Chapter 15 #3
We joke about tomato sizes. Finn makes up backstories for each plant. Malcolm argues about whether the basil is plotting to overthrow the mint.
I laugh more in twenty minutes than I have in days.
"Your alphas okay with us invading?" Alex asks at one point.
"I told Ragon you were helping with the herbs. He grunted. That's alpha for 'fine.'"
As if summoned, I glance up.
Ragon's at the kitchen window. Arms folded, expression unreadable.
Our eyes meet.
He holds my gaze for a second, then nods once and disappears.
"Was that a window glower?" Finn asks.
"Yeah. He's practicing for his role as overprotective lion statue."
Finn snorts. "He does have big 'get off my lawn' energy. But, like, in a hot way? Is that weird?"
"Yes," Malcolm says.
"Correct," Alex adds.
We keep working.
Ragon comes out once, under the pretense of checking the fence. He walks the perimeter, scent thick and assessing, gives Alex the kind of polite nod that is also a challenge.
"Everything good out here?"
"All good."
"Our neighbors are competent with a spade," he observes.
"We try," Malcolm says.
"Just making sure no one's stealing my omega," Ragon says lightly.
The words make my heart stutter.
"Pretty sure she can't fit in my pockets. I tried. She bit me."
Ragon's mouth curves, there and gone.
He lingers a moment longer, scent sweeping over us, then heads back inside.
Alex watches him go, thoughtful.
"You okay?" he asks me, low.
"Define okay."
He nods like that's an answer.
We spend another hour poking at roots and talking nonsense. When they finally head back—Finn promising coffee—I feel smoother at the edges.
Less like I'm going to crack open the next time someone says scent match.
***
Later that night, we pretend to be a normal pack watching a normal movie.
Eli sits at one end of the couch, me in his lap, legs draped over the cushions, his arms around my middle. Ragon takes his usual chair, a glass of something amber in his hand.
The movie is forgettable. Something with explosions.
I don't care what's on.
I'm basking.
Eli's heartbeat under my ear. His fingers tracing circles on my hip. My scent and his blended.
For once, I'm not actively braced for impact.
The front door opens mid-car-chase.
Drake and Marie tumble in on a gust of cold air and popcorn scent, laughing. She's in a soft dress and tights; he's in jeans and a hoodie.
They look like a date.
They were a date.
My chest does that twisty thing.
"Hey. We're back. The movie was terrible."
"It was delightful," Marie corrects. "You just have no taste."
"I have impeccable taste. Look who I'm with."
She beams.
Eli's hand tightens on my hip; he presses his mouth briefly to my hair.
Marie's gaze flicks around. Lands on Ragon.
Without hesitation, she crosses and plops herself right into his lap.
No pause. No reading the air. No gauging his mood.
She just goes.
He grunts, more surprised than annoyed, and automatically adjusts to accommodate her.
Jealousy flares hot and lightning-fast.
Not because she's on him.
Because she didn't have to ask.
She didn't scan for tension lines in his shoulders, or the exact angle of his jaw, or the weight of his scent.
She didn't do the calculus I do every time I consider climbing into that chair.
She just assumed she was allowed.
And she was.
I feel suddenly heavy in Eli's lap.
"Did you guys have fun?" Eli asks, carefully neutral.
"It was nice. We got ice cream after. Drake won me a stuffed shark from the claw machine." She holds it up.
"She cheated," Drake calls from the kitchen, raiding the fridge. "She shook the machine."
"A valuable skill," Ragon says, amusement threading his tone.
They laugh.
I stare at the TV without seeing it.
"Hey," Eli murmurs. "You're grinding your teeth so loud I can hear it."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. Just don't break your jaw. Jasper will make us fill out forms."
I huff a tiny laugh.
Marie shifts in Ragon's lap, turning to face him more fully. She rests her hand on his chest like she has every right.
Maybe she does.
Out of nowhere, she says, bright and guileless, "So when are you going to officially bond me in and mark me?"
The room goes silent.
The movie keeps playing—cars flipping, explosions blooming—but the sound feels far away.
Every muscle in my body locks.
I go rigid against Eli.
His arms tighten reflexively.
Drake pokes his head back in, eyes wide. Jasper appears in the doorway like he materialized from shadows.
Ragon doesn't flinch.
Of course he doesn't.
He meets Marie's expectant gaze calmly.
"Soon."
The word is simple.
It lands like a grenade.
Marie lights up. "Really? You mean it?"
"Yes. You and Jasper will both be bonded in soon. We're finalizing timing. Logistics."
Jasper's brows tick up a fraction, but he doesn't object. He just tucks his hands in his pockets.
My mind is suddenly very loud.
Bonded in.
Marked.
Permanent.
Marie, with his mark on her neck. Jasper, with whatever version they settle on. The pack completing itself in the registry's eyes.
I should be purely sick with dread.
Part of me is.
Because this makes Marie not just a long-term guest. It makes her family. Irrevocable. Marked.
And I am not marked. I absolutely notice that he didn’t include my name in that ‘soon.’
I am still unclaimed skin and silent promises.
But.
There's a thread of something else under that.
Hope.
Because a few weeks ago, just before the ban, Ragon had said, Once Marie and Jasper are bonded in, you’re next. We do this right. No half-measures.
Once they're settled, you're next.
He’d changed his mind about bonding me before Jasper, giving me some excuse about everyone needing to settle in one at a time. But he promised Marie’s bonding would be the start of bonding all three of us.
My fingers curl in Eli's shirt.
"Vee," he murmurs, so low only I can hear. "Breathe."
"I am. Unfortunately."
Marie is talking again, excitement bubbling. "I've never had a proper pack mark. I've never wanted one. It'll be nice, you know? To wear something that says 'I'm chosen' and not 'I was bought.'"
Something flares in my chest, answering that ugly, honest truth.
I know that feeling.
Wanting proof.
Ragon's hand rubs a slow circle on her hip. "You are chosen. Mark or no mark."
She beams up at him like he hung the moon.
I stare at the flicker of his jaw muscle.
He's thinking past her question.
Past soon.
Past logistics.
He's thinking about the next step.
My step.
For the first time in months, my brain lets itself imagine it.
His mark on my neck.
Not as a reward for obedience.
Not as a leash.
As a promise.
A permanent, visible declaration that I'm not a placeholder. That I'm not second-hand. That I am theirs in a way no one can easily walk away from.
I imagine Eli's mark alongside it someday. Drake's teeth at my shoulder, gentle and sure.
I imagine walking past another pack in public and feeling no urge to curl in on myself.
Taken.
Wanted.
Kept.
The image terrifies me.
It also warms me from the inside out.
I don't know if Ragon remembers his promise in this exact moment.
He didn't mention my name.
He's not looking at me.
But Jasper is.
Eli is.
Drake's gaze flicks from Marie's thrilled face to mine, something like guilt and hope tangled together.
"Soon," Ragon repeats, voice flat and certain.
Marie practically vibrates with happiness.
I stay very still, Eli's arms around me, my heart doing vicious acrobatics.
Permanent part of the pack.
The thought of sharing them forever with Marie makes something in me want to snarl.
The thought of finally being claimed as worth keeping makes me want to cry.
"Vee," Eli whispers. "What's going on in there?"
"I don't know yet."
But a tiny, stubborn voice says: If they keep their word, you won't always feel temporary.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
One day, the mark on my skin will be proof that I survived all of this and was still worth staking a claim on.
That thought is dangerous.
It's also the only one that keeps my heart from cracking open completely as I watch Marie bask in a promise I'm desperate to believe extends to me.