The den had settled into evening quiet.
Firelight flickered low against the stone, casting long shadows that breathed and shifted with the flames. Outside, the pack moved softly—voices muted, steps careful. No one came close to the inner chamber.
They never did anymore.
Aiden lay half-curled in the nest, spine to Theron's chest, eyes closed but not asleep. His body felt… strange. Not wrong. Just heavy in a way that made movement feel optional and rest feel necessary.
Which annoyed him.
He shifted, trying to stretch his leg, only to stop halfway with a faint hiss. His muscles protested immediately.
Theron tightened his arm around him without waking fully, breath warm at the back of Aiden's neck.
Aiden scowled. "You're too relaxed," he muttered.
A low, sleepy sound vibrated through Theron's chest—half chuckle, half growl. "I expended my energy properly."
Aiden snorted. "I hate you."
"You love me."
Aiden didn't answer. He adjusted instead, tail flicking before—without thought—settling back over his belly.
Theron's breathing changed.
Not much. Just enough.
Aiden noticed. "What?"
Theron hesitated.
Then, slowly, his hand slid down—not possessive, not claiming—and rested there. Warm. Still. Protective in a way that made Aiden's wolf go quiet immediately.
The silence stretched.
Aiden frowned. "…You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That." He gestured vaguely. "That thing. Like I'm about to break if you don't hold me just right."
Theron didn't move his hand.
"You've been through more than enough," he said softly. "Let me."
Aiden huffed, but didn't push him away. "You're hovering."
"I'm guarding."
"Same thing."
Theron smiled against his hair.
Aiden closed his eyes despite himself.
Later, hunger woke him.
Not the sharp, ravenous kind he knew well—but a slow, insistent pull, deep and oddly specific.
He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face. "I need… something."
Theron was awake instantly. "What kind of something?"
Aiden opened his mouth.
Paused.
"…Bread," he said uncertainly. "With salt. And maybe—" He grimaced. "—berries?"
Theron stared.
Aiden bristled. "Don't look at me like that."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Theron rose without argument. "I'll get it."
When he returned, Aiden ate with focused seriousness, picking at the berries first, then devouring the bread as if it were the best thing he'd ever tasted.
Theron watched quietly.
"You didn't eat the meat," he observed gently.
Aiden shrugged, defensive. "Didn't want it."
"You always want it."
"Well, today I don't." He shot Theron a glare. "My body's still recovering. You exhausted me."
Theron accepted that with a nod that said nothing—and everything.
The scent shift happened later.
Subtle. Almost imperceptible.
Aiden only noticed when a pack member entered the den briefly and the smell hit him wrong—too sharp, too layered, too much.
His stomach flipped unpleasantly.
Aiden covered his nose with his sleeve, snapping, "Can you tell them to air out? Stars, it's like they're trying to choke me."
The omega froze mid-step.
Then slowly backed away.
Theron's eyes darkened.
"I'll speak with them," he said calmly.
After they were alone again, Theron returned to Aiden's side and crouched, bringing them eye-level.
"You alright?"
Aiden nodded too quickly. "Fine. Just stress."
Theron searched his face. "If something feels wrong—"
"It's not wrong," Aiden interrupted sharply. "It's normal."
Theron let it go.
For now.
That night, Aiden dreamed of warmth and safety and something small and precious tucked close to his chest.
When he woke, he was wrapped tightly in Theron's arms, nest pulled higher around them both.
Theron's hand rested over Aiden's belly again.
This time, neither of them moved it.
Morning came wrong.
Too bright. Too sharp. Too alive.
Aiden woke with energy buzzing under his skin, restless and insistent, like his bones were too small for his body. Lying still felt unbearable. His wolf paced beneath his ribs, tail flicking, claws scraping at instinct.
He sat up abruptly.
Theron stirred beside him, brow creasing. "Aiden?"
"I need to move." The words tumbled out before thought. "I need—" He broke off, already swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm fine. Just… fine."
Theron pushed himself up, instantly awake now. "You were sore last night."
"And now I'm not." Aiden grabbed his tunic, pulling it on with sharp, impatient movements. "See? Recovery."
Theron watched him closely. Too closely.
"I'll come with you."
"No." Aiden snapped the word harder than he meant to, then winced. "…No. I just need air. And space. And something to hit."
Theron hesitated.
Then nodded. "Ronan's on rotation."
"Good."
That, for reasons Aiden didn't examine, settled something in his chest.
The training grounds were quiet in the early light.
Mist clung low to the earth, dampening sound, the air sharp and clean. Aiden inhaled deeply—and felt better immediately. His steps were lighter. His limbs looser. The strange heaviness from the past days had lifted, replaced by a crackling alertness that made his fingers itch.
Weapons lined the rack.
He didn't think.
His hand went to a sword—balanced, familiar, worn smooth by years of use. The weight settled into his palm like greeting an old friend.
Aiden rolled his shoulders, adjusted his stance, and struck.
Steel cut the air.
Again.
And again.
Each movement came easier than the last. His body remembered. Muscle and instinct aligned, flowing into something sharp and dangerous and alive.
Good, he thought fiercely. See? Fine.
A presence entered his awareness—not threatening, just steady.
Ronan emerged from the fog at the edge of the grounds, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Theron's beta. His shadow. His shield.
"You're up early," Ronan said.
Aiden didn't stop moving. "Couldn't sleep."
Ronan's gaze tracked the blade. Then Aiden's posture. Then—briefly—his scent.
Something in his eyes shifted.
"You shouldn't be overexerting," Ronan said carefully.
Aiden laughed once, breathless. "You sound like the healer."
"I listen to the healer."
"Well, I don't." Aiden pivoted, striking harder, faster. "I'm not fragile."
Ronan stepped closer. Not challenging. Guarding.
"No one said you were."
Aiden's wolf bristled at that. He turned sharply, blade lowering just a fraction. "Then why is everyone acting like I'll shatter if I breathe wrong?"
Ronan met his gaze without flinching. "Because you're important."
Aiden scoffed. "I was important before."
"Yes," Ronan said quietly. "But not like this."
Silence fell between them, broken only by Aiden's breathing.
Ronan studied him now—not as a warrior, but as something… more.
"You feel different," Ronan added.
Aiden stiffened. "Don't start."
"I'm not accusing," Ronan said evenly. "Just observing."
Aiden turned away, sheathing the sword with a sharp motion. "I've been tortured, bonded, dragged through god nonsense, and tossed into pack politics. Of course I'm different."
Ronan accepted that explanation.
He did not look convinced.
"You're pushing," he said instead. "That's usually when Theron worries."
Aiden snorted. "Theron always worries."
Ronan's mouth twitched. "True."
They stood there a moment longer, mist curling around their boots, the morning stretching thin and tense.
Finally, Ronan inclined his head. "I'll spar you. Light."
Aiden's lips curved into a sharp grin. "Afraid I'll win?"
"No," Ronan said calmly. "Afraid you'll forget to stop."
Something in that landed deeper than Aiden expected.
But the energy still burned. Still demanded release.
Aiden drew the sword again.
"Then keep up," he said.
From the shadows at the edge of the grounds, unseen by either of them—
Theron watched.
And for the first time since the bond settled, his god-side stirred not with hunger…
…but with fear.