Aiden woke to the quiet rhythm of breathing beside him.
For a moment, he didn't move. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light filtering through the den's entrance — soft gold spilling across the floor, dust motes dancing lazily in the beams. The air smelled faintly of pine resin, ash, and something warm, something grounding — Theron.
It was then Aiden realized exactly where he was.
His head rested against a solid chest that rose and fell in slow, steady breaths. A strong arm was draped across his waist, protective even in sleep. Beneath his palm, the faint thrum of a heartbeat pulsed — deep and calm, like a drum keeping time with the world itself.
Aiden froze, every instinct warring at once. His wolf stirred inside, tail wagging once before he clamped down on it. He should move. He shouldn't be here. But his body refused to listen, caught between instinct and denial.
After a long moment, he tilted his head slightly — just enough to look.
Theron's face was peaceful, his sharp features softened by sleep. The usual tension that clung to him — the authority, the weight of power — was gone. His white hair spilled across the pillow like moonlight, one strand resting against Aiden's arm. Even his tail, usually still and commanding, flicked once lazily at the edge of the blanket.
Aiden found himself watching the smallest things — the faint twitch of an ear, the quiet sigh that escaped when the Alpha's hand subconsciously tightened around his waist.
The ache hit him then. Small. Sharp. Deep.
His wolf wanted to press closer, to breathe in the warmth, to curl under that arm and never move again.
But Aiden forced himself to shift away, inch by inch, until the Alpha's hand fell from his waist. The air between them immediately felt colder.
He sat up, careful not to wake him. His chest felt tight, too full of things he didn't want to name.
For a while, he just sat there — elbows on his knees, staring at the faint trail of sunlight creeping across the wooden floor. The scent of pine clung to his skin, mixed with the Alpha's calming pheromones, grounding and maddening all at once.
Finally, he stood.
The air outside the den was cool, crisp with morning dew. Aiden inhaled deeply, trying to clear his head. The forest stretched endlessly before him — shadows and gold, quiet except for the distant sound of training.
He followed the sound without thinking.
The clearing near the edge of the camp was already alive with movement — betas sparring in pairs, laughter and grunts mixing with the metallic clang of weapons. Ronan was there, his sandy hair catching the light as he barked instructions to two younger wolves.
Aiden lingered near the treeline, arms crossed, just watching.
A few wolves noticed him. Some nodded respectfully. Others whispered.
The omega.Too soft for battle.Theron's bonded… but not like the rest of us.
Their voices weren't cruel, just careless — the kind that cut deeper for pretending not to.
Aiden's jaw tightened. He looked down at his hands, at the faint scars across his knuckles, the marks of someone who had fought — who had bled.
His wolf paced restlessly inside him, claws scratching at the edge of his control. The scent of the pack — confidence, pride, belonging — pressed around him like a wall, and he couldn't find a way through it.
He wasn't one of them anymore.
Not quite wolf. Not quite human. Not quite anything.
A rustle behind him made him glance back. Theron had appeared, silent as ever. He was dressed simply — loose shirt, dark pants — but the air around him still carried that quiet power that made the forest seem to hold its breath.
"You're awake early," Theron said softly, coming to stand beside him.
"Couldn't sleep," Aiden replied, eyes still on the training field.
They stood there for a long moment, just watching. The sounds of sparring filled the air — the rhythm of effort, the pride of warriors.
Theron's gaze flicked toward Aiden, reading the tightness in his shoulders, the way his tail hung still behind him. "You used to train with them," he said quietly. "Do you miss it?"
Aiden's throat tightened. He shrugged. "Maybe."
Theron didn't press. He just nodded once, eyes thoughtful.
After a moment, Aiden exhaled slowly. "They think I'm weak." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Because I'm an omega now. Because I can't fight like before."
Theron turned to face him fully then. His expression softened, though his voice remained steady. "They mistake quiet strength for weakness. You don't need to bare your teeth to prove what you are."
Aiden looked up at him, unsure if he wanted to believe it. The Alpha's eyes caught the sunlight, a glint of silver that felt almost too kind.
"You don't understand," Aiden said after a pause. "I used to know who I was. Now I just…" He trailed off, searching for the words. "Now I just feel like I'm pretending."
Theron studied him for a long moment. Then, gently, he said, "You're still finding your balance. Even wolves stumble when the moon changes."
The words shouldn't have felt comforting. But they did.
For the first time in days, Aiden let his shoulders relax.
Theron turned back toward the training field, voice low. "Come eat when you're ready. You don't have to prove yourself today."
When he walked away, the air felt lighter — but also emptier.
Aiden stayed a while longer, watching Ronan bark another order, the younger wolves laughing as they sparred.
He pressed his hand against his chest, where the bond pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
"I'm not weak," he whispered to himself.
But for the first time… it didn't sound like a denial. It sounded like a promise.
The scent of cooked meat and herbs filled the den. Smoke curled softly from the small fire pit, its glow dancing over stone and fur. The morning had stretched into something slower, gentler—like the forest itself had decided to hold its breath for them.
Theron sat cross-legged near the hearth, rolling a piece of roasted meat between his fingers. His white tail flicked idly behind him, betraying the restlessness beneath his calm exterior. Across from him, Aiden ate in silence, movements neat and deliberate. Every so often, his blue eyes flicked up—just long enough to meet amber—before dropping back to his plate.
The quiet wasn't uncomfortable, not exactly. It was heavy, full of things unspoken.
Theron broke it first. "You didn't eat much yesterday."
Aiden didn't look up. "Wasn't hungry."
Theron hummed low in his throat, a sound more felt than heard. "You should be. You're healing still."
Aiden's fork paused midair. "You always talk like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'll break."
Theron's eyes softened, but he said nothing.
Aiden finally looked at him then, frustration flickering in his gaze. "You don't have to treat me like I'm fragile. I've lived through worse than a few bruises."
Theron's jaw tightened. "I know you have."
"Then stop looking at me like I'm glass."
That earned a quiet laugh from the Alpha—low and warm, yet tinged with something unguarded. "If you were glass," he said, "I'd never be able to touch you without bleeding."
The words hung between them, too honest to ignore.
Aiden looked away quickly, his ears flattening slightly, but the tip of his tail betrayed him—curling once, uncertain. His wolf stirred under his skin, the instinctive pull toward the Alpha both comforting and suffocating.
The air between them thickened with scent—Theron's pheromones slipping free, calm and grounding but edged with something primal. Aiden's heart picked up, pulse quick under his skin.
He wanted to breathe him in. He wanted to push him away.
Theron noticed. He always did. His gaze lingered, amber eyes tracing the tension in Aiden's shoulders, the quick flick of his ears, the way he refused to meet his gaze.
"You're fighting it again," Theron said quietly.
Aiden's lips parted, but no words came.
"Instinct," the Alpha murmured, leaning forward slightly, his voice rough with restraint. "It doesn't make you weak. It's just part of what we are."
"I don't want it to control me," Aiden whispered back.
"Maybe it's not about control," Theron said. "Maybe it's about trust."
Aiden's breath caught. His wolf pressed closer to the surface, restless. His human heart did the same, unsure which was louder.
For a moment, all he could hear was the quiet—the faint crackle of the fire, the slow rhythm of two heartbeats caught in the same small space.
He didn't realize how close they'd leaned until their knees brushed.
Theron's eyes softened further, his tone dropping to a rumble that sent a shiver through Aiden's spine. "You can't hide from your instincts forever, Aiden. And you don't have to hide from me."
The silence stretched—tender and raw.
Then Aiden stood abruptly, breaking the fragile calm. "I'm going to wash up," he said, voice a little too even.
Theron didn't stop him. He just watched as Aiden slipped past the door, the scent of his confusion lingering in the air.
When the door closed, Theron exhaled, long and quiet. His wolf prowled inside him, unsettled—torn between patience and the urge to claim, to protect, to comfort.
He leaned back against the den wall, closing his eyes. The echo of Aiden's scent—clean, wild, uncertain—clung to him, sinking into his skin.
"Denial," he murmured to himself, tail flicking once. "And love. Always tangled together."
Outside, Aiden stood by the river, the cold water biting at his fingers. His reflection shimmered on the surface—blue eyes too bright, too alive.
He didn't know what scared him more—his instincts, or the way his heart softened every time Theron looked at him like he was something worth protecting.
He dipped his hands deeper into the water, as if the chill could steady the warmth building in his chest.
It didn't.