Later that evening, after the chaos of the full moon night, Diana sat quietly in the bedroom, feeling the soft weight of his presence. The villa was calm, shadows long across the floor, the only sound the quiet hum of the evening wind through the open window.
He entered silently, still in human form, but his eyes carried the predatory glint that never fully left him. He stopped in the doorway, studying her.
"You should rest," he said, voice low and even. "You've been through more than you realize today."
"I… I'm fine," she murmured, though her hands instinctively rested over her stomach.
He moved closer, slow, deliberate, until he was beside her. There was a pause, a quiet tension in the air. Then, as if it were instinct, he leaned down and pressed his lips gently to the side of her neck—not roughly, not urgently, but soft and intimate. A small shiver ran through her, a mixture of warmth and the strange new awareness that she was his, and he was hers.
"You are mine," he whispered, the words almost a vow, almost a prayer. "And I will protect you. Always."
He withdrew slightly, then, with careful, deliberate gentleness, placed his palm over the small curve of her stomach. His thumb brushed lightly against the skin, and she felt the warmth and steady strength of him.
"This mark… it is not for anyone else," he murmured, eyes dark and shining. "It is for us. For the child. For you. It is a promise."
He pressed his forehead to hers, and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her own. It was intimate in a way that had nothing to do with touch or passion—it was possession, protection, and belonging.
"You will never be alone," he said quietly, his hand lingering over her, over the small life inside her. "Not now, not ever. You are mine, Diana. And I will never let anyone… hurt you."
She rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat, and for the first time since arriving in his world, she felt completely safe.
The gesture was subtle, almost ritualistic, and yet it carried weight deeper than anything the sanctuary had ever taught her. She knew the marking was not just a claim—it was a bond. Gentle, unbreakable, and entirely his.
The next morning, Diana woke to the soft sunlight spilling across the room. Her first thought wasn't the villa, or the chaos of the past nights, or even her growing belly. It was him.
She turned slightly, and there he was—leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes dark and watchful. She felt the pull in her chest before she could name it—the quiet, unshakable reassurance that he was hers, and she belonged to him.
The marking from the night before wasn't visible, but its effect was undeniable. When he moved closer, she felt the warmth in her skin, the tether of something that bound them silently. A low hum of awareness thrummed through her whenever he was near, a steady comfort that eased the nervous tension she hadn't even realized lingered in her muscles.
"Good morning," she whispered, voice soft.
"Good morning," he replied, his tone clipped yet softer than usual. He stepped closer, deliberately brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, eyes lingering on hers. "How do you feel?"
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Better… I think. Safer, at least."
His gaze darkened in that way that always made her pulse quicken. "That's because you are," he said simply, resting a hand lightly over hers on the arm of the chair. His thumb brushed against her skin, and she felt the warmth of him sink deep into her.
Even without words, the marking had shifted something between them. Every glance, every brush of his hand, carried meaning now—protection, claim, promise. She found herself instinctively moving closer when he approached, feeling drawn to him without understanding why.
He stepped back slightly, watching her with an intensity that made her heart race. "The others," he said, nodding toward the hallway where his family sometimes lingered, "they won't see you the same way now. They'll know. You are mine, Diana. That… will be enough."
She swallowed, nodding, a little breathless. "I… I understand."
He didn't say more, just stood there, silent, a presence so commanding it made her feel simultaneously small and completely protected.
Through the day, as she moved about the villa, prepared food, or simply gazed out at the gardens, she felt him. Not always physically beside her, but always in the edges of her awareness. His attention, his claim, lingered like a tether she couldn't see but could feel.
And for the first time, she realized she didn't want to.
She belonged to him. And, in every small instinctive way, he belonged to her too.
The next afternoon, Diana sat in the garden, the sound of birds blending with the rustle of leaves. She felt calm — unusually calm — as if the world itself had softened around her.
She was sipping tea when a voice cut through the peace.
"Well, well! Look who's finally glowing."
Diana turned. A young woman with golden-brown hair and mischievous amber eyes stood at the edge of the terrace. She looked like she could be his cousin — similar sharp features, the same feline poise. But unlike him, her smile was all playfulness.
"I'm Mira," she said, stepping closer and plopping down across from Diana without invitation. "The infamous cousin. You must be the mysterious 'human from the sanctuary' everyone's whispering about."
Diana blinked, unsure how to respond. "I… suppose I am."
Mira leaned forward with an exaggerated squint, then gasped. "Ohhh, I see it now! That's why he's been smiling lately. I thought he swallowed a canary."
Diana flushed, nearly spilling her tea. "Smiling? He… he doesn't smile that much."
"Exactly!" Mira said, grinning wider. "Which makes it even scarier when he does. But you—" she pointed a finger playfully "—you've got him acting all different. He used to glare holes into walls; now he's walking around like a man who's been bewitched."
Before Diana could answer, a deep voice came from behind them.
"Mira."
Both women turned. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, clearly unamused.
"Ah! Speak of the beast," Mira said dramatically, twirling a lock of her hair. "I was just complimenting your transformation. You're practically glowing yourself."
He sighed. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Not when the gossip's this good," she replied with a wink. "Anyway, cousin, I must say, the 'human' you picked seems far too lovely for someone as brooding as you. Maybe I should have gone to a sanctuary myself!"
"Mira." His tone held warning now.
She giggled, clearly enjoying herself. "Fine, fine. I'll go before you start growling. But really," she leaned toward Diana, whispering conspiratorially, "if you ever need an ally in this family of fur and fangs, you can count on me. I'm the fun one."
With a cheerful wave, she sauntered off, leaving a faint scent of perfume and laughter behind.
He looked after her with a faint shake of his head. "She's trouble."
Diana smiled softly. "She's funny."
He glanced back at her, eyes softening for a moment. "You laughed."
"Maybe she made me feel… normal," she admitted.
He was quiet for a long moment, watching her as the sunlight played across her face. Then, just barely, his lips curved upward.
"Then maybe I should thank her for that."
It was small, fleeting — but Mira had been right. He really was smiling now.