Aiden woke with a low, broken grunt.
Everything hurt.
His leg felt like noodles—heavy, useless, barely attached to him—and when he tried to shift, fire shot up his spine and bloomed behind his eyes. His throat burned, voice scraping raw and nearly gone, like he'd screamed himself hoarse.
He dropped back onto the bed with a hiss.
"…never again," he muttered, the words more breath than sound.
Beside him, Theron slept.
Peacefully.
Of course he did.
The Alpha King—the moon god—lay stretched out on his back, bare skin warm and unmarked, long white hair spilled across the pillow like silk. One strong arm was looped around Aiden's middle, not tight, just careful. Protective even in sleep.
Aiden glared at him.
"You devil of a god," he whisper-growled, trying to pry himself free.
The moment he shifted his weight, his body betrayed him.
Pain flared deep in his hips—dull, spreading, different from the sharp soreness everywhere else. It wasn't muscle. It wasn't bruising.
It was… inside.
Aiden froze, breath hitching.
"What the—"
His stomach twisted, not nausea exactly, but a strange rolling sensation, like something settling. Grounding. Anchoring. His wolf stirred, not in alarm—but in quiet, instinctive approval.
Theron shifted in his sleep, arm tightening slightly, his palm flattening against Aiden's lower stomach.
Not possessive.
Reverent.
His brow furrowed faintly, even unconscious, and a soft sound escaped him—something between a hum and a breath.
The bond pulsed.
Not hot. Not demanding.
Steady.
Aiden frowned. "Stop doing that," he muttered, even as his body leaned back into the warmth despite himself.
The scent in the den had changed.
Not just sex. Not just bond.
There was something sweeter now. Deeper. A layered note beneath Aiden's omega scent—subtle, new, unmistakable to anyone who knew how to listen.
Life.
Outside the den, the forest was unusually still. Birds quiet. The wind low. As if the world itself had decided to tread softly.
Aiden tried again to move, slower this time. His limbs trembled, muscles protesting, but it wasn't just exhaustion that dragged him down—it was a profound heaviness in his core, like his body had decided its priority had shifted.
Protect. Rest. Endure.
"What did you do to me…" he whispered, half accusation, half awe, eyes slipping shut again.
Theron stirred at the sound of his voice.
His eyes opened instantly—golden and clear—and the moment they focused on Aiden, something changed in them. The god flickered close to the surface, not blazing, not overwhelming.
Watchful.
Relieved.
"You're awake," Theron said softly, voice rough with sleep but threaded with something else. Care. Certainty.
Aiden swallowed. "Barely."
Theron didn't smile. Instead, he shifted closer, careful as if Aiden were made of glass, and brushed his thumb along Aiden's jaw.
"You shouldn't move yet."
Aiden snorted weakly. "Funny. You didn't say that last night."
A flicker of guilt crossed Theron's face—real, sharp—but it was immediately followed by something warmer. Protective. Fierce.
"I will now," he said quietly.
His hand drifted—slowly, deliberately—to rest again over Aiden's lower stomach.
Not claiming.
Guarding.
Aiden noticed the gesture only vaguely, too tired to question it. "You're acting weird," he murmured.
Theron leaned down, pressing his forehead to Aiden's temple, breathing him in like he needed the reassurance.
"You're alive," he said simply. "That's enough for now."
Outside, somewhere far beyond the den, the moon dipped behind thin clouds.
And deep within Aiden—unnoticed, unnamed—something small and impossibly precious took its first quiet hold.
Aiden lay still for a long moment, breathing through the ache. Everything hurt—his leg especially—but beneath the pain sat something else. An odd, hollow pull low in his body that had nothing to do with injuries.
He frowned.
Slowly, carefully, he tried to shift. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, dragging a rough sound from his throat.
"—fuck."
An arm tightened around him at once.
Theron stirred, awareness snapping into place faster than sleep should allow. "Aiden," he murmured, already alert. "Don't move."
Aiden exhaled through his teeth. "You say that like I had a choice."
Theron lifted himself slightly, careful, eyes scanning him the way a warrior assessed a battlefield. Moonlight caught in his hair, in his eyes—too bright, too calm.
Aiden scowled up at him. "You look annoyingly well-rested."
Theron huffed softly. "You drained me."
"That was not draining," Aiden muttered. "That was torture."
Theron's mouth twitched.
Aiden shifted his focus inward again, cataloging the damage. The soreness made sense. The numbness, too. What didn't make sense was the way his stomach twisted—not unpleasantly, but insistently.
"…when did I last eat?" he asked suddenly.
Theron blinked. "You had broth late last night."
Aiden grimaced. "That doesn't count."
"You weren't exactly in a state for more."
"I am now." He swallowed, surprised at how strong the urge was. "I could eat an elk."
Theron stilled.
"…An elk," he repeated.
Aiden nodded, then frowned. "Maybe two. Gods, why am I this hungry?"
"You fought," Theron said carefully. "You healed. That takes energy."
"Yeah, but—" Aiden waved it off with a weak hand. "This is ridiculous. My body's probably overcorrecting after everything you put it through."
He shot Theron a glare.
Theron did not rise to the bait. Instead, he pulled Aiden a fraction closer, grounding, protective. "I'll have food brought."
"Good," Aiden muttered, already relaxing. "If someone offers me soup again, I might bite them."
Theron smiled faintly.
Aiden's eyes drifted shut, exhaustion creeping back in now that the edge of hunger had dulled. As sleep tugged him under, he added drowsily, "See? Totally normal. Recovery."
Theron held him, silent.
Too early, he told himself.
Not yet.