The Club, the Belly, the Bond, Tiffany’s Entrance

She walked into the club like she had somewhere to be.

Head high. Spine like a blade.

But everything in her body wanted to turn and leave.

The bass hit her first—deep, reverberating.

Then the heat. Then the eyes.

But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She’d mastered the art of appearing unbothered.

Tiffany Coetzee, Healing Shaman of the Rhino Totem.

Daughter of a man she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Bearer of a child she wasn’t sure she could raise.

She smoothed her palm over her stomach, not visibly round yet, but heavy in her spirit.

A life.

A consequence.

A question mark.

Caleb.

He wasn’t here yet, but he always filled a room before he entered it. That was the thing with her twin brother—he was the storm, even when he was trying to be still.

She loved him.

Resented him.

Worried about him every damn day.

But tonight, she didn’t have the capacity to manage his shadows. She could barely manage her own.

Kofi.

Her anchor.

Her brother-in-all-but-blood.

The only man who had held her hair back while she vomited into a toilet bowl at sixteen, whispering “you’re okay, Tiff” when she’d thought she might split open from grief.

Kofi didn’t ask questions.

He didn’t judge.

He just showed up.

He saw her without trying to fix her. That kind of loyalty made her want to cry sometimes, but she didn’t have the luxury.

Tonight, he looked radiant and ridiculous as usual—buffalo hide hugging every line of him, that dumb grin, knowing exactly the damage he caused by just existing.

He winked at her. She rolled her eyes. Safe.

Even here, in a room full of history and heat, Kofi meant safety.

Derek.

Passion wasn’t the word.

It never had been.

What Tiffany felt for Derek couldn’t be contained by hormones or teenage longing—it was something older, something born of bone memory and blood magic.

When they were younger, she’d blamed it on proximity. Derek’s father was the Rhino Totem Guardian, which meant he moved through their lives like a shadow. Of course she’d known him. Of course she’d noticed the way he listened, the way he never looked away when she cried, the way he held her without asking for anything in return.

Naturally, she’d given herself to him.

His tenderness had disarmed her.

His mouth—always gentle, always asking—became her answer.

And then it happened.

Mid-breath, mid-moan, mid-worship—

A voice inside her, ancient and certain, whispered: Kiss him.

The urge rose from her spirit and overrode everything. She kissed him like her soul knew something her body hadn’t caught up to.

And in that moment, their bond snapped into place.

She was mated.

Fully. Unmistakably.

To Derek Khan.

Now, she carried two secrets:

A mate bond forged in fire…

And a child growing inside her.

She hadn’t told anyone—not even Caleb. Not even Nandile.

But as she spotted her best friend sitting on the club couch, sadness flickering in her lion-gold eyes, Tiffany knew tonight would be the night.

I love you, Derek said.

Not aloud. Not needed.

She felt him—through the bond. His voice warm in her mind like a memory wrapped in skin.

Only mates could do that.

Yes, they were both Spirit Walkers—but a mate bond went further.

She could feel his emotions, his thoughts. Borrow pieces of his mind, his knowledge, his strength.

And he, hers.

I love you too, she replied silently, pressing a kiss to the space in her mind where he lived.

She loved the feel of him.

But still—

What would he think when she told him she was pregnant?

She didn’t let herself answer the question.

So she walked.

Through the bass-heavy music.

Through the practiced smile she gave her companion.

Through the soft chide she threw at Kofi, who smirked and nudged her shoulder like the sibling she never had.

And finally, to the couch.

To the one person who’d never made her explain herself.

The one who would listen.

The one whose eyes—brown, with flecks of molten gold—looked up at her with such kindness and unfiltered adoration.

Nandile Zulu.

Her best friend.

Her sister in everything but blood.

Tonight, she would tell her.

Because some truths are too heavy to carry alone.