And my fingertips tighten where they rest against my stomach.
A question blooms inside me — impossible and wild:
Am I… carrying something that begins in both of us?
The thought terrifies me.
And thrills me.
Everything in me splits between fear and wonder.
And I don’t know how to separate the two.
I glance up at Kallus — his face carved from shadow and flame, eyes burning with unreadable heat — and I find I no longer want to hide from whatever truth is forming inside this place of bone and memory.
Instead…
I want toface it.
Because no matter how wild this world is… no matter how brutal or strange or beautiful it can be…
I belong here.
And more than that…
I am ready.
CHAPTER 12
KALLUS
The moment I step into the command atrium, the scent of war greets me—metal, ozone, the faint musk of Reaper blood still cooling in the ventilation filters from a recent sparring match. My warriors gather like wolves around the war table, the three-dimensional projection of Tyrannus rotating slow and deliberate, casting flickering red light across their hardened faces.
I should be focused—there are patrols to monitor, supply routes to guard, and whispers of IHC aggression that haven’t been silenced by their last defeat. But all I can think about isher—the way Ayla looked last night, trembling under my hands, her voice like the purest song when she called mehers.
My claws flex against the edge of the war table, dragging shallow grooves into the steel. Daggon watches from the corner with his usual dispassion, but his eyes are calculating.
“She is changing,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself. “I can smell it.”
“She’s adapting,” I say, but I don’t meet his eyes. “She’s stronger than we thought.”
“That may be, Kallus.” Daggon steps closer, his tone sharpening like a whetted blade. “But the jalshagar bond is not agame. If she carries your seed and you mark her in the old way—there is no undoing it. Even death won’t part your souls.”
I scoff, but it’s an uneasy sound. “I do not fear death.”
“No,” he says. “But you should fear love. That’s what makes warriorshesitate.”
Before I can reply—before I can evenprocessthe sudden bite of truth in his words—the chamber doors hiss open with a sound like breaking bone.
She walks in.
Barefoot, collared, eyes calm but not submissive. My little human. My mate.
The warriors stare as she crosses the room, her chin lifted. She doesn't flinch under their attention. Doesn’t bow or falter. She walks directly to me and lowers herself to her knees beside my chair—without a word, without instruction—and lays her head gently on my lap.
I don't move at first. My breath stills. Around us, the chamber holds its breath. My hand finds her hair, stroking instinctively, soothingmyselfas much as her. She’s soft and warm, but the strength in her silence burns hotter than the forge.
I look up slowly, scanning the room.
