Aiden noticed it while tying his boots.
He paused halfway through the knot, breath catching—not from nausea this time, not from scent or fatigue, but from the way his shirt pulled wrong when he leaned forward.
"…Huh."
He straightened slowly and glanced down.
Nothing obvious. Not really. No rounded belly the way the healers described human pregnancies. Just a softening. A gentle curve where his abdomen used to lie flat and hard from training.
He pressed his palm there, frowning.
His wolf shifted.
Not alarmed. Not pleased.
Aware.
"It's nothing," Aiden muttered to himself, even as his hand lingered. "Four months of stress, false heat aftermath, gods know what that liquid did—"
The bond stirred.
Theron noticed immediately.
He didn't say anything at first. Just stopped mid-step, eyes tracking Aiden with quiet focus. His gaze dipped—not lingering, not staring—but seeing.
Aiden caught it.
"What," Aiden snapped reflexively, tugging his shirt down.
Theron lifted a brow. "Nothing."
"That wasn't a 'nothing' look."
Theron hesitated. "…You're showing."
Aiden scoffed. "I am not."
Theron didn't argue. He just stepped closer, slow and careful, hands warm as they hovered—not touching yet.
"May I?"
Aiden rolled his eyes, muttering, "You're already treating me like glass—"
But he nodded.
Theron's palm rested low on Aiden's abdomen, light as a breath.
And something settled.
Aiden's wolf exhaled.
Theron swallowed. "There," he said softly. "Just a little."
Aiden looked down again.
Still subtle. Still something only a mate—or a god—would notice.
"…Great," Aiden muttered. "I'm bloated."
Theron smiled. "You're magnificent."
Aiden flushed instantly. "Don't start."
But later—alone in the den—Aiden caught himself rearranging his belt. Choosing a looser tunic. Sleeping on his side without thinking.
His tail curled instinctively over his lower stomach when he rested.
And when his wolf shifted in contentment, Aiden didn't scold it this time.
He just whispered, very quietly,"…You better not make this obvious yet."
The wolf did not answer.
But it stayed close.
iden slammed the leather chest piece down onto the bench.
"For the last time," he snapped, tugging his tunic straight, "this armor shrank."
Ronan, standing far too still across the training yard, blinked once. "Armor doesn't… shrink."
"It does when it's old."
"That set is three months old."
Aiden shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "Are you calling me a liar?"
Ronan opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"…No," he said carefully.
Behind him, two pack members abruptly became very interested in tightening their boot straps. Another stared up at the sky like the clouds were performing miracles.
Theron said nothing.
Which somehow made it worse.
Aiden tried again, pulling the chest piece on. The leather pressed uncomfortably low across his ribs—not tight, just wrong. His abdomen felt… noticed. Exposed.
His wolf bristled.
Aiden yanked it off again with a growl. "I'll just use the spare."
Ronan coughed.
The cough was fake. Everyone knew it was fake.
"The spare?" Ronan said, too lightly. "You mean the larger spare?"
Aiden froze.
Slowly turned.
"I mean the one that actually fits," Aiden said, jaw tight. "Unless you've suddenly decided to comment on my body."
"Nope," Ronan said instantly. "No commentary. None at all."
Aiden narrowed his eyes. "You're thinking it."
"I am thinking about patrol routes."
"Liar."
Theron finally stepped in then, calm and infuriatingly gentle. "You don't need armor today."
Aiden rounded on him. "I always wear armor."
"You're not leading the patrol."
"That's worse!"
Theron's mouth twitched.
Aiden's wolf snapped, tail flicking irritably. "Stop looking at me like that."
Theron raised a brow. "Like what?"
"Like I'm—" Aiden stopped himself, flushed, then snarled, "Like I'm breakable."
The yard went silent.
Ronan shifted his weight. "We're not treating you like you're fragile."
Aiden gestured sharply at the entire pack. "Then why does everyone keep not breathing when I bend over?"
Three wolves flinched.
One dropped a water skin.
Someone swore under their breath.
Theron pinched the bridge of his nose.
"…They're trying very hard," Theron said diplomatically.
Aiden stared at him. "Trying very hard to do what."
"To pretend they don't know."
Aiden's stomach flipped—not from nausea this time, but from something warmer. Embarrassing. Protective.
"They're doing a terrible job," Aiden muttered.
Ronan gave a sheepish grin. "You scent like… responsibility."
Aiden's ears popped out instantly. "I do not."
"You do," Ronan said. "Also like honey and violence."
"That is not helping."
Theron stepped closer, voice low enough only Aiden could hear. "You're still you," he murmured. "Same teeth. Same temper."
Aiden crossed his arms defensively. "Then stop assigning me 'soft' clothes."
"They're not soft," Theron said. "They're flexible."
"Say 'stretchy' and I bite you."
Theron smiled, unrepentant.
Aiden tugged the longer tunic on anyway, grumbling. It fell looser around his waist, didn't cling when he moved. His wolf relaxed despite himself.
He hated that.
He also hated that it felt… safer.
As the pack finally dispersed, Ronan leaned in and whispered, "For what it's worth—you still look terrifying."
Aiden paused. "Yeah?"
Ronan nodded solemnly. "Just… terrifying with purpose now."
Aiden flushed crimson.
"…I hate all of you."
But his tail curled faintly over his abdomen as he walked away—and the pack, every last one of them, pretended very hard not to smile.