THE UNBROKEN

They didn't leave the cottage for nearly twenty-four hours.

Not because they chose rest. Not because they could.

But because the gods wouldn't let them.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Elena screamed herself hoarse that night. Her back arched against every surface they were flung upon- floor, bed, wall- gasping, shivering, sobbing with exhaustion and ecstasy. Her body throbbed, every nerve rubbed raw, every inch marked by desire not entirely her own. Bruises bloomed like flowers. Scratches trailed her ribs, hips, thighs. Her serpent tattoo pulsed with radiant heat, glowing with golden flickers at the maw, violet lightning curling up her arm like veins under the skin.

The serpent begged.

It hissed inside her-

More. Again. Take him. Take what is yours.

But she couldn't move.

Her limbs were spent, trembling, jelly.

Niegal lay behind her, clutching her far too tightly. No… the lion clutched her. His breath was heavy against the back of her neck, fangs grazing. His hips ground into her as if by instinct alone. They both thought it had stopped. That the gods had been sated.

But no.

The lion stirred. Silver eyes glowed faintly in the dark. Teeth dig into her shoulder.

Elena whimpered, not in fear, not in rejection, but in despairing awe. "Please," she whispered, throat ragged. "Just a moment. Just… a moment to be human again."

And the lion roared silently within Niegal's chest.

They both wept as it began again.

By morning, Elena could hardly stand.

Niegal dressed her slowly, reverently, her body soft and sore in his arms. Her thighs trembled. Her collarbone bore crescent-shaped imprints from where he had pinned her down hours before. Neither of them could meet each other's eyes for long.

He wrapped her in a warm shawl. "We're going," he whispered. "We're seeing the Behikes. Now."

She only nodded, delirious in pain and pleasure, her head slumped against his shoulder as he helped her walk through the sanctuary, his hand gripping Marohu tightly to support them both.

Whispers followed them.

They didn't need to speak a word. People felt it.

Felt the divine weight. The pull.

Felt the aftershocks of gods who refused to sleep.

Inside the Behike lodge, the air was thick with incense and silence.

Two torches flanked the entrance, their blue flames flickering erratically.

La Señora Behike and the visiting Behike from Marisiana stood waiting, already pale with worry. As the couple entered, they exchanged one long look and closed the door behind them.

Elena collapsed softly onto a cushion. Niegal refused to sit. He stood, fists clenched, his jaw locked with unspoken torment.

La Señora Behike was the first to speak.

"You did not tame them."

Niegal swallowed. "I tried."

"She did not consent," the Marisiana Behike added, voice gentle but firm.

"She did," he whispered. "But the lion… he didn't ask."

Elena touched his hand. He pulled it away. His shame hung in the air like smoke.

They spoke in quiet tones then- explaining the truth neither of them had dared name.

El Léon Negro had reawakened. He who had slept for centuries in the bloodline of the Matteo. He who had once mated with the storm goddess in the heart of the jungle. And now, with the serpent of Guabancex reborn inside Elena, the gods had found each other again.

And they wanted union.

Desperately.

"La Doña," the Behike from Marisiana said, turning to Elena, "you are marked by an elder force that predates even the Church's oldest records. She is storm, hunger, rebirth, rage. But this pairing… it is not just divine. It is fertile."

Elena blinked.

Niegal took a sharp breath. "What are you saying?"

La Señora Behike placed a hand over her heart.

"If the lion is not tamed… the gods will keep taking you. Possessing you. Until the ancient union is fulfilled."

Elena's blood ran cold. Her hand flew to her stomach.

"They won't stop," the other Behike confirmed. "Not until she is bred."

A silence fell that seemed to suck all air from the room.

Niegal turned away, hands in his hair, body trembling. Elena sat in stunned stillness.

When their eyes met again, neither could speak. There were no words large enough for what they had become.

Not man and woman.

Not even soldier and storm.

But vessels. Living altars. Chosen flesh for ancient gods clawing their way back into a mortal world.

Niegal quietly began to weep. "I never meant to-"

Elena crawled to him, wincing in pain, but determined. She reached for his face and kissed his tears.

"I know," she whispered. "I know you didn't."

She held him as the lion howled in his chest, restless, unsatisfied. She held him anyway.

She didn't yet know what would come next.

But she was no longer afraid.

She had already died once. Had already made the deal. She knew what the serpent wanted.

And now, so did the lion.