Page 146 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

The question—his asking permission rather than simply acting—underscored everything that made their arrangement different from what The Society expected. She nodded her consent.

He stepped forward, one hand gently tilting her chin up to expose her neck. The touch was controlled but sent a shiver of awareness through her body. Her Omega biology recognized his Alpha scent on an instinctual level that bypassed conscious thought.

"We'll need to ensure all three of our scents are detectable on you," he explained, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned closer. "The Society expects newly claimed Omegas to be thoroughly marked."

His lips brushed against her pulse point, the contact so light she might have imagined it if not for the jolt of electricity it sent through her. He didn't bite—there would be no permanent claiming mark yet—but the scenting was deliberate and thorough.

"Convincing?" she asked when he straightened, working to keep her voice steady despite the flush she could feel spreading across her cheeks.

His eyes had darkened with something beyond strategic calculation. "Very."

The door opened without warning, Ronan's massive frame filling the entrance. His green eyes took in the scene—Lucian standing close to her, her neck bared, the tension between them palpable.

"Starting without me?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room.

"Just ensuring our performance tonight is convincing," Lucian replied smoothly. "The Society will expect evidence of scent marking."

Ronan stepped into the room, already dressed for the evening in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down that did nothing to disguise his fighter's physique. "Then we should be thorough claim—scent marking, physical contact, your responses to Alpha commands."

A flutter of nervousness rises in my stomach, not from fear but from awareness of the intimate territory we're entering. "I understand."

Lucian studies me for a moment, head slightly tilted. "May I?" he asks, gesturing toward my neck.

The question—his asking permission rather than simply acting—underscores everything that makes our arrangement different from what The Society expects. I nod my consent.

He steps forward, one hand gently tilting my chin up to expose my neck. The touch is controlled but sends a shiver of awareness through my body. My Omega biology recognizes his Alpha scent on an instinctual level that bypasses conscious thought.

"We'll need to ensure all three of our scents are detectable on you," he explains, his breath warm against my skin as he leans closer. "The Society expects newly claimed Omegas to be thoroughly marked."

His lips brush against my pulse point, the contact so light I might have imagined it if not for the jolt of electricity it sends through me. He doesn't bite—there will be no permanent claiming mark yet—but the scenting is deliberate and thorough.

"Convincing?" I ask when he straightens, working to keep my voice steady despite the flush I can feel spreading across my cheeks.

His eyes have darkened with something beyond strategic calculation. "Very."

The door opens without warning, Ronan's massive frame filling the entrance. His green eyes take in the scene—Lucian standing close to me, my neck bared, the tension between us palpable.

"Starting without me?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the room.

"Just ensuring our performance tonight is convincing," Lucian replies smoothly. "The Society will expect evidence of scent marking."

Ronan steps into the room, already dressed for the evening in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down that does nothing to disguise his fighter's physique. "Then we should be thorough."

Before I can respond, he's moved to my other side, his large hand settling at my waist with surprising gentleness. "May I?" he asks, echoing Lucian's earlier respect for my boundaries.

I nod, somehow steadier now with both of them present. The dynamic between us has shifted over the past weeks—what began as a hunt has evolved into something far more complex and, in some ways, more intimate than a traditional claiming.

Ronan's approach is different from Lucian's—less subtle, more direct. His scenting is deliberate, his stubbled jaw grazing my skin in a way that makes my breath catch. The contrast between them—Lucian's precision and Ronan's intensity—sends my Omega instincts into overdrive.

"We're missing one," Lucian observes just as a third presence fills the doorway.

Darius stands watching us, his gray eyes unreadable in the dimming light. Unlike the others, he doesn't immediatelyapproach, instead observing the tableau we present with calculated assessment.

"The car will be ready in twenty minutes," he says, his voice giving no indication of his thoughts about finding his packmates scent-marking me in my suite. "We should finish preparations."

There's something in his tone—a controlled restraint that speaks volumes to anyone who knows him well. Darius Castellano, the Prime Alpha who rules the East Coast with cold authority, is struggling with something he rarely experiences: jealousy.

"Don't you want to ensure she carries your scent as well?" Lucian asks, a hint of challenge in his voice.

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