For the first time in two years, the dreams don't come back.
Chapter 15
Jason
Walking into the bar the next morning feels different.
Maybe it's the mark on my neck, still tender and visible above my collar no matter how I try to adjust my shirt. I'd spent ten minutes in Ash's bathroom mirror trying to find an angle where it didn't show, and then another five accepting that there isn't one. The bruise is deep purple and red, the clear imprint of teeth visible if you look closely, and it throbs every time my collar shifts against it.
I love it. I love that it hurts. I love that everyone's going to see it.
Maybe it's the way Ash's hand rests on my lower back as we come through the door, possessive and easy, like he's been touching me this way for years instead of days. Maybe it's the way he slept last night—actually slept, deep and still, no nightmares, no thrashing. I'd woken up once around dawn and just watched him breathe, marveling at the peace on his face.
Maybe it's just that everything is different now, and everyone's about to know it.
Robin sees us first.
He's on the couch with a coffee cup from the place down the street, watching something on TV with the volume low. Killing time before work, probably.
His eyes go straight to my neck like he's got radar for it. They widen, and then his whole face splits into a grin so bright it's almost blinding.
"Holy shit."
I can't help it—I smile back, tilting my head to give him a better view. "I know, right?"
"Is that a—did he actually—" Robin's already off the couch, abandoning his coffee, crossing the room in three longstrides. He grabs my chin and tilts my head, examining the mark like it's a piece of art. "Jesus Christ, Ash, you really went for it."
"Robin," Ash says, a warning note in his voice.
"What? I'm admiring your handiwork!" Robin traces the edge of the bruise with his finger and I shiver, the touch sending sparks down my spine. "This is serious. This isn't a hickey, this is a statement. This is a goddamn declaration."
"It's a claim," I say, still smiling so hard my face hurts. "A permanent one."
"I know what it is." Robin's eyes are bright, almost wet, and his voice goes softer. "I just didn't think my emotionally constipated brother had it in him. Thought he'd die alone surrounded by tactical gear and protein powder."
"Robin." Ash again, flatter this time.
"Fine, fine, I'll stop." But Robin's smiling as he lets go of my chin. "I'm happy for you. Both of you. Even if Ash is going to murder me with his eyes right now."
"I'm considering it."
Robin ignores him and hugs me instead, tight and quick, his arms wrapping around me and squeezing. "You deserve this," he says quietly, just for me, his mouth close to my ear. "Someone to want you that much. I'm happy for you."
"Thanks," I manage.
Knox is at the bar, coffee in hand, watching us with sharp eyes. He's got that alpha stillness about him, the kind that says he's tracking every movement, every word, cataloging it all. Toby's next to him, not even trying to hide his smile, practically bouncing on his stool.
Knox's gaze moves from the mark on my neck to Ash, assessing. The silence stretches, and I can feel Ash go still beside me, his hand pressing firmer against my back.
"You planning to hurt him?"
"No," Ash says. Flat. Direct. No hesitation.
"You sure? Because that mark's permanent. For us, a bite like that—it doesn't fade. It doesn't heal clean. He's going to carry that for the rest of his life."
"I know what it is. I know what it means." Ash doesn't flinch under Knox's stare. Doesn't look away, doesn't shift his weight, doesn't show a single sign of backing down. "I'm not going anywhere."
Knox holds his gaze for a long moment. The whole bar seems to hold its breath.
