Chapter Eighteen
Theo
T he gym lights hum.
One of them flickers every few minutes—right above the squat rack—and it’s been driving me insane since I walked in an hour ago.
But that’s kind of the point.
This place is shit. Rust on the dumbbells, foam peeling off the benches, and the speaker hasn’t worked since Rory tried to play classical music during a leg day circuit. The smell’s permanently halfway between liniment and trauma—
But it’s quiet.
No fans. No flirting. No packmates hovering with water bottles or asking if I’ve worked through that complex—and no one here to smell me and guess the answer.
Just me, the weight rack, my headphones, and a playlist aggressive enough to scare my anxiety back into its cave.
I’ve been hitting it harder than usual this week. Every rep, every sprint, every drop of sweat has been aimed at one specific target:
Beating Marcus Vale.
He’s Denton Vale’s captain, center-forward, and asshole incarnate. The guy’s a walking PR stunt for their RFC, and the reason I once punched a whiteboard in high school.
His dad’s a total sleaze who’s been circling my father’s political seat for the last three years like a vulture with veneers. Mine’s not much better, but hey—he’s still my dad, and no one gets to talk shit about him unless it’s me.
Marcus is everything I hate in an alpha—performative, smug, always trying to show dominance by volume rather than presence. He’s got media attention, a six-pack carved out of spite, and the kind of attitude that makes sponsors swoon and omegas run screaming.
He likes to talk a big talk, likes to mock even though I know first-hand that he can’t back it up as well as he’d have everyone believe. His mouth has been running a lot since the new season started, especially now that Alderbridge is getting press again.
Now that we matter. Now that she made people care about us.
He doesn’t get to take that from Frankie. Not the spotlight, not the buzz, not the pride she’s already building around this team in such a short space of time, with only a phone, her bare hands and that perfect mouth.
God, that mouth .
I’ve been thinking about her more than I probably should. And yeah, I’m not exactly starved for attention around here. I could snap my fingers and have any omega—or beta, hell, even an experimental alpha—climbing into my lap faster than Rory shuts down compliments.
But none of them are her.
None of them challenge me. None of them flirt back and then pretend it never happened. None of them blink at my compression shorts and make that face.
Frankie plays it cool, but I see her. I know she wants me—never mind because she fainted at first sight, but from the way her eyes drop to my mouth when I talk, the way she snaps back at my teasing and then turns pink from the neck up.
But she’s guarded and careful. I swear I can smell the hesitation in her scent sometimes, and I’d never rush her, never make her feel cornered—
But god, if she gave me the green light? If she looked at me and really said “yes”?
I’d bond to her so fast I’d break the speed of scent.
I’d knot her into next week and send Marcus fucking Vale flowers from our honeymoon.
I would bring her into our pack without a second thought, because she already feels like ours. She already feels like mine .
And I don’t even need her heat to prove it.
But for now, I flirt. I wait . I let her catch me shirtless in the hallway or stretching in ways I know make her twitch. I steal her snacks and wink when she scowls. I find her clothes in the laundry, press them to my face like I’m not fully addicted, and drop them back in her room before she notices they’re missing.
I wait, but I don’t stop .
She gets time, but that doesn’t mean I have to behave.
And the longer this builds? The more this tension claws its way under my skin—her scent on my hoodie, her laugh echoing down the hallway, the way she bit her lip the last time we passed in the kitchen like she didn’t trust herself not to say something filthy?
It’s driving me insane, in the best fucking way.
Which brings me back to Marcus.
Because all this tension, all this instinct I’m sitting on like a live wire, all this need with nowhere to go… Yeah. That’s about to become his goddamn problem.
He thinks we’re just some backwater pack of second-string alphas and betas with a pretty girl behind a livestream and no real bite.
He thinks the game this weekend will be easy.
He thinks I’m the same kid he used to sneer at across the debating stage, the one with the nervous tells and a politician’s shadow hanging over his head.
But I’ve changed, and I’ve got something to fight for now.
Because Frankie’s not just part of the team: she’s part of us . And she doesn’t deserve to be targeted.
Not for doing her job. Not for being good at it. Not for being seen .
I’ve been digging. I might not be the most tech-savvy alpha in the house, but I’ve got contacts. My dad taught me one useful thing—how to find dirt.
And thanks to his role in office, I have plenty of access to tech guys, law interns, and junior aides with clearance and something to prove. They’re all the kind of people who either want to look good to him, who owe me favors, or who just want to piss off the right families for the wrong reasons.
So far, we’ve figured out that the comments are coming from a few dummy profiles. There’s no trace of names, no attached emails or IPs that can be traced—yet.
But I’ll find out. And when I do, they’re done .
I don’t care who it is—some jealous intern, a loose-canon admin, even Marcus himself. If they think they can come for Frankie and get away with it, they’ve got another thing coming. Because if someone’s trying to break her down from the inside—if they’re trying to ruin the thing that’s making this team, making us , better?
Then it’s not just my problem, it’s our problem.
They want a grudge match? Fine . But they picked the wrong fucking omega.
And when Frankie’s watching from the sidelines this weekend, phone camera in hand and trust in her eyes, I’m not just going to beat Marcus Vale. I’m going to crush every smug, shit-eating smile off his face until he knows that nobody touches what’s ours.
And if I happen to flash a little thigh while doing it, well.
Let’s call that for what it is: public service.
*
I finish my cooldown and head for the showers, towel slung around my neck, water bottle tucked under one arm. There’s no music playing in my headphones now: I’m just surrounded by the sound of my own breath, the steady drip of the showers, and the hum of a facility most people forget has a keycode.
Days like these, I like it better this way: quiet, controlled.
I’m just stepping out of the stall, hair wet, abs dripping, towel slung low on my hips, when the door creaks open.
I freeze. Then:
“Shit—sorry—”
Frankie .
She’s halfway into the room already, her face flushed, dark eyes wide. Her Alderbridge hoodie is askew, lips parted and high ponytail falling slightly to one side.
I blink. She blinks.
My abs glisten. Her pupils dilate.
She looks. Immediately looks. Drops her gaze to the towel, flicks up to my chest, then higher still—as if she’s hoping I didn’t notice.
But oh , I definitely noticed.
“You’re— oh ,” she stammers. “You’re here.”
“I am,” I say, slow and easy, grabbing the edge of the towel with both hands—and making absolutely no effort to do anything helpful with it. “Lucky you.”
She swallows. “I thought everyone had gone home after training this morning.”
“Most did.” I step closer, and her shoulders straighten slightly. “I don’t like distractions when I’m working out.”
She snorts. “That’s the biggest lie I’ve heard all week.”
My grin spreads. “Is it?”
“You love distractions,” she says, folding her arms. “You are a distraction. You stretch like it’s a performance and wink at your reflection between sets.”
I lift a shoulder. “Gotta keep morale high.”
“Theo, you did a whole plank circuit shirtless in front of the physio room window.”
“Coincidence.”
“You narrated it in third person.”
“ …Motivational coincidence.”
She exhales, but her smile’s trying to break through. “I’m going to assume that what you mean is: you don’t like distractions before a big match.”
“ Exactly .” I step in closer still, my voice lower and rougher now, just for her. “Although… that doesn’t mean I’m not still thinking about the distraction.”
Her breath hitches.
I don’t move away, and neither does she.
It’s quiet, for a beat. Too quiet.
She’s watching me. Waiting for me to push it further.
So I do.
Very softly: “Still wanna call yourself a distraction?”
She swallows. “You’re the one standing there dripping and smug in a towel.”
I grin. “So… yes?”
She stares at me for one heartbeat too long.
Then mutters, “You’re infuriating.”
“Thank you.” I smirk. “So, are you here for a behind-the-scenes, locker room thirst trap? You missed my best flex, but I’ll happily do it again for you.”
“Actually, I left my mic rig in the cabinet.”
“Oh.” I glance at her mouth. “So not here to ogle me, then?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
“You’re—god, you’re such a menace.”
“Only when I’m winning.” I let that settle before grinning. “And right now? I am absolutely winning.”
Her eyes flick to mine, all sharp, dark edges and frustration wrapped around something curious and hungry. She hates it—I can see that. The way her body leans in before she catches herself. The way her scent shifts every time I get too close.
And fuck , her scent. So sweet, so perfect.
She’s a match. I’ve never been more certain of anything—I’ve said it to the guys since day one. It’s everything that I’ve never had before: the way my instincts spike around her, the way my control frays when she’s in the room. It’s not just want, it’s chemical . Fated, even.
Pheromones don’t lie, and hers hit me like a damn drug every single time.
“You’re right, though. There’s a big game coming up,” I say, leaning in just enough that she’d only have to tilt her head to kiss me. “Lot of pressure. Lot of noise .”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “I know.”
I could reach out. Tuck that loose strand of hair behind her ear. Tilt her chin up and make her admit she wants this—wants me . But I don’t. I won’t .
Not until she gives me that green light.
“You gonna be there?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” I say. “I like knowing you’re watching.”
She opens her mouth—maybe to sass me, maybe to tell me to fuck off—but then I do the most dangerous thing I could possibly do.
I touch her.
Just a hand on her hip—just for a second.
Testing. Teasing.
Her breath hitches, and her scent spikes —sweet and sharp and heady as hell, and it hits me square in the chest.
“Careful,” I grin. “You’re making it really hard to pretend I’m being professional.”
“You’re not pretending,” she mutters.
“What? Me ? Not even a little?”
She glances away. “I’m getting the mic.”
“You do that,” I say, stepping aside. I don’t move far enough, though, and when she brushes past me, our shoulders collide—
Skin on skin. Heat against heat.
She sucks in a breath, but still doesn’t acknowledge it.
She makes it to the cabinet. I stay exactly where I am, watching as she bends at the waist to open it.
“Careful, sweetheart. Keep looking at me like that, and I might think you actually want me.”
She whirls. “You are—”
I can’t help but laugh as she crosses the room, flushed with fire in her cheeks and her breath picking up. My laughter wobbles slightly when her hand reaches forward, and then, faster than I can blink , she grabs the front of my towel and hauls me forward by two inches.
That’s all it takes.
She rises up onto her tiptoes so that her mouth can crash right into mine, and my brain short-circuits.
Frankie’s hands fist in the edge of my towel as mine come up to frame her face. She presses closer, and I growl into her mouth.
The kiss is messy and fast and filthy in the way only two people who have been flirting for weeks can manage. She gasps against my lips. I bite her bottom one.
And then she pushes me back against the lockers with a thud .
“Still winning?” she pants.
“Absolutely,” I smirk. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t.
The second her mouth touches mine again, everything else drops out. There’s no room for thought, no hesitation, no self-control left to pretend with.
Because this?
This is a green light.
This is an omega kissing her alpha—and I don’t do slow .
I grip her hips and spin us round, pinning her against the locker so hard the metal groans. My mouth devours her gasp, my tongue slick against hers, hands already moving—palming her waist, dragging up the back of her shirt to get at her bare skin.
She’s warm. Soft. Fucking perfect . And her scent—god, her scent is rising. Filling the room, filling my head . It’s sweet and heady and hers, and it’s wrapping around my instincts like a leash I’m begging to be yanked.
“You have no idea what you just started,” I growl against her lips, nipping hard enough to make her gasp again. “You walk into my locker room, smelling like that—wearing that—thinking you’d leave untouched?”
She makes a noise in her throat, and I kiss it right off her.
My hands slide down and grip under her thighs. She doesn’t need telling, she jumps—legs wrapping around my waist, hips pressing against me. I push forward until her back hits the lockers again, anchoring her there, feeling her heat through the thin material of her yoga pants.
“I’ve heard those sounds of yours in my head for weeks ,” I murmur. “You know that?”
She shudders.
“You think I haven’t noticed the way you watch me? How you breathe faster when I get close? How your scent spikes when I say your name?”
I press harder. Another grind. Her hips jerk toward mine, desperate.
“Say it,” I growl.
She bites her lip. “Say what?”
“My name.”
“Theo,” she whispers, wrecked.
“There we go,” I grin. “That’s a good girl.”
Her head falls back against the locker and I kiss down her throat, mouthing at her skin, licking at the sweat collecting under her jaw. She claws at my shoulders, back arching into me, and I drag my teeth over her pulse—just enough to make her hips snap forward again.
"You gonna let me help you out of these pants?" I murmur into her skin.
She nods without thinking, breathless.
I peel them off fast, letting her panties go with them in one firm tug. She’s already slick and completely soaked through, and my cock throbs under the towel that’s just about managing to stay low on my hips.
Her pupils blow wide as I drop to the bench, pulling her down with me. She straddles my lap, completely bare now, her knees spread wide. I don’t give her time to adjust: I pull her down hard onto my thigh, right onto the muscle.
She keens, breath ragged as she starts to move. Slow at first. Then faster.
Her slick coats my skin, her nails dig into my back. She’s panting and moaning, fucking herself on me like she was made for it.
“You look so good like this,” I murmur. “Fucking yourself on my thigh. Is that what you wanted, sweetheart? Right from that first day when you dropped onto the floor?”
Her hips stutter, and I squeeze tighter as her head drops to my shoulder.
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” she whimpers.
“Tell me who makes you feel like this.”
“You—Theo. Only you.”
And fuck, I want to knot her right now. Bond her. Mark her where everyone can see it.
I grip her ass and help her move faster, harder. Her cunt is dragging slick across my leg as her moans go sharp—breath catching, hands scrambling for something to hold on to.
“ Fuck , Frankie—you’re making a fucking mess of me.”
She’s flushed all over, and my cock twitches—hard and ready, pressed up against the towel that’s falling open around my waist.
“God, Theo, I can’t,” she whimpers. “I need more .”
“Tell me,” I hiss in encouragement, gripping her tighter. “Tell me what you need, Frankie.”
“You already know what I need,” she says through gritted teeth, her eyes squeezed tightly to a close, her head falling back as she pants in frustration. “Stop being a dick .”
“ Dick, you say?” I grin, swatting my palm against her ass. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
I stand in one smooth move, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist again as I walk us across the locker room, her pert ass held firmly in my hands, and press her back to the tiled wall near the showers.
"Take this off,” I tell her, tugging on the hem of her top.
She obeys. Arms up, shirt gone, tits bared. My mouth is on them in a second—licking, biting, sucking her nipple until she gasps. She arches against me, grinding down against the shape of me, and fuck , I’m done teasing.
I drop to my knees.
She stutters, dark eyes wide as she blinks down at me on my knees before her. “Theo, what are you—”
I ignore her, focused entirely on getting exactly what I want, what I need , which is my mouth on her. I throw one of her legs over my shoulder and bury my face in her cunt before she can finish her sentence.
And she screams.
Her hand shoots out, trying—and failing—to grab onto the wall for balance. I groan in sheer pleasure as my tongue drags over the length of her pink slit, reveling in tasting and scenting every last inch of her.
She’s soaked , her slick coating my mouth, dripping onto my chin—
And I eat her like it’s my goddamn birthright.
I press a thumb to her clit and suck her hard , groaning against her pussy when her thighs shake against my head.
“ Fuck , Theo—”
“You taste fucking divine ,” I growl into her, swirling my tongue right over her clit before kissing it sweetly. Her hips buck as I suck it into my mouth again, and I can’t help but grin at her squeals. “You want more, baby?”
“Please,” she gasps. “God, yes— please .”
I don’t make her wait.
I slide two fingers into her—slow, firm, angled just right—and curl them until she cries out.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I murmur. “Let me hear you.”
She clenches hard around my fingers, her hips jerking against my face without rhythm, completely lost in it all. I’m in my absolute element as I tongue her clit, steady and filthy until she’s panting again, begging me now.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—”
She comes.
It’s hard. Wet. Loud .
Her whole body writhes against the tile wall, but I don’t stop until she’s shaking, don’t pull my face from between her perfect thighs until she’s shoving at my shoulder because she’s too sensitive and too full and too fucking done.
I begrudgingly accept that it’s time for me to part from her, and I place one last kiss to her cunt before I rise, licking my fingers and my mouth clean, watching her blink at me with glassy eyes and legs that don’t quite work.
I press her back against the wall, grab her face, and kiss her—deep, possessive, claiming every noise she tries to make. She moans against my tongue, tasting herself against it, weak but still so wanting .
I pull back a touch, my eyes scanning her face, drinking her in. She’s fucking gorgeous like this, and I need her. More than anything.
“Now you get on your knees.”
Her eyes go wide as I drop the towel. My cock springs free—thick, hard, and already leaking.
I grin as her breath catches.
“Come and open your mouth, omega,” I say. “Your alpha’s been patient long enough.”
She swallows thickly, her eyes flicking between mine and my cock, before she nods slightly and then sinks to her knees. Her warm hands slide over my thighs, and her eyes remain locked on my cock, her lips fully parted.
“Atta girl,” I murmur, brushing some loose strands of warm blond hair back from her face. “You gonna be sweet for me?”
Her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip. "Show me what you want."
I groan, and my hand fists in her hair before I can stop it—gently enough not to hurt, but firm enough to guide. My breath shudders as she leans forward and licks the head of my cock.
“Don’t tease,” I warn through gritted teeth, my voice gravel-rough.
She grins, and does it again.
I open my mouth to warn her again, but that’s when she opens up and takes me in.
Fuck .
My eyes slam shut as her lips slide down my length, warm, wet heat enveloping me in one slow, perfect drag. She works me deeper with each pass, both hands steady on my thighs, sucking and stroking, messy and hot and fucking perfect .
I force myself to open my eyes and look down at her, my muscles taut, jaw clenched firm.
“You look so pretty like this,” I growl. “On your knees. Taking your alpha’s cock in that perfect mouth.”
She moans around me, and I swear, I nearly lose it. I let her keep going—let her set a rhythm with both of her hands and her mouth, let her bob her head relentlessly as saliva and slick coats her chin and her fingers—until my hips twitch forward, until I feel the pressure building low and tight.
I ease her off with a groan, grip tightening in her hair as I pull her back. Her lips smack open and then closed with a loud, wet pop, and I swear, she looks like pure fucking sin.
“Up.”
She scrambles to her feet obediently. She’s got that look again—flushed cheeks, pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-swollen and parted like she can’t decide if she wants to curse me or devour me.
Safe to say, we don’t make it far.
“Turn around,” I murmur against her jaw. My hands are already moving—palming her hips, guiding her toward the bench behind us, my towel long forgotten on the floor.
She spins without hesitation, palms bracing against the bench, that pert ass tilting right up at me. I drop behind her and run my hands down her thighs, and she lets out a sound that makes every alpha instinct in me howl for more.
“Is this really a good idea?”
“Sweetheart,” I grin, pressing a kiss to the swell of her ass, “good ideas don’t usually start in locker rooms. Lucky for you, I specialize in bad ones.”
She laughs, and there it is: that perfect little cunt—slick, swollen, and flushed, still glistening from the mess I made of her.
“ Fuck. I’ve been dreaming about this cunt,” I groan.
“You know, that’s not the kind of thing most people admit,” she pants.
I can’t resist any longer. I shift myself so that I’m towering above her on the bench and line myself up at her entrance.
“Yeah, well,” I slide the thick head of my cock across the entire length of her wet slit, coating it in her slick. “I’m not most people .”
She whimpers as her hips push back against me.
“You want it?” I ask, leaning right over her, my chest against her back, my mouth hot against her ear.
“ Yes, alpha.”
Fuck.
My cock twitches against the entrance of her cunt, desperate to dive right in.
“You ready for me to ruin you?”
She gasps. “ Please .”
That’s all I fucking needed.
I sink in—all the way.
Her body arches —tight, wet, and absolutely fucking unreal . I try to focus on the glorious sounds that she makes as I press in further, stretching her cunt out wide around my thick cock. I grind in deep, rocking back and forth slightly until I bottom out, and her fingernails dig into the bench like she needs it to keep her tethered to the earth.
“Oh my god ,” she breathes.
“Not god,” I grit out. “Just your alpha.”
She whimpers—high and wrecked—and I start to move.
Hard. Fast. Relentless.
The obscene sounds echo around the locker room—every wet slap of skin and grind of slick, every helpless noise from her throat, every low snarl in mine. Her scent perfumes everywhere , thick and sweet, clinging to my tongue, coating my throat, making it damn near impossible to breathe, never mind hold myself back.
My control’s hanging on by a thread as I pound into her over and over again, but she takes it.
Every. Single. Inch.
Her hips meet mine with each thrust, and she moans again, louder this time. I grab her hips tighter, groaning low as her body pulses around me, slick and swollen and still taking everything I give her.
“Say my name,” I growl.
“Theo—”
“Again.”
She cries out, voice cracking. “Theo, fuck , don’t stop—”
“Oh, I’m not stopping,” I grunt. “You wanted this, sweetheart. You looked at me in that cute little set, walked into the wrong locker room, gave me that omega scent and those smart little eyes like you didn’t know exactly what it would do to me.”
Her answer’s a broken, wordless sound, and I feel her start to tremble again. Try as I might to hold it off, I’m struggling to fight it any longer. My knot’s swelling, tight at the base, demanding as fuck.
“Come on,” I hiss. “Give it to me. I want to feel you lose it. All over me.”
“Theo— fuck —harder. Fuck me harder. ”
I give her exactly what she wants.
My hands move to grab at the flesh of her ass before I began to slam myself into her fully, the sound of her went cunt meeting my cock filling the air along with my growls and her cries. I pound into her with relentless force and speed, snapping my hips so harsh I’m surprised she’s able to meet me at all, never mind stay in position.
I’m close. So, so close.
And she’s clenching around me again, back arching, whimpering, ruined .
“Come on, Frankie. Come for me,” I snarl. “Come around your alpha’s cock.”
She shudders around me, thighs shaking, the kind of moan that would make a priest unholy echoing off the tiles as she comes apart completely. She soaks me in scent and slick and need, and I hold her through it, still fucking myself into her, so close to the edge.
I press in deep right as her entire body spasms. Her cunt grips me like a vice—
And that’s it.
I thrust once, twice more, and then my knot locks.
She gasps as it swells inside her, stretching her wide, locking me deep. I lean forward until my chest is flush against her back and groan into her neck, my hips jerking as I spill myself inside her.
It’s endless ; thick, hot pulses of my pleasure. My knot locks us together, and I hold her tight while we both ride it out; panting, shaking, skin slick with sweat and scent.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, in half-laugh, half-breath: “You’re gonna have to carry me home.”
“What, like this?” I laugh into her shoulder. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll drag you by the hips if I have to.”
She groans and turns her head just enough to meet my eyes. “You already did .”
Her body’s still twitching with the aftershocks, and her scent wraps around me like a second skin—sweet and soft and overwhelming.
I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“You’re impossible,” she murmurs.
“And you’re adorable when you’re ruined.”
“Arrogant.”
“Talented.”
She laughs again. It’s quiet, breathless, maybe a little stunned. I kiss her temple, then let the silence settle for a second before shifting just enough to look down at her.
“Hey,” I say, voice lower now. “You okay?”
Her eyes flick up. “Yeah. I mean… yeah.”
“You sure?”
She hesitates, and I see it: that flicker of awkwardness in her expression, the hesitation behind her smile.
“Because if you regret it,” I say carefully, “that’s okay. We stop. We reset. No pressure.”
“I don’t,” she blurts. “I don’t regret it.” Then, softer, a little wry: “I just… don’t know what happens now.”
“Well… we talk,” I say. “We figure it out. Together .”
“But—this whole… pack thing. I don’t know how it’s supposed to work. I’ve met people in packs before but I never asked—like, how they got there. Did someone just… decide? Was it an application process? Was there a spreadsheet?”
I grin. “I’m more of a flow chart guy.”
She swats my arm. “Theo.”
“I’m serious.” I shift a little, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing under her eye. “There can’t just be one way to do it. Some people bond first. Some scent-match and take it slow. Some use agencies and apps. Some have weird rituals and group calendars—I don’t know. What matters is this .”
I press my forehead to hers. “You. Me. Us . We figure it out.”
Her lashes flutter. “You’d want that?”
“Sweetheart,” I murmur, voice rough, “I’d bond you tomorrow if you let me.”
She sucks in a breath.
“But I know it’s fast,” I continue. “There’s no crazy rush, or anything. We’ll go slow if you need, or fast if you want. Whatever pace gets you there feeling safe.”
She’s quiet for a second.
“The others…” she whispers.
“They want you too.” My voice is steady. “We haven’t sat down and said it out loud, but we all feel it. Jax already smells calmer when you’re around. Finn’s smiling constantly. Rory’s started looking at you like you’re a puzzle he wants to solve with his teeth. And me?”
I pause, brushing my thumb tenderly along her jaw.
“I’m feral for you, Frankie.”
She’s flushed again—though this time, it’s for an entirely different reason.
“I don’t know if I’m cut out for pack life,” she admits. “What happens if I mess it all up?”
“You won’t,” I say. “It’s not all on you, you know. We’re equally responsible. But… I kind of feel like we’re all already yours—that we have been since that very first day, really. We’re just waiting for you to realize it.”
The silence stretches again, but it’s softer now.
I shift, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”
Her eyes flick up, and I know she hears what I’m actually asking this time.
The comments. The negativity. The weight of all the bullshit.
“I’m trying to ignore them,” she whispers. “And most of the time, I can. But on the big videos, I scroll too far, or I see something I didn’t mean to—and then it just sits with me.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m looking into it,” I tell her. “You know this isn’t normal burner behaviour, right? Especially not on sports videos, for god sake. There’s a pattern going on—something more to it—but it’s covered well.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I interrupt. “If you’re going to be part of this pack— our pack—then you’re going to be protected. That’s the whole point, right? You don’t go through shit alone.”
She blinks, then swallows. “That’s… really hot,” she says, her voice wavering a touch.
I smirk. “Told you I was talented.”
She laughs. Her eyes shine, and I lean in again.
This kiss is slower, deeper . Her lips go soft as her body warms. She’s still knotted, still held. Still mine .
It’s not a claiming—not yet—but it is a promise.
And I plan to keep it.