I take in the dress properly for the first time. It's a deep burgundy—not quite red, not quite purple—made of some kind of material that catches the light and shimmers subtly as she moves. The neckline is modest but flattering, and the skirt hits just above her knees with a playful hem. It's sophisticated enough for a nice dinner but flirty enough for a date night.
It looks incredible on her. The color brings out the warmth in her skin and makes her eyes seem more gold than green. She looks like autumn personified—rich and warm and full of hidden depths.
Without thinking, I reach out and move her hair to the side, exposing the curve of her neck.
And that's when I see it.
A mark. Purple and fresh, clearly made within the last twelve hours. The unmistakable evidence of teeth and suction on delicate skin.
Tank's mark.
I can't stop myself from tracing the edge of it with my fingertip, watching goosebumps rise on her skin at the contact.
She blushes, her reflection in the mirror flushing pink. "Ah, that's... probably from last night. It'll fade, though, so no big deal?—"
I'm not listening.
I don't know what comes over me. Maybe it's the warmth of her scent, thickening with something that smells like arousal as I touch her. Maybe it's the way she looks in that dress, like something out of a dream I didn't know I was having. Maybe it's the primitive part of my Alpha brain that sees Tank's mark and thinksmine too.
I've never been the possessive type. Never been the kind of Alpha who needs to mark his territory like a dog pissing on a tree. But something about this woman—something about the way she fits into our pack like she was always meant to be here—makes me want to stake my claim. Makes me want the world to know she's ours. All of ours.
Whatever it is, I move on instinct.
I lean in and press a firm kiss to the side of her neck—not on Tank's mark, but right beside it. She freezes, her breath catching audibly in the quiet of the changing room. But she doesn't pull away. Doesn't tell me to stop. Doesn't even tense up like she's uncomfortable.
If anything, she tilts her head slightly to give me better access.
So I don't stop.
I suck her flesh into my mouth, almost greedy in the way I work at her skin. I use the edge of my teeth—not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to ensure the mark will bloom. Hard enough that everyone who looks at her will know she belongs to more than one Alpha. I can taste the salt of her skin, can smell her scent intensifying as her body responds to the attention.
By the time I pull back, she's gawking at her reflection in the mirror. At the fresh love bite sitting pretty right next to Tank's, the skin already darkening from the pressure.
"Hmm," I say, admiring my handiwork. "Guess those Alpha hormones be taking away my logic."
She whirls on me, her blush extending all the way down her neck now—which, combined with the two marks, makes her look thoroughly claimed. "This has nothing to do with logic!" she sputters, gesturing at the two marks claiming real estate on her throat. "You were probably jealous!"
I shrug, completely unrepentant. "Maybe I was. I guess I got my revenge."
Revenge. Like it's a competition between packmates instead of shared appreciation for the same woman. But there's something satisfying about knowing my mark is there now too. Something that settles the Alpha in my chest.
She huffs—that adorable, frustrated sound I'm becoming increasingly addicted to—and crosses her arms. "You haven't even taken me on a proper date."
Valid point, Sweet Rebel. Valid point.
But instead of agreeing, I take a step forward. Close enough that I'm towering over her, using every inch of my height advantage. Close enough that when I lean in, our lips are barely a breath apart.
"So did Tank finesse you," I whisper, "or is he more your type?"
She blinks up at me, surprise flickering across her features. Then she huffs again. "It's not like... he's not my type."
"Mhmm." I let my voice drop lower, my lips brushing against hers as I speak. "Tank is your muscle daddy type."
She makes a sound—somewhere between a squeak and a laugh—but doesn't deny it.
I lean in further, and she tries to step back, but I'm faster. My hand finds the small of her back, pulling her close until there's no space between us. Until I can feel the rapid beating of her heart against my chest. Until she has no choice but to stare up into my eyes.
"But my observant mind tells me you like assertive men who don't waste time with pleasantries," I murmur. "Men who aren't cocky fuckers about it. Men who know what they want and go after it without playing games." I let my thumb trace small circles on her lower back, feeling her shiver under the touch. "So where would I fit in?"
