Page 65 of The Hyena’s Guardian

Even before they touched, Theron felt Matt’s emotions through the connection in fractured waves. Fear. Determination. Anger. Compassion so instinctive it unsettled him more than violence ever could. And now the bond had fully awakened.

The corruption quieted whenever Matt stood near. The endless hunger beneath Theron’s skin retreated beneath the sound of his voice. Even the mountain itself felt farther away when Matt touched him, like the prison could no longer fully reach him through the connection binding them together.

That should have terrified him more than it did. Instead, something he had buried centuries ago stirred despite every effort to keep it silent.

Theron stared down briefly at his own hands where the claws had partially receded. They still looked wrong. Still dangerous. But less than before.

The corruption had been progressing for so long that he no longer remembered what slowing felt like. Every year beneath the mountain stripped another piece of himself away until survival became less about living and more about remaining functional enough to keep the prison intact.

He had accepted that ending long ago.

Accepted that eventually the corruption would take everything from him.

It happened, with the kind of patience only centuries could teach.

First memories would blur at the edges until faces and voices became impossible to separate from dreams. Language would follow after that. Thought itself would narrow beneath the endless hunger until instinct consumed everything that remained.

Eventually he would forget his own name.

Forget duty.

Forget why the prison mattered at all.

And when that final piece disappeared, he would become one more creature crawling through the catacombs beneath the mountain, hunting blindly through the dark alongside the others who had once been guardians too.

Theron had made peace with that ending centuries ago.

Then Matt touched him and the corruption retreated. The thought alone nearly unraveled him.

“Theron.”

His head lifted instantly toward the sound of Matt’s voice. The reaction was immediate and humiliating. Relief hit first. Sharp enough that Theron actually hated himself for feeling it.

Matt approached through the shifting floodlight glow with the same steady confidence he carried into almost every impossible situation. Dirt and dried blood still marked portions of his tactical gear while exhaustion lingered heavily beneath his eyes, but somehow none of it diminished him.

If anything, the catacombs only seemed to sharpen what already existed underneath.

Theron had spent centuries around fear.

Matt carried compassion the way other people carried weapons. Ready without thinking. It was infinitely more dangerous.

“You’re staring again,” Matt said as he stopped beside him.

Theron looked away. That only made Matt sigh. “You know,” he muttered, “most people usually try to hide the emotionally catastrophic eye contact.”

Something guarded entered Theron’s expression. “I do not know what that means.”

“That is honestly probably healthier.”

Despite himself, Theron’s shoulders loosened slightly.

Another pulse of warmth moved through the bond before Theron forced himself to focus elsewhere.

Across the chamber, Vale directed the remaining operatives through preparations while Baptiste reviewed equipment near the collapsed corridor entrance. Weapons changed hands. Floodlights were dismantled. Injured wolves forced themselves back to their feet as the distant groaning beneath the mountain continued growing louder.

Theron clung to the movement and purpose of it all desperately. Because every time Matt stood too close, the mountain felt farther away. And that terrified him more than the corruption did.

“You’re doing it again,” Matt said.