All of it. All at once.
Does she want me to add my bite mark, too? Do Iwantto?
Emery looks at me with eyes that seem to search my very soul. “Ranier?”
“Yeah?”
She takes a deep breath and then, for the first time since entering this study, hesitates. “… if you wanted to, you could. We’re all in Everhart Pack together.”
It hangs there, a dare and a lifeline at the same time.
My pulse thunders in my ears. Every nerve ending ignites as the truth slams into me with physical force. Her scent floods my senses—candy-sweet and primal—awakening something feral beneath my skin. The walls of my control crack, then shatter. Legacy, duty, family expectations—they all burn away in the inferno of this moment. I've been fighting a war against my own instincts since Omega Selection Day, denying what my body has been screaming: she is mine. She is ours. The alpha in me claws to the surface, desperate to claim what it has recognized from the first inhale. My hands shake with the effort of restraint. One more second and I'll combust.
I close the space between us and kiss her. I capture her mouth with mine and dip Emery into a gentle kiss.
The moment our lips meet, the world contracts to a single, breathless point. The office, the heavy mahogany desk, the ancestral portraits glaring down in judgment—all of it dissolves in the rush of heat that tunnels through my chest and lights up my synapses. Emery’s lips are soft, tasting faintly of blueberry and sugar. She freezes for a millisecond, then melts into it. Her fingers clutch the edge of the desk but her body leans into mine, as if drawn by a force neither of us can name.
Everything I’ve been holding back—fear, anger, want—funnels through this kiss. My hand finds the small of her back. The shape of her fits perfectly against my palm, delicate but solid, and I pull her closer, greedy for the contact. I feel her exhale against my mouth, a nervous laugh or a sigh, and thevibration goes straight to my core. I want to devour her and protect her in the same motion: a contradiction I will never resolve.
Emery’s other hand finds my wrist, tentative. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she tilts her chin and kisses me back, open and honest, her scent blooming between us in intoxicating waves. I’m dizzy with it, high on her and the reckless abandon of finally, finally letting myself have what I want. My teeth catch on her lower lip. I nearly lose my mind when she whimpers, just once, quiet and pleading.
The room is so quiet I can hear the clock in the hall, the whisper of her breath, the soft crackle of air between us. The only thing louder is the thrum in my chest.
Emery pulls back and looks straight at me, not smiling for once. There’s a dare in her eyes and I’m choking on it.
I reach out and tuck a loose strand of her blue hair behind her ear. My hand hovers there, trembling with the effort not to grip, not to claim. She tilts her head, eyes steady, daring me to do it.
I give in.
I bend down and kiss her again, then trail my mouth along her jaw and down to her neck. Her skin is soft, pulse frantic under my lips. She shivers when I inhale, her scent dizzying, overpowering. Resistance is futile. I nip at her throat, not hard, just enough to tease.
Emery gasps, then laughs, then gasps again as I bite down, a little harder this time, enough to mark her. My hands are in her hair and at her waist. Hers are on my chest, then my shoulders, then in my hair, pulling me closer. Always closer.
When I pull back, Emery’s smiling—and she ismine. Ours.
Everhart Pack’s omega.
“There,” Emery says. “Now everyone knows I’m yours. That I belong to Everhart Pack for good.” Then she giggles. “So much for not desiring me, huh?”
I kiss her again and don’t let go until we’re both too tired to continue. Then she leaves for the night. There will be so much more time for what’s to come, but today was a lot, and she’ll have to recover from three alpha bites.
And tomorrow is a brand-new day for Everhart Pack.
CHAPTER 26
Emery
The trickto painting after a massive emotional hangover is just let the chaos happen. So I drag my brush through a glob of green paint and let the pigment tear itself across the canvas. My bedroom studio smells like acrylics, paper, and the ghost of cotton candy, all softened by the sheer bliss of victory.
I won Ranier over. I did it.AndI am still alive. I am still here, and for the first time, there’s nothing left to prove.
The bites on my neck are high and obvious, a matching set now. They don’t hurt. They’re just warm and a little sore. I touch them sometimes, just to feel the way my heart slams under my skin, but today I keep my hands busy with paint.
Outside the nest, everything is quiet. Ranier is at a Council meeting, probably ruining someone’s morning with his glare and his flawless suit. Bastion took the bike out for a joyride. Wyatt… well, I can hear the faint clatter of his fingers on a laptop in the next room. He’s probably making memes about the mayor again. If there’s anyone in the world who could turn “accidental omega matriarch” into a trending hashtag, it’s Wyatt Whitlock.
The painting isn’t going anywhere. It’s many lines away from being good, but I don’t care. There’s a lightness in my chest thatmakes it impossible to focus, like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.Because there’s always another.
Someone knocks on the door.
