She didn't know how she got there.
One moment, molten heat and thunder. The next, cool linens beneath her, familiar wood beams above.
Elena's lashes fluttered open. The world spun.
She tried to move, but her limbs felt like lead, her mouth dry and cracked with salt. Her head pounded from the echoes of divine screams, of the storm's vengeance, of her own wrath.
Niegal lay beside her, asleep and not-quite-human.
His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, still damp with sweat and soot, remnants of the Lion clinging to him even in rest. One clawed hand rested protectively over her middle, the sharp curve of his knuckles pressing into the softness of her-
Elena gasped.
Her stomach.
Swollen. Tight. Heavy. Wrong.
Where before there was only the slight flutter of a new pregnancy, now her womb bulged beneath the blankets, at the very least six months along.
She hadn't even missed her second moon's cycle. This wasn't possible.
She shoved the blankets aside with a strangled cry.
Her skin was red and stretched, angry lines radiating across her belly like lightning scars, some raw and cracked open, blood crusted along the jagged edges. The pressure made her wince, her entire body taut, her hips aching under the weight. The air felt heavier, too. Thicker with some ancient essence that curled around her limbs, holding her down.
The serpent moved.
Not just in her. But through her.
Sated. Possessive. Watching.
And then, a kick.
She slapped both hands over her stomach, panting. It moved again, a small shift like the undulation of waves. The child acknowledged her. Alive. Growing. Too fast.
Elena remembered.
The dungeon. The bodies.
The scream of vengeance.
The divine taking hold of her until she wasn't her anymore, but Guabancex incarnate.
The surge of energy, of wrath, of ancient expectation… it had poured into her womb, forced the growth forward, as if the gods themselves demanded proof their legacy had taken root. She had barely survived.
Her breath hitched. She curled on her side, or tried to- only to wince from the pain radiating from her hips, her spine, her overextended belly. She choked back a wince, her hands shaking.
Niegal stirred.
He opened one glowing eye, the silver hue still laced with the Lion's fire. And when he saw her, truly saw her, his eyes widened in horror and wonder.
"Elena…" he breathed.
But she was already shaking, biting her lip so hard blood bloomed. She didn't look at him. She couldn't.
"Is this the price of the power?," she whispered. "I can't carry this- I shouldn't be like this, this feels so wrong, it's tearing me apart, Niegal- "
He didn't speak.
He just moved, slow and reverent, like approaching a wounded beast. His clawed hand, still not fully human, cupped her face, and she sobbed into his palm, grabbing at him as though afraid she'd shatter into pieces.
He pulled her into him, wrapping himself around her body, tail curling instinctively over her thigh. A purring rumbled from deep in his chest. Not comfort, not desire, but recognition. Protection.
"It's not wrong," he murmured, brushing back her damp curls, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheeks, her brow. "It's terrifying. It's divine. It's ours."
She could only cry harder.
But still she clung to him, hiding in his arms, the heat of him warming the pain in her bones.
And the child moved again. Stronger this time.
A kick.
A roll.
She winced, a stretch mark splitting open from the pressure. Blood soaked the sheets.
Niegal's hand flew to her belly, his breath hitching. He felt it.
The Lion inside him stirred, not in lust or rage, but in awe.
"I feel him," he whispered. "I feel him."
Elena trembled, her fingers digging into his forearm, but she didn't stop him. Couldn't. Her tears fell freely.
"I'm so scared," she finally whispered. "I didn't know this would happen. I didn't know it would… cost you, too. I thought- I thought it would just be me." Her voice broke. "I'm so sorry, mi amor."
Niegal pressed his forehead to hers, voice choked but steady. "You don't ever need to apologize to me. Never. You did this to come back to us. And now look at you. You're carrying life. Our child."
He kissed her lips, slow and reverent. Another on her jaw. Another at the hollow of her throat.
"Elena," he breathed against her skin, voice cracking, "you're the strongest woman I've ever known. The gods may have laid claim to our souls- but this child? He's ours. Flesh and blood. I'll fight the gods themselves to make sure he stays safe."
He was crying now too. Soft, quiet tears. But he never let go.
She reached for him in turn, pressing her hand to his chest, over his heart.
And in the quiet, between breaths and heartbreak, a strange calm fell between them. The serpent curled in sleep, purring in satisfaction, Elena exhausting herself into slumber once more. The Lion's tail loosened, wrapping gently around her calf like a tether. Their gods, for now, rested.
Niegal tucked her into him, arms tight around her, whispering into her hair.
"A son," he murmured.
The word rolled off his tongue like a spell.
A prayer.
A promise.
And in that moment, beneath storm-battered rafters and blood-stained linens, two broken souls held each other and the impossible life growing between them.