Three days passed.
Not clean days. Not easy ones. Days that blurred at the edges, stitched together by scent and instinct and the quiet way Theron's hand kept finding Aiden's lower back as if it belonged there now.
Aiden noticed things he pretended not to.
The way he woke hungry—achingly hungry—only to gag at the smell of dried meat he'd loved his entire life. The way honey made his mouth water until he was licking it from his fingers, shameless and irritated all at once. The way his stomach felt… different. Not pain. Not sickness. Just aware.
He knew.
He also didn't.
So he stood at the edge of the training grounds with his arms crossed, jaw tight, pretending the faint nausea curling in his gut was annoyance.
"Stop hovering," Aiden snapped without looking.
Theron didn't move.
"I'm not," he replied calmly.
"You're breathing like you're hovering."
That earned him a low huff of amusement. "You're scent-sensitive. Everything feels louder to you."
Aiden bristled. "Don't make it sound like a condition."
Theron's eyes softened. Gods, he hated that look lately. Like Aiden was something precious and breakable and—no. No. He wasn't fragile.
The pack was gathering for patrol assignments, voices overlapping, wolves shifting in and out of form. Normally, Aiden loved this. The noise. The closeness. Today it pressed in on him, thick with pheromones and alpha confidence and other omegas.
One laughed nearby.
Aiden's wolf surged.
He didn't even realize he'd stepped forward until Theron's arm slid across his chest, gentle but immovable.
"No," Theron murmured, barely audible. "Easy."
Aiden snarled under his breath. "He was too close."
"He was speaking to Ronan."
"I don't care."
Theron's mouth twitched. "I know."
That only made it worse.
Aiden shook him off and stalked toward the edge of the clearing, tail flicking irritably behind him before he forced it still. Gods, even that annoyed him—how his body kept betraying him with little tells.
Jealous. Territorial. Nest-minded.
Pregnant.
The word hovered at the edge of his thoughts like a storm cloud he refused to look directly at.
He dropped onto a fallen log, breathing through the faint wave of dizziness that followed. Stress, he told himself stubbornly. Healing. Too many scents.
Theron followed more slowly this time, giving him space but never distance. He knelt in front of Aiden, resting his forearms on his thighs, white hair loose from its tie.
"You need to eat," Theron said quietly.
"I did."
"You picked at bread."
"I ate."
"You licked honey like it insulted you personally."
Aiden glared. "It tasted wrong."
Theron raised a brow. "You finished the whole jar."
"…It tasted less wrong after."
That earned him a soft chuckle. Aiden hated how fond it sounded—and how much it soothed him.
Theron reached out, thumb brushing Aiden's wrist where his pulse fluttered too fast. "We don't have to name it yet," he said, voice low. "But you can't fight your body and expect to win."
Aiden swallowed. His gaze dropped, not quite to his stomach—never that far. "I'm not weak," he muttered.
"I know."
"I can still hunt. I can still fight."
"I know."
"I don't need to be treated like—like glass."
Theron's hand stilled. Then he leaned forward, forehead resting briefly against Aiden's. Not a god. Not a king. Just his mate.
"I'm not careful because you're weak," Theron said. "I'm careful because you matter more than the war ever could."
That almost broke him.
Almost.
Aiden pulled back first, scrubbing a hand over his face. "You're impossible."
Theron smiled. "You're pregnant."
Aiden flinched—and then scowled. "You said we weren't naming it."
"I didn't say I wouldn't think it."
That earned him a sharp huff that turned, unwillingly, into a laugh. Short. Rough. Real.
The pack began to move out, patrols forming. Aiden watched them go, chest tight. He wanted to follow. Wanted to prove—something. He wasn't sure what anymore.
Theron stood, offering a hand. "Come on. Short walk. Forest edge. You can track scents if you want."
Aiden hesitated, then took it.
The forest welcomed him like a familiar breath. Damp earth. Pine. Old magic. The nausea eased, replaced by a strange, steady warmth low in his belly that made his wolf settle, content for once.
They walked in silence for a while.
Aiden paused suddenly, nose twitching. "Someone was here," he said automatically. "Two days ago. Human."
Theron's expression sharpened instantly. "Are you sure?"
Aiden nodded. "And… something else. Metallic. Bitter."
Magic.
They exchanged a look.
Consequences, Theron had said. The world noticing.
Aiden's hand drifted—without permission—to his stomach, fingers curling there protectively before he could stop himself. He froze, then let it stay.
Theron noticed. Of course he did.
He said nothing.
But his hand covered Aiden's, warm and steady, and this time Aiden didn't pull away.
Not yet.
Not ready.
But closer than he'd been yesterday.
And closer than Evelyn—or the gods watching from the dark—would ever expect.
Aiden didn't notice it at first.
It started small.
His hand lingering on Theron's wrist longer than necessary. Sitting closer at meals, hip pressed to Theron's thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world. Falling asleep with his forehead tucked beneath Theron's chin instead of insisting on space.
He told himself it was instinct.
His wolf liked the contact. That was all.
Still—when Theron stood to leave the den one morning, Aiden's fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic before he could stop himself.
Theron froze.
Aiden realized what he'd done and scowled, ears heating. "I—wasn't done talking."
Theron turned slowly, eyes warm, curious. "You were asleep."
"That doesn't mean I was finished," Aiden muttered, tugging him back down. "Sit."
Theron obeyed without question.
That, somehow, made Aiden's chest loosen.
He leaned into Theron's side, pretending not to notice how his tail slid around Theron's waist on its own. Pretending he didn't sigh when a large hand settled on his back, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles just above his hips.
"You're clingy today," Theron murmured, not teasing. Observing.
Aiden bristled out of habit. "I'm always like this."
Theron smiled faintly. "No. You used to pretend you weren't."
That shut him up.
Later—too many scents at the pack meeting again—Aiden found himself drifting back to Theron without thinking, standing just behind his shoulder. Not hiding. Guarding.
An alpha spoke too sharply.
Aiden's lip curled.
Theron didn't even look back when his hand came down, resting over Aiden's wrist. A silent easy. A promise of I've got this.
Aiden relaxed instantly.
That… scared him a little.
That night, when they lay in the den with the fire low, Aiden shifted closer, leg hooking over Theron's thigh. He rested his head on Theron's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath skin and godhood.
"You're warm," Aiden mumbled.
"I'm always warm."
"Not like this." He shifted, nose brushing Theron's throat. "You smell right."
Theron's fingers stilled in Aiden's hair. "You're scenting me."
Aiden frowned. "No, I'm not."
His wolf purred.
Theron didn't call him out on it.
Instead, he pulled the furs higher around them, careful, protective. "Sleep," he murmured. "I'm here."
Aiden's hand slid up, gripping Theron's shirt like a lifeline. "Don't leave before I wake up."
Theron swallowed. "I won't."
And he meant it.
Much later—half-asleep, drifting—Aiden pressed a slow, absent kiss to Theron's collarbone. Not heat-driven. Not needy.
Just… affectionate.
Theron went utterly still.
Aiden's breathing evened out, already gone, trusting without realizing he'd done it.
Theron stared into the dark, chest tight, awe and fear tangling together.
Because this wasn't just instinct anymore.
This was bonding.
Deep. Quiet. Unavoidable.
And the world would not be gentle once it realized just how completely Aiden had wrapped himself around the Moon God's heart.