"Same thing."
"Tomato, tomato."
He starts walking.
Actually walking, with me still draped over his shoulder like a sack of particularly mouthy potatoes. Students scatter out of his path—whether from the sight of a pack Alpha carrying an Omega in public or from the expression on his face, I can't tell.
Probably both.
I wave at a few of them as we pass.
Queen of the parade.
Most ridiculous parade ever.
"Where are we going?" I ask, watching the floor move beneath me.
"Back to the house." His hand is still on my ass, keeping me secure. "Pack meeting. Kai wants to discuss the plan."
"And you couldn't just... walk me there? Like a normal person?"
"Normal is overrated."
"Fair point."
We pass through a set of doors—outside now, the afternoon sun warm on my exposed legs—and I realize he's taking the long way around the building. The scenic route. The path that will be seen by the maximum number of people.
He's making a statement.
Showing everyone who I belong to.
Marking his territory in the most public way possible.
The realization should bother me.
Should trigger all my defenses about being objectified, being treated like property, being used as a prop in someone else's display of dominance.
But it doesn't.
Because there's something in the way he's holding me—secure but not crushing, possessive but not painful—that doesn't feel like ownership.
It feels likeprotection.
Likepride.
Like he wants everyone to know I'm his not because he thinks he owns me, but because he thinks I'm something worth bragging about.
When has anyone ever thought that before?
When has anyone ever wanted to show me off instead of hide me away?
The answer is never.
Never.
In three years at this academy—in ten years since my parents died—no one has ever looked at me and thoughtI want everyone to know she's mine.
They've looked at me and seen crazy.
