Aiden woke with a gasp that tore from his chest like a wound reopening.
His body jolted upright, breath coming sharp and uneven, claws half-formed before he realized where he was. Moonlight filtered softly through the den's entrance, pale and harmless—nothing like the harsh white glare from his nightmare.
Concrete.Cold hands.Perfume that twisted his stomach and made his wolf scream.
Aiden dragged a shaking hand through his hair, nails scraping his scalp as if grounding himself could keep the memories from crawling back in.
Not real. Not now.
Theron was awake instantly.
He didn't move too fast—didn't reach right away—but his presence filled the space like a wall against the dark. "Aiden," he murmured, voice low and steady. "You're here. You're safe."
Aiden swallowed hard. His throat burned.
"I smelled her," he whispered. "In my dream. That stupid perfume—"
Theron's jaw tightened. He shifted closer, careful, one arm wrapping around Aiden's back, firm but not confining. "You're not there anymore."
Aiden wanted to believe that.
He leaned forward until his forehead pressed against Theron's chest, breath slowly syncing with the alpha's steady rhythm. His wolf curled inward, wounded but no longer thrashing.
"I hate that she still gets to—" Aiden's voice cracked, anger cutting through the fear. "That she still gets inside my head."
Theron's hand slid into his hair, thumb brushing small circles against his scalp. "Scars don't vanish just because the blade is gone," he said quietly. "They remind us where we survived."
Aiden huffed a weak, bitter laugh. "That's a very kingly way of saying trauma sucks."
Theron exhaled, something close to a smile ghosting his lips. "I've had centuries to practice."
They stayed like that for a while, until Aiden's breathing finally evened out and the tremor left his hands. Sleep didn't come back—but the panic loosened its grip.
That was when Theron stilled.
Not froze—listened.
Aiden felt it too a second later. A subtle shift, like the air itself had caught on something sharp.
"What is it?" Aiden asked softly.
Theron didn't answer. He eased out of the bed, pulling on loose trousers and grabbing his cloak. "Stay here," he said, tone gentle but unmistakably serious.
Aiden sat up straighter. "No."
Theron glanced back at him, golden eyes catching the moonlight. There was no command in them—only concern. "Aiden—"
"I'm not weak," Aiden said, quietly but firmly. "And if this is about her, I deserve to know."
Theron studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Stay close."
They stepped outside the den together.
The forest was calm—too calm. No night insects sang. No distant wolves called. Even the wind seemed hesitant.
Theron crouched near the treeline, fingers brushing the earth. His expression darkened.
Aiden followed his gaze.
There, half-hidden beneath fallen leaves, was a mark burned into the soil—not claw, not fang, not anything natural. It shimmered faintly, like silver ash caught in moonlight.
Aiden's stomach dropped.
"I've seen that before," he whispered.
Theron looked up sharply. "Where?"
"In the warehouse," Aiden said, throat tight. "On the walls. On the floor where she stood. It's… her."
Magic residue.
Not wolf. Not human.
Something older. Twisted.
Theron rose slowly, fury rolling off him in controlled waves. "She shouldn't be able to leave this behind," he said. "Not after what I did to her magic."
"But she did," Aiden replied. His wolf growled low, hackles rising. "Which means she planned this."
They weren't alone in realizing it.
Ronan emerged from the trees moments later, expression grim. "We found a survivor," he said.
Aiden's heart lurched. "A rogue?"
Ronan shook his head. "A human. Shaken, but alive. He was found near the outer road. Said a woman helped him escape something… then vanished."
Aiden closed his eyes.
Of course she did.
A helper. A savior. A ghost.
"She's not gone," Aiden said softly.
Theron's hand found his shoulder, solid and warm. "No," he agreed. "She's adapting."
Aiden looked up at him, anger burning through the last remnants of fear. "Then so am I."
Ronan raised a brow. "You sure about that? Because last time—"
"Last time," Aiden cut in, eyes sharp, "I was drugged, bound, and alone."
He straightened, shoulders squaring. "I'm not that omega anymore."
Theron's gaze softened—but beneath it, something fierce and proud stirred. "No," he said. "You're not."
The mark in the dirt shimmered once… then faded, like it had never been there at all.
But they all knew better.
Some scars didn't bleed.
They waited.
And Evelyn was still out there—watching, learning, and leaving reminders that the past didn't stay buried just because you survived it.
As they turned back toward the den, Aiden glanced once more at the empty forest.
His heart still ached.
But it no longer trembled.
Whatever Evelyn was planning next—
He would be ready.
Aiden reacted before the thought finished forming.
The forest shifted—just a whisper of wrong, a prickle along his spine—and his body moved on instinct alone. He lunged.
Theron barely had time to shout his name before Aiden was already in motion, blue eyes flashing gold at the edges as his wolf surged forward. He crossed the clearing in a blur, hand snapping out toward empty air—
—and slammed into something invisible.
The impact rang through the night like struck glass.
Aiden grunted, staggered back a step, then snarled, low and vicious. The air rippled where his fingers had connected, a distortion like heat above stone. Silver sparks crackled and died.
Ronan swore under his breath. "What the hell was that?"
Aiden didn't answer. His heart was pounding too hard, his breath coming too fast. His hand tingled, numb and burning at once, as if he'd grabbed lightning bare-handed.
"There," he said hoarsely, pointing. "She was there. Just a second ago."
Theron was beside him in an instant, one hand gripping Aiden's wrist, the other hovering over the disturbed air. His expression had gone deadly still.
"You struck a residue veil," Theron said quietly. "A lingering echo. Most wolves wouldn't even sense it."
Aiden blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "I—" He frowned, brows drawing together. "I knew where it would be. I didn't even think. I just… remembered."
Theron's fingers tightened, not in restraint, but grounding. "Remembered what?"
Aiden opened his mouth—then stopped.
His breath hitched.
Images flickered behind his eyes, too fast to grasp fully: moonlit battlefields, blood on stone, silver runes burning into earth. A blade breaking. A scream cut short. Theron's face—younger, angrier—cradling him as life bled away.
Aiden sucked in a sharp breath, staggering. "I—Theron, I think I've been there before."
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Theron's pupils flared, gold flooding his gaze. Slowly, carefully, he drew Aiden closer, pressing his forehead to Aiden's temple.
"Look at me," he murmured.
Aiden did. His eyes were bright, too bright, emotions flickering too quickly—fear, fury, grief, recognition.
"How long?" Theron asked, voice controlled with effort. "How long has this been happening?"
Aiden swallowed. "Since the claim," he admitted. "Since the heat. Things come… faster now. Not dreams. Not memories exactly. More like instincts with context." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Like I already know how to die."
Ronan shifted uneasily behind them. "That… doesn't sound great."
Theron didn't look away from Aiden. His hand slid to the back of Aiden's neck, thumb brushing the mark there—gentle, reverent. "Your past lives were sealed for a reason," he said softly. "They're not meant to return all at once."
Aiden's jaw tightened. "Because it hurts?"
"Because it can break you," Theron replied.
Silence fell heavy between them.
Aiden pulled back just enough to meet Theron's eyes fully. "You knew this would happen."
Theron didn't deny it. "I knew it might," he said. "The bond accelerates truth. It draws what was hidden to the surface—especially between souls that have found each other more than once."
Aiden let out a shaky breath, anger flaring hot and sudden. "So what, I'm just supposed to sit still and let centuries crash into me?"
"No," Theron said immediately. "You're supposed to survive them."
Aiden laughed, sharp and incredulous. "You say that like it's easy."
Theron's voice dropped, rough with something dangerously close to guilt. "I failed you once," he said. "I won't fail you again."
Aiden froze.
That wasn't a king speaking.
That was a mate. A god. A man who had watched him die and carried that weight through lifetimes.
The forest stirred again—not wrong this time, but aware.
Aiden's wolf paced restlessly inside him, no longer confused, but recognizing. He pressed his palm flat against his chest, grounding himself in the here and now.
"Okay," he said finally. "Then help me."
Theron's brow furrowed. "How?"
Aiden met his gaze, fierce and steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Teach me how to remember without losing myself."
For a long moment, Theron simply looked at him.
Then he nodded, once. Solemn. Devout.
"We start slowly," he said. "Together."
Ronan cleared his throat, breaking the intensity. "Uh. Hate to interrupt the soul-bonding moment, but if Evelyn's testing boundaries with residue veils, she's escalating."
Theron's eyes hardened, power rolling just beneath his skin. "Let her," he said.
Aiden felt it then—not fear, but certainty.
Whatever was waking inside him wasn't just pain.
It was purpose.
And for the first time, Theron understood the truth he'd been dreading:
Aiden wasn't just remembering who he had been.
He was becoming it—faster than the world was ready for.