The moonlight followed him.
Aiden walked through the forest, each step heavier than the last. His body still ached from the fight — scratches burned across his shoulder and thigh — but it was nothing compared to the tight ache sitting in his chest. Every sound, every breath, seemed too loud, too close. The leaves whispered above him, carrying the faint, crisp scent of pine and blood.
He didn't want to think.Didn't want to remember the way Theron had looked at him — not angry, not even disappointed. Just… something worse. Something older.Like he'd seen too much, and Aiden would never understand any of it.
The forest thinned, giving way to the training fields. The camp was quiet, dimly lit by the glow of torches along the perimeter. He could see a few guards still patrolling the edges of the den site, their wolves shifting restlessly under the scent of blood that lingered in the air from earlier.
He should've gone straight inside. Rested. Cleaned up.But his legs carried him toward the practice ground instead — the one he'd stood on earlier with Ronan, sword in hand and defiance burning in his veins.
The ground was still marked by claw and steel, the scent of effort and sweat still clinging faintly to the dirt.For a moment, Aiden just stood there, staring down at the spot where he'd landed that strike. He could still hear the dull thud of blade against flesh, Ronan's surprised grunt, the gasps from the others. He'd proven he wasn't useless — but it hadn't felt like victory. It had felt like rebellion. Like a line crossed that couldn't be undone.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders.The scent of his own pheromones still clung faintly to him — sweet and sharp, unsettling in its pull. He hated it. Hated that his own body betrayed him like that. Hated that it made the others look at him differently.
He turned to leave.
That's when he heard them.
Two voices — low, hushed, just out of sight.Aiden froze, instinct guiding him to step quietly around the corner of the armory wall, where shadows hid him from view.
"—told you," one voice muttered. It was male, rough, a little older. "He's still putting off heat scent. I can smell it from here."
Aiden's heart dropped into his stomach.
The second voice was quieter, hesitant. Younger. "Maybe it's not heat—"
"Don't be stupid," the first one snapped. "You ever smelled something like that from a beta? He's no beta, and everyone knows it. You saw the way the Alpha King reacted — nearly tore half the ground up when those rogues got near him."
Aiden pressed a hand to the wall beside him, nails digging into the wood.
"Still…" The younger voice again, uncertain. "It's weird, isn't it? He's supposed to be—well—Theron's mate. The bond's supposed to be sacred, blessed by the Moon Goddess and all. But if he's that weak, that easily—"
"Don't finish that sentence." The older one's tone dropped lower, colder. "You think I want the Alpha hearing you say that? I'm not ready to lose my throat."
There was a pause. Then the scrape of a boot against dirt."Still doesn't change the truth," the younger one said softly. "Omegas… they're rare for a reason. Too much instinct. Too much need. Too much trouble."
The words hit like claws to his chest.
Aiden's breath hitched, the wall beneath his hand trembling slightly.He wanted to step out. To bare his teeth. To tell them they were wrong, that he wasn't fragile, wasn't weak, wasn't less.
But he didn't move.
"Yeah," the older voice said finally. "Theron might protect him, but that won't last. The pack needs a leader, not a distraction."
The words were followed by footsteps fading into the night.Silence fell again.
Aiden stood there long after they were gone.
The cool night wind slid through his hair, brushing against the edge of his ear where a cut still stung from the earlier fight. The pain was grounding, real. But it didn't stop the heat crawling up his neck — not from embarrassment, but from something darker.
Aiden turned and walked away from the training ground, his boots crunching softly against the dirt path. The night air was sharp in his lungs, carrying the faint scent of pine and rain. He didn't look back.
The den sat at the far edge of camp, half-hidden by the slope of the hill. Its entrance was built from stone and timber, strong and silent, just like the Alpha who claimed it. The moment Aiden pushed the door open, the weight of the space hit him like a wall.
The scent — their scent — rolled over him in thick waves.Alpha pheromones. Power, dominance, heat.And tangled with it, the sweeter, softer scent of his own body — the lingering trace of his last heat.
It was suffocating.Comforting.Infuriating.
A low growl rumbled in his throat before he could stop it. His ears flattened slightly, tail flicking once in agitation as he stepped inside. The door shut behind him with a heavy thud, sealing him in with the air that pulsed faintly with the memory of them.
The bedding in the corner still smelled like Theron — that deep, grounding scent that made his instincts twist and his chest ache. It should have been safe here. It always had been.But tonight, the silence felt sharp, like the calm after a storm.
He dragged a hand down his face, forcing a shaky breath. His reflection flickered faintly in the metal of a nearby basin — messy hair, a smear of dirt across his cheek, eyes too bright, too tired.
"…Maybe I am weak," he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips.
They fell into the stillness like stones into deep water.For a moment, he almost believed them.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, claws digging into the fabric beneath him. The air was thick, heavy with the reminder of what he was — what they all said he was. A fragile thing bound by instinct, needing protection.An omega.
The word scraped against his mind like a wound he couldn't stop touching.
He closed his eyes, shoulders trembling with a quiet, frustrated exhale.Weak? Maybe.But weakness had kept him alive once — in the years before the pack, before Theron, when surviving meant knowing when to hide and when to fight back.
He lifted his head, gaze flicking toward the door — the one Theron always came through at night, calm and steady as if the world outside couldn't touch him.Aiden hated that door right now.Hated how much he wanted it to open.
Because no matter how much he said he hated Theron — no matter how much he told himself that he didn't need anyone — his body still remembered. The scent, the warmth, the pull.
He gritted his teeth, curling his tail close to his leg. "No," he muttered under his breath, as if arguing with himself. "Not tonight."
But the air refused to let him go. The pheromones clung to his skin, to his heartbeat, to the edges of his mind.It wasn't just instinct. It was something older — something that threaded through his bones and whispered mine when he didn't want to listen.
He drew his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead against the pillow. His breathing steadied, but the ache didn't fade. Somewhere deep inside, his wolf stirred — restless, longing, furious.
Maybe the others were right.Maybe omegas were dangerous.Just not in the way they thought.
Because if this was weakness — if this trembling, burning, breaking feeling was what made him an omega — then one day, it was going to break something in return.
The hinges creaked softly behind him as he closed it, shutting out the night air. The anger that had burned through him earlier — the kind that made the entire training ground go still under his glare — had cooled, but only just. Beneath his skin, his wolf still prowled, unsettled.
Even in human form, his tail stood high, thick fur bristling faintly with dominance that refused to fade. His shoulders were tight, his jaw set. He'd wanted to storm back here and scold Aiden — for sparring recklessly, for letting his pheromones run wild, for nearly making every alpha in the area lose their composure, for fighting an rouge and getting hurt — but the moment his gaze landed on the bed, the rest of the world fell away.
Aiden lay curled on his side, small and still.His soft breathing rose and fell, lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. His tail was draped protectively over his stomach like a shield, his ears pinned back against his hair in a quiet, defensive reflex.
And his nose was pressed into Theron's pillow.
Theron's heart twisted — not painfully, but in a way that made the edges of his anger dissolve into something unbearably tender. He took a step closer, his expression softening as his silver eyes traced the outline of Aiden's body.
He smelled like warmth and exhaustion, the faint traces of dried sweat and sword oil clinging to his skin. The scent of Theron's pheromones mingled with his own, the two so tangled now that they almost felt like one.
A quiet breath escaped Theron's chest, half a laugh, half a sigh."Oh, Aiden…" he murmured, voice low and sweet, almost amused. "You drive me mad, you know that?"
He crouched beside the bed, resting an elbow on his knee, his hand reaching out but stopping short of touching. His tail flicked behind him, slow and deliberate.
"You fight like a wild thing," he said softly, his tone dipping into a teasing warmth. "Snarling, biting an pouncing like you've got something to prove…" He tilted his head slightly, studying Aiden's sleeping face. "And maybe you do."
His eyes softened further, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "But you shouldn't have to."
Aiden shifted faintly at the sound of his voice, tail twitching, but he didn't wake. His body curled tighter around the pillow, breathing slow and even.
Theron's smile deepened. He couldn't help himself — he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly through Aiden's hair, careful not to wake him. The strands were soft, warm from sleep, a few sticking to his cheek.
"You'll deny it when you wake," Theron murmured with quiet affection. "Pretend you don't need comfort. Pretend you hate when I touch you."
He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper now, the rumble of his wolf still humming under each word. "But you always end up here, don't you? In my scent. In our bed."
Aiden didn't stir, though his ears flicked faintly — a sign his wolf heard him, even if the man didn't.
Theron chuckled softly, the sound deep and low. "Sleep, little wolf," he murmured. "Tomorrow, you can argue with me again. I'll even let you win once."
His hand lingered a moment longer before he drew it back, standing quietly. He undid the clasps on his jacket, letting it fall aside, and sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, but Aiden didn't move.
For a while, Theron simply watched him — the rise and fall of his chest, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. His own wolf quieted, the last remnants of rage fading under the soft rhythm of Aiden's breathing.
When he finally lay down, careful not to wake him, Aiden unconsciously shifted closer. Their tails brushed — a light touch, instinctive — and Theron smiled against the pillow.
"Not weak," he whispered, almost to himself, closing his eyes. "Never weak."
And for the first time that night, the den was quiet.