The next morning came slowly.
Diana stirred awake first, blinking at the soft golden light spilling across the room. She was still lying on his chest — and he hadn't moved at all. His arm was wrapped around her, hand resting protectively over her stomach as if guarding both her and the tiny life inside.
She shifted slightly.
His eyes opened instantly.
Not with shock. Not with annoyance.
With instinct.
He tightened his arm around her hips just enough to make her stay close. His forehead brushed her hair, and his chest vibrated again for a few seconds — a sleepy, automatic purr he clearly hadn't meant to release.
"Good morning," she whispered.
He hummed something like acknowledgment — but the sound that followed wasn't purring.
It was deeper.
More primal.
She froze as he lifted his head and leaned in slowly, carefully… his nose brushing the side of her neck. His breath warmed her skin.
"…What are you doing?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Or maybe he couldn't.
His instincts were louder than his words.
He pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder, nuzzling — slow, warm, deliberate. His breath shivered against her skin. She felt his hand at her back pull her closer, holding her against him with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.
"You're marking me," she breathed.
He stilled for a moment.
Then let out a low exhale. "A little."
"And it's… normal?"
"For us," he murmured against her skin. "For panthers. For males."
A pause.
"For mates."
Her heart skipped.
He didn't seem to notice he'd said it — or maybe he did, but the instinct was stronger than his pride. His lips brushed her shoulder, not kissing — just touching, claiming with warmth rather than force.
"I'm not hurting you," he said softly, voice deep in her ear.
"No," she whispered. "It feels… nice."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes flicking over her face, the line of her neck.
"Your scent changed," he admitted quietly.
"Since you became pregnant. Since last night."
His voice lowered.
"It calls to me."
Her breath caught.
He leaned in again, touching his forehead to hers now, holding her face gently between his hands.
"I'm sorry if it frightens you," he said, voice trembling with honesty he rarely showed. "But when a male panther's instinct rises, he wants to protect. To keep danger away. To make sure everyone knows—"
He stopped himself.
"Knows what?" she whispered.
He swallowed hard. His thumbs traced her cheeks slowly.
"That you're mine," he said finally.
The words weren't possessive.
They were vulnerable.
As if he feared she would pull away.
Reject him.
Tell him he was too much.
Instead, she rested her palms on his chest, feeling the heat of his heart under her hands.
"I don't mind," she whispered. "Not when it feels like this."
His breath shook — a soft, relieved sound — and he leaned in again, burying his face in her neck for a longer moment, inhaling her gently.
This time it wasn't instinct.
It was affection.
When he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes she had never seen before.
"I'll try to control it," he murmured.
"But it's difficult. You smell like… home."
Her cheeks warmed. "Is this why you were purring last night?"
His ears turned slightly red — embarrassed.
"You were sleeping on me," he muttered. "I couldn't stop."
She giggled softly.
He hadn't expected that little sound.
His entire body relaxed, shoulders dropping, as if her laugh soothed something deep in him he didn't know needed soothing.
"Stay close today," he said quietly. "Let me keep you safe."
She leaned into him willingly this time, her head resting against his chest.
"I will."
He wrapped himself around her — careful, protective, warm — and breathed her in one last time, letting the quiet instinct answer for him.
She was his.
And the gentle scent on her shoulder was proof he would never let her disappear from his world.
She lay on the bed that morning, half-awake, enjoying the rare quiet. The sun barely touched the curtains, casting pale stripes across her legs. She dragged a slow breath, pressing her palm absently against her stomach.
And then—
A flutter.
So gentle she almost thought she imagined it.
Then again.
A tiny push. A soft tap from inside.
Her eyes widened.
Her heart trembled.
The baby.
"...Oh," she whispered, hand flying to her mouth.
She waited—still, breath-held—until another tiny movement brushed beneath her hand. Her throat warmed with emotion she wasn't prepared for. Small. Delicate. Alive.
"Liam!" she called softly.
He was outside the bedroom, she knew—his footsteps always carried a certain rhythm. A few seconds later he appeared in the doorway, hair still messy from sleep, shirt only half-buttoned.
"What's wrong?" he asked instantly, crossing the room in two steps. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head quickly. "No. No, it's—just come here."
He sat beside her, still tense, watching her with worried eyes. She lifted his hand carefully, guiding it to her belly.
"There," she whispered. "Wait."
He went completely still. Eyes dark and focused. Breath held.
A moment passed.
And then the baby kicked again—small, curious, like a whisper of life beneath skin.
His expression changed instantly.
Fear melted.
Tension vanished.
Something soft and raw overtook him.
"That…" he breathed, voice breaking slightly. "That was—"
He pressed his hand a little firmer, but still careful, still gentle. Another tiny kick answered him, and he exhaled with a sound almost like a laugh. Quiet. Disbelieving.
"She's really there," he murmured. "Alive. Strong."
His other hand came up to cover hers, fingers trembling just a little. His thumb stroked her knuckles without him noticing.
"She," she repeated with a smile. "You're already guessing?"
"She feels like a girl," he said, voice low but certain. "Don't ask me how. I just… know."
She watched him as he looked at her belly like it was something sacred. Something he had never allowed himself to hope for.
"When did it start?" he asked.
"Just now," she whispered. "You felt the first movement."
He swallowed hard. His eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with something deeper, heavier, older.
"I won't forget this moment," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Ever."
He leaned down—not to kiss, not to claim—just to listen. His ear rested lightly against her stomach, breath warm, posture careful as if afraid to disturb the little life inside.
Another gentle kick touched him, and he froze before letting out the softest, happiest breath she had ever heard from him.
"She recognized me," he said, stunned.
"She kicked randomly," she corrected, laughing softly.
"No," he insisted, lifting his head, eyes bright. "She knows her father."
She shook her head, smiling. "You're impossible."
"And you're carrying the most important thing in the world to me," he replied without hesitation.
He placed his hand back on her belly, covering it fully, shielding it instinctively. His shoulders relaxed, his whole face softening in a way she seldom saw.
For the first time, he didn't look like the strong, intimidating man his family expected him to be.
He looked like a father.