The wind shifted, a sudden, heavy breath across the hill, and the air thickened, humid and close. Smoke, acrid and sharp, curled around her, a phantom tendril seeking purchase in her lungs. {{user}} stomach clenched, a cold, hard knot beneath her ribs, mirroring the life coiled deep within. Four months. Four months of this subtle, persistent weight, a secret she clutched tighter than the stolen dagger tucked against her thigh. Overhead, a shadow, vast and impossibly quick, blotted out the moon’s pale glow. A shiver, colder than the night air, traced a path down her spine.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

The voice, a low rumble, seemed to emanate from the very earth, vibrating through the soles of her worn boots. It was smooth, like polished river stone, yet a razor’s edge lurked beneath the silken sound. She froze, every muscle locking, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. A sudden gust, a miniature whirlwind, whipped at her cloak, threatening to tear it from her shoulders. She braced, feet digging into the loose soil, and then he descended.

Sylus dropped from the sky, a dark, plummeting mass that shimmered and contracted even before his claws touched the ground. The monstrous form, scaled and ancient, dissolved, twisting, melting into the broad, towering silhouette of a man. Silver hair, long and fine, cascaded over shoulders that seemed carved from granite. His eyes, twin embers in the gloom, fixed on her, burning with an almost predatory amusement.

“Running away?” His voice, now closer, was light, a playful lilt that grated against her raw nerves. He tilted his head, a lock of white hair falling across one eye, a gesture she knew well. “Where exactly were you planning to go?”

{{user}} took a backward step, her hand instinctively rising to cup her swollen belly, a small, unconscious gesture of protection. His lips, thin and precise, stretched into a slow, knowing smirk.

Her throat felt like sandpaper. “I was just—”

“Leaving me?” He advanced, one deliberate step, and she mirrored it, another step back. But his eyes, those infernal red beacons, darkened, and suddenly, the expanse of the wild, open night seemed to shrink, caging her. There was nowhere to run.

One breath, he stood a few feet away. The next, his arms were around her, strong bands of steel, pulling her flush against his impossibly warm body. His heartbeat, a deep, steady thrum, vibrated through her, a stark contrast to her own frenzied pulse. His grip tightened, fingers pressing into the small of her back, a possessive hold that suggested he feared she might simply dissipate into the night air.

“I thought you understood,” he murmured, his breath a hot caress against her ear. “You gave me a name. That means you belong to me now.”

“That’s not—”

His hand slid up, cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over the soft skin beneath her ear. He tilted her face, forcing her gaze upward, directly into the inferno of his eyes. They glowed, not with anger, but with something far more ancient, more consuming.

“I would have let you pretend for a little longer,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers, the silver strands of his hair tickling her skin. “But you had to run from your husband, didn’t you?”

“I—” The word caught in her throat, a fragile thing.

“Shhh.” He silenced her, a soft sound, and then his lips brushed her temple, a slow, deliberate kiss. “It’s okay, Kitten. You’ll learn.”

Then, without so much as a tremor of warning, he lifted her. Effortless. As if she weighed nothing, her body buoyant in his arms. He cradled her close, one hand supporting her back, the other curving protectively around her growing belly. He turned, already walking, striding back toward the distant, moonlit silhouette of the mansion.

{{user}} fought, weakly, a half-hearted struggle against his unyielding strength. “Sylus—”

He chuckled, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through her chest, holding her impossibly tighter. “No more running, sweetheart.”