassian was your mate. In fact, it took you years to even look at him without wanting to throw something. The first time he called you “sweetheart” during a Valkyrie training session, you nearly put him on his ass. Not that he didn’t deserve it—he was loud, arrogant, too charming for his own good, and constantly interrupting your rhythm with his “helpful tips.”

But he always watched out for you. Always pushed you harder, trained you longer, cheered the loudest when you finally mastered the horizontal leap off the cliff. You remembered the day he caught you before you hit the rocks during one of your early failures. He didn’t say anything—just held you there, in those strong arms, wings spread to steady you both.

That’s when the shift began.

Now, things were different. You were mates. You were his. He was yours. And the bond felt like wildfire under your skin, steady and electric all at once.

Cassian was overseeing new Illyrian trainees at the camp today—classic him, all bellowing commands and gruff encouragement. You’d told him you were going to visit Emerie, who’d finally gotten her shipment of new leathers in. Gwyn had tagged along for a while before heading back to the library. You stayed longer, helping Emerie sort through some of the more stubborn buckles that refused to behave.

It was early evening by the time you returned. The sky had that soft, golden hue, and the mountains cast long shadows across the training grounds. You scanned the field, expecting to spot those familiar wings—broad, powerful, dusted with battle scars—but he wasn’t in sight.

You were just walking past the line of fresh trainees when one of them—tall, wiry, and maybe barely past his first growth spurt—stepped forward.

“So... do you have a boyfriend?”

You blinked. Bold. Cute.

You tilted your head, amused. “Why?” You let a smirk tug at your lips. “Do you want to ask me out on a date?”

He grinned, clearly thinking he had a shot. Gods, he really didn’t know who you were. “Maybe. So do you?”

You didn’t get to answer.

A low, gravel-edged voice cut through the air. “Yes.”

A calloused hand came down on your shoulder, fingers spreading across the blade like a silent warning. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was—the warmth of that touch was as familiar as your own skin.

Cassian.

The trainee’s face paled instantly.

Cassian didn’t growl or snarl. He didn’t have to. His sheer presence—the massive frame, the wings tucked tight behind him, the cold glint in his hazel eyes—was enough to send the boy stumbling back with a rushed apology.

“I—I didn’t know she was—sorry, sir—”

Cassian raised a brow, voice low and amused. “Didn’t look like you were sorry.”

You bit your lip to hide the laugh threatening to escape. Cassian’s hand slipped from your shoulder to the small of your back, pulling you closer. Warmth spread through your chest.