Where they're not just convenient or useful or decorative but actually loved.
I force brightness back into my tone deliberately, trying to lighten the mood that got heavier than intended.
"You guys would protect me from threats, right? I mean, I can totally fight too! I'm basically trained! I took two whole self-defense classes! I'm basically a certified badass warrior!"
Grayson's smirk widens into something more playful and teasing.
"One class," he corrects smoothly, his eyes twinkling with obvious amusement. He leans in slightly and adds in a stage whisper like he's sharing a scandalous secret, "Nash already told me you completely slept through the entire second one. Didn'teven wake up when the instructor called your name three times increasingly loudly."
I groan dramatically and loudly, my head falling forward against his chest in exaggerated defeat.
"He's such a snitch! He specifically promised he wouldn't tell anyone about that! That's betrayal! Pack betrayal! Violation of trust!"
In my defense, the instructor had a really soothing voice and the mat was really comfortable and I'd been up late the night before working on content. It wasn't my fault sleep was more appealing than learning to punch properly.
Grayson chuckles at my dramatic protest, but then his entire energy shifts dramatically. The playfulness evaporates. His hands move from my waist to cup my face gently but firmly, tilting my head up with careful deliberate pressure until my eyes lock directly onto his honey-hazel gaze.
The playfulness drains away completely, replaced by something intense and serious and deeply sincere that makes the air between us feel charged with electricity.
"What?" I ask quietly, suddenly nervous about the weight and gravity in his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong?"
"We would protect you," he says firmly, deliberately. Each word weighted with absolute certainty and promise. "Without question, hesitation, or doubt. Always. Every single time. No matter what the threat is or where it comes from."
He looks even deeper into my eyes, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes everything else in the world fade away until it's just us.
"No one gets to touch what's ours, Reverie. No one gets to hurt you or threaten you or make you feel unsafe or scared ever again. That's not a hypothetical or empty words. That's a promise. A vow. An absolute guarantee."
He means it.
I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. This isn't just pack politeness or temporary protection during a contract. This is real.
But how can it be real when the contract ends in five weeks?
I smile, warmth spreading through my chest like sunrise breaking through clouds. But reality creeps in inevitably, cruelly, tempering the beautiful moment with harsh truth I can't ignore.
"But it's already been a week," I point out softly, trying desperately to keep the sadness and fear out of my voice and failing miserably. "Only five weeks left before the contract is officially done. Before I have to pack up and leave and find somewhere else to go."
Before this all ends and I have to go back to being alone in that tiny apartment. I lose this feeling of belonging and safety and being wanted. Before everything goes back to how it was when I was invisible and unwanted and just existing instead of living. Five weeks isn't enough time. It'll never be enough time with them.
Grayson leans in closer, eliminating the space between us inch by careful inch. His thumbs stroke my cheeks gently, tenderly, like I'm something precious that might break.
"What if we want to keep it permanent?"
My brain completely stutters to an absolute halt. All thoughts scatter like startled birds.
"Wait. What? What do you mean by that? Permanent how?"
He leans in even closer until his lips are barely, barely brushing mine—not quite kissing but close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, can smell the maple-honey scent that's distinctly his mixing with my own vanilla-caramel, can see every fleck of color in his eyes.
"What if we're not voiding the contract when it ends," he whispers against my lips, his voice rough with emotion. "Whatif we've come to the unanimous conclusion—all three of us together—that we want you permanent. Not temporary. Not a trial period that expires. Permanent pack bond. Official. Legal. Forever."
I'm completely speechless.
My mind is simultaneously racing a million miles an hour and completely blank. Words have entirely abandoned me.
Permanent? They want me permanently? This isn't just about finishing the contract anymore? They actually want to keep me? Want me to stay? Want me as their Omega forever?
His eyes soften dramatically, becoming tender and vulnerable in a way I so rarely see from him.
