Lorcan was tired. He was tired, sore, hungrier than a Wyvern, and just wanted to leave the stone marshes behind and never look back. The fire breathing bitch queen had found her lock—or whatever it really was—and they were heading back to the sea to regroup. The Hellas favored Demi Fae male didn't want to regroup, though. He wanted to grab Elide, throw her over his shoulder and high tail it out of there. Just because Whitethorn had delayed Gavriel and Fenrys's kill orders for the time being didn't mean he'd be safe for long. And without him, how much longer could Elide survive? True, she'd grown much since their first encounter several months ago—she'd even saved him from an ilken once or twice—but besides her cunning wit she didn't have anything to defend herself with. A shudder rolled down his spine, starting in his neck and quaking all the way down to his pelvis, at the thought of another ilken army attacking.

A breath caught in his throat and he just barely stopped himself from searching the sky for any signs of the monsters. He knew there were none. Aelin and her fire had destroyed the bulk of them and had left the survivors to her court or to the wild animals of the marshes. A muscles twitched along side his jaw. He understood that to defeat the ilken Aelin had needed to unleash her full power. He understood that she didn't now where he'd be located in regards to that unleashing of power, or that he had Elide with him, but dammit it all to Hellas if he wasn't frustrated that he'd burned through his own reserves just to keep Elide and himself safe.

It drained him, made him tired, and that made him careless.

"Elide!" Aelin shouted after the dark haired girl suddenly yelped and collapsed in the marshes. Exhaustion forgotten, Lorcan was at her side in an instant.

"What is it?" he asked, his dark brows furrowing together as he tried to find what had caused her fall.

Tenderly she rubbed the glossy scar tissue of her ankle and hissed through pursued lips. Tears had welled up behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Shaking her head, she tried to brush it off, "I'm fine. My ankle—" she stopped herself, took a deep, shaky breath, and continued, "my ankle just hurts."

Guilt washed over Lorcan like the midnight tide and silently he cursed himself for eternity. He'd been so wrapped up in his own head, his own emotions, that he hadn't felt his magic bracing her ankle slip away. Uselessly, he glared at her decrepit ankle in lieu of anything else.

There was a shuffling behind him and then a pale hand reached over his shoulder towards Elide, "Come on, Witchling, the time for rest is—"

With a snarl that echoed through the marshes, causing an uproar with the wild life, Lorcan, quick as a snake, twisted and thrust the Ironteeth Witch backwards. Manon's iron teeth snapped down and she barred them at the dark haired Demi-Fae. Her nails extended and she shifted, preparing herself for a counter strike.

Snarling, barring his own, blunt teeth, Lorcan crouched in front of Elide protectively. His well of magic was all but depleted, and he'd need several days of rest before he could properly tap into it again, but he still had his killer instincts and determined body. He'd faced down many opponents over his centuries, defeated legions and armies without batting an eye. He could take down one lone Witch.

Before he could even pull out a fighting dagger, though, Elide had pulled herself off the ground and hobbled to stand between the two. Breathing heavily and placing all her weight on her uninjured ankle, Elide stared between her two protectors with wide eyes. Her stance stopped the two from immediately clashing, but it didn't stop them from taunting, "She doesn't belong to you, Fae," Manon growled, her iron teeth clinking against each other. Her lips pulled back into an almost smile, "Get in line."

Lorcan didn't respond verbally, his ear splitting roar of fury was answer enough, but Elide, tired of all the territorial nonsense, yelled, "Lorcan, enough!" Immediately, Lorcan quieted. His face was still twisted in a snarl, and his fingers itched to reach for a blade, but, looking into Elide's dark eyes, he understood. Nodding, he slowly eased out of his crouch. Nodding her approval, her lips flickering up into a faint trace of a smile, Elide turned her gaze to the white haired Witch, "I choose this, Manon." She'd said so earlier, but she repeated herself again, not breaking eye contact. "I choose him," she emphasized.

Manon didn't look impressed. She scowled, and her golden eyes fitted between Elide and Lorcan, until finally she nodded as well. Sneering, Manon shrugged the tension out of her shoulders and turned away. Not wasting another moment, Lorcan stepped beside Elide and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Looking down into her dark eyes, he asked quietly, "How is it?"

Releasing a breath of air, and the remnants of her courage, she smiled up at him while unconsciously leaning into his touch. "It's been worse," she told him truthfully.

Frowning, his eyes flickered down for a moment before his magic returned to support the ankle. Dragging his hand down her forearm, he gave her a reassuring squeeze and promised, "It won't happen again."

Placing her hand atop of his, she nodded, "Thank you."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review!