I look around the room. At Robin, finally surrounded by people who care about him the way he deserves. At Toby, who's grown so much since I first met him—from Robin's shy college roommate into someone confident enough to love an alpha lion. At this pack of shifters who've somehow adopted me without question, without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I'm not a shifter," I say quietly.
"So?"
"So I'm not pack. Not really. Not the way you all are."
Jason lifts his head fully now, propping himself up to look at me. His expression is serious in a way that makes me pay attention.
"You think pack is about what you are?"
"Isn't it?"
"No." He takes my hand, presses it to the mark on his neck—my mark, still healing, permanent. I can feel his pulse under my palm, steady and strong. "Pack is about who you choose. Who chooses you back. You chose me. I chose you. Knox approved it. That makes you pack."
"Jason—"
"Knox already considers you one of us. He's protective of the pack—you've seen how he is with Toby, with Robin. He doesn't let just anyone in. But he let you in. That means something."
I start to see what he's saying.
"So does everyone else," Jason continues. "Vaughn asks your opinion on the bikes. Ezra saves you a seat at the bar. Silas nods at you when you walk in, and trust me, Silas doesn't nod at people." He settles back against my shoulder, satisfied. "You're pack, Ash. Deal with it."
On screen, something explodes—a building, maybe, or a helicopter, it's hard to tell. Robin startles, mutters "I was watching that," and immediately closes his eyes again.
I wrap my arm around Jason and pull him closer.
Pack.
I've never had that before. A family that works, people who show up, a place where I belong without having to earn it fresh every day. The military was close, but there was always the mission, always the ranking, always the awareness that any of us could be reassigned or deployed or killed and the unit would close ranks and move on.
This is different. This is permanent.
"Hey," Jason says softly.
"Mm?"
"I'm glad you came to check on Robin."
"Me too."
"Even though you called my bike cute."
I can hear the smile in his voice. "Your bike is cute."
He pinches my thigh, hard enough to sting. "My bike is a work of art."
"It's a cute work of art."
"I'm going to smother you in your sleep."
"You'd miss me."
"Yeah." He tilts his head up and kisses my jaw, soft and brief. "I really would."
The movie plays on—explosions, gunfire, the kind of noise that should feel familiar but feels distant now, like something from another life. The pack breathes around us, content. Robin snoring slightly. Toby murmuring something to Knox. Silas turning a page.
Jason's hand finds mine in the dim light, fingers interlocking, squeezing once.
