Page 113 of Pack Frenzy
“Thank you,” she says.
“For the strap?”
“For the time here,” she answers. “For making space for me to… not be careful every second.”
“You did more than fine,” I say. “You fit.”
“That’s what scares me.” Her voice drops to a volume I almost didn’t catch.
I don’t try to talk her out of it. Fear is part of the load. You design for it, or the whole thing fails when the wind picks up.
Jess heads inside.
Cassian lingers on the deck after she leaves, arms crossed. “She’s stronger than they’ll expect,” he says.
“I know.” I stare at the waterline. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting them test it.”
“You can’t fight Nexus, Rowan.”
“Watch me.” I meet his eyes. “She’s ours. They don’t get to make her prove it.”
Something shifts in his expression—approval, maybe. Or recognition that I’ve already made the decision that’s going to complicate all our lives.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She is.”
Suitcases thump as Cassian and Jess pack. The scent of coffee grows bolder as the pot gives up the last of itself. I pick up her blanket, shake it once to shed the dew, and roll it tight so it won’t unspool in the car. No lecture. No instruction. Just a layer that will keep.
Jess piles up her items near the door.
“This place is ours now,” I say again, because repetition, when it’s true, becomes a promise. “Weekend. Week. First snow up north if you want to meet the version of me that brags about chairlifts.”
She laughs, the sound catching on the edge of something brighter. “Deal. But I want the beginner hill.”
“I’ll meet you halfway,” I tell her. “Intermediate. No poles.”
“Monster,” she breathes, smiling, and I almost kiss her. The impulse rises clean and uncomplicated—line wanting to meet line.
Instead, I reach up and smooth a salt-stiff curl behind her ear. My thumb catches sand at her temple. She leans into my hand like it’s inevitable, like she knew I’d touch her and was just waiting for me to stop holding back.
The urge to kiss her is a physical ache. To mark her with my scent before we walk into that dinner. To make it clear to every Alpha in that room that she’s not available for evaluation—she’s already claimed.
Here’s the problem: I’ve built my entire life on control. Measured angles. Load-bearing calculations. Knowing how much weight every beam can take before it fails.
But with her, I don’t know my own limits. Don’t know at what point protective becomes possessive, or when wanting tips into taking, or when claiming becomes trapping.
And after yesterday—after watching her pull away because we moved too fast—I’m not risking it.
I pull back before I kiss her and make it a claim instead of a question. Before I forget that trial placements end and Omegas leave, and I’m not the kind of man who begs.
But I’m starting to believe I could be. Starting to think she could make me one.
I make myself step back, but the space between us feels engineered, not natural.
Then, I grab her suitcase before she can.
“Come on.” I catch her chin, tilt her face up to mine. “We’re going to walk in there, and you’re going to show those bastards exactly what they’re lucky enough to evaluate. Understood?”
CHAPTER 27
