Steel met steel.
Ronan moved first—controlled, precise, testing. Aiden answered instinctively, blade snapping up with a speed that made Ronan's brows knit together.
Too fast.
Ronan adjusted immediately, grounding himself, pushing back harder. "Easy," he warned.
Aiden grinned, feral and bright. "You said light."
He lunged.
The force of the impact rang through the training grounds.
Ronan skidded back a step—then another—boots carving shallow grooves into the dirt before he caught himself.
Silence.
Ronan stared at Aiden.
Aiden stared at his own hands.
"That was—" Ronan began, then stopped, eyes narrowing. "Do that again."
Aiden didn't hesitate.
This time he didn't just overpower Ronan's guard—he shattered it, knocking the blade clean from Ronan's grasp. The beta twisted aside barely in time, breath leaving him in a sharp exhale as Aiden's sword bit into the post behind him, sinking far too deep into the wood.
The crack echoed.
Someone gasped.
Aiden froze.
Slowly, he turned his head.
At the edge of the grounds stood two elders, drawn by the sound. One healer with a basket still looped over her arm. Three warriors. All staring.
All silent.
Ronan didn't move. His voice was low. "Aiden. How hard did you mean to hit?"
"I—" Aiden swallowed. His chest felt tight. "Normal."
That was the problem.
A flicker of unease rippled through the onlookers. Whispers stirred—not words yet, just instinctive fear.
The healer took one step forward. "Omega—"
Aiden snapped his head around. "Don't."
The word came out sharp enough to cut.
"I'm fine," he said, louder now. "I feel great, actually."
As if to prove it, he rolled his shoulders, lifted the sword again—
And the world tilted.
Just for a heartbeat.
The ground lurched sideways. His stomach clenched violently, breath hitching as a sudden wave of wrongness surged up his spine. The energy that had burned so bright moments ago faltered—flickering like a dying flame.
Aiden staggered.
Ronan was there instantly, hand outstretched. "Aiden—"
"I said I'm fine!" Aiden snapped, yanking away.
That was when it happened.
The sword slipped.
Not dropped—his fingers simply… failed.
Steel hit the dirt with a dull thud.
Aiden stared at it, horrified.
His legs buckled.
A strong arm caught him before he hit the ground.
"Enough."
Theron's voice cut through the space like thunder wrapped in silk.
He was suddenly there—one arm locked around Aiden's waist, the other braced against the ground as he knelt, pulling Aiden flush against his chest. His scent rolled out, dominant and furious and threaded with something ancient.
The pack went still.
Theron lifted his head slowly.
His eyes were wrong.
Not glowing. Not blazing.
Just… endless.
"Step back," he said quietly.
No one argued.
The healer hesitated. "Alpha, I need to—"
Theron's gaze flicked to her. "You told me he needed rest."
Her mouth pressed thin. "…Yes."
Theron looked down at Aiden.
Aiden was breathing hard now, sweat slicking his skin, color drained from his face. His wolf whimpered faintly, curling inward, tail instinctively trying to shield his stomach even as Aiden frowned at the motion like it didn't belong to him.
Theron's jaw tightened.
"You trained," Theron said softly. Not a question.
Aiden scoffed weakly. "I swung a sword. Don't look at me like that."
Theron didn't answer.
Instead, he shifted Aiden fully into his arms—bridal, possessive, final. The move sent a murmur through the onlookers. Respect. Fear. Understanding.
"This session is over," Theron said. "For him."
His gaze lifted again—sharp, warning.
"For anyone who thinks testing my mate is wise."
The elders bowed. The warriors backed away. The healer swallowed and nodded once.
Ronan met Theron's eyes, something grave passing between them.
"He's stronger," Ronan said quietly. "But he's burning wrong."
Theron knew.
He could feel it.
Aiden stirred, frowning, voice rough. "Stop acting like I broke."
Theron lowered his forehead to Aiden's temple, breathing him in, steadying both of them.
"You didn't," Theron murmured.
His god-side whispered otherwise.
As Theron carried Aiden away from the training grounds, the pack watched in silence.
Not because Aiden had fallen.
But because for the first time, they had seen it—
The omega who could overpower a beta.
The mate who scared an alpha.
The bond that made even gods hesitate.
And somewhere deep inside Aiden's body, unseen and unnamed,
something ancient curled tighter…
…and waited.
The den door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls.
Aiden tore free the moment Theron set him down, spinning on him with fire in his eyes. "Don't you ever do that again."
Theron stilled. "Do what?"
"Carry me like I'm broken," Aiden snapped. "Dismiss me in front of everyone. Talk over me like I don't exist."
Theron's jaw tightened. "You nearly collapsed."
"So what?" Aiden shot back. "I've bled on battlefields and laughed about it after. You don't get to cage me because I stumbled."
"I'm not caging you," Theron growled.
"You are," Aiden said, voice shaking now. "You watch me like I'll shatter if I breathe wrong. You won't let me train, won't let me patrol, won't even let me walk across the territory without one of your shadows on my heels."
Theron took a step forward. "Because you're not just risking yourself anymore."
That made Aiden laugh—sharp and humorless. "There it is. You think I'm weak. An omega who needs protecting."
"That's not—"
"You look at me like I'm already dying," Aiden interrupted. "And I hate it."
Silence slammed down between them.
Theron's hands curled into fists at his sides. His breathing was too controlled, too tight. Fear sat behind his ribs like a caged beast, slamming itself against bone.
"I am not treating you like you're weak," Theron said slowly.
"Then stop acting like I don't know my own body."
Theron's restraint cracked.
"Your body is not the only one on the line anymore!"
The words echoed.
Aiden blinked. "What?"
Theron dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice—then stopping dead. His shoulders sagged, like something heavy finally crushed him.
"Aiden," he said, voice rough, "you're pregnant—stop acting like it's only your life."
The world stopped.
Aiden stared at him.
"…I'm what?"
Theron froze.
The realization hit him all at once—the silence, the stillness, the way Aiden's scent flared sharp with shock instead of recognition.
Oh gods.
Aiden took a step back. "That's not funny."
Theron didn't move. His face had gone pale. "I wasn't joking."
"You don't get to say things like that because you're scared," Aiden snapped, but his voice wavered. "I've been tired. That's it. Omegas get tired."
Theron swallowed. "You've been nauseous."
"Stress."
"You're stronger than any omega should be right now."
"Adrenaline."
"You nested."
That stopped him.
Aiden's mouth opened—then closed. His brows drew together, confusion bleeding into something colder.
"I was tired," he said again, quieter now. "I needed comfort."
Theron stepped closer, carefully, like approaching something wounded and dangerous. "Your wolf covered your belly in it's sleep."
Aiden's breath hitched.
"That doesn't—" He shook his head hard. "That doesn't mean anything."
Theron's voice broke. "The healer warned me weeks ago. Omega pregnancies don't follow human timelines. Instinct comes first. Power surges. Appetite shifts. Nesting before the mind ever catches up."
Aiden laughed once—thin, disbelieving. "You knew?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I was waiting for confirmation," Theron said hoarsely. "And because I was terrified."
Aiden's hand drifted, unconsciously, to his stomach.
Then jerked away like he'd been burned.
"No," he whispered. "No, that's not— I would feel it. I would know."
Theron lowered himself to his knees in front of him.
"You feel it," he said gently. "You just don't recognize it yet."
Aiden shook his head, backing up until his shoulders hit the wall. His chest rose and fell too fast.
"I didn't agree to this," he said. "You don't get to decide this for me."
"I'm not deciding," Theron said. "I'm protecting."
"By lying?"
"By surviving," Theron snapped back—then softened instantly. "By making sure you're alive to be angry at me."
Aiden slid down the wall, sitting hard on the floor.
His hands trembled.
Theron didn't touch him. Not yet.
"If this is true," Aiden said quietly, staring at nothing, "then everything changes."
"Yes," Theron said.
Aiden's voice cracked. "I didn't want to disappear into your shadow."
Theron leaned forward, resting his forehead against Aiden's knee. "You haven't. You've just become something the world will try to take from me."
Silence again.
This time, it felt heavier.
Aiden didn't say yes.
He didn't say no.
He just sat there, stunned, instincts screaming truths his mind wasn't ready to hold.
And somewhere deep inside him, something small and fierce stirred—
unaware it had just been named.