I laugh. “You just want me to keep my toes off your legs.”
“That too,” he smirks.
Then he turns and, without hesitation, leans in to kiss Graham. Nothing drawn out, just a firm press of lips to say hello. Graham kisses him back just as naturally, one hand slipping around his waist in quiet acknowledgment.
That warmth stirs something deep in my chest. I’ve noticed the small things between them before—touches, looks, moments that spoke louder than words—and Carson basically confirmed they’re a real pack. But seeing it?
It feels right. This is exactly where I belong.
Hunter steps in a few seconds later, closing the door with less fanfare than Carson’s grand entrance. He doesn’t say anything at first, just crosses the room with that grounded, sure-footed purpose that’s so uniquely him, and stops right in front of me.
“Hey, princess,” he says. “How was your day?”
I puff out my cheeks before slowly releasing the breath, trying to decide what version of the story I want to give him. Eventually, I settle for the highlights.
“I had a good practice,” I say. “Told Landon off, helped Graham cook, ran into Finn at the store…and discovered what a softie Graham really is.”
Hunter’s brows lift at my list, but he doesn’t react the way I expect. There’s no sharp intake of breath at Finn’s name. No frustration about Landon. No teasing about Graham’s alleged softness.
Instead, he studies my face.
His gaze lingers—slow and careful—taking in every detail and checking for cracks. For bruises that might not be visible.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
His hand finds my waist, warm and grounding. “Then that’s what matters.”
I blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of his answer. No interrogation. No judgment. Just trust.
“But for the record,” he adds, his thumb brushing lightly against my side, “if Finn so much as breathes in your direction the wrong way, you tell me.”
“Why? You gonna growl at him from across the street?” I ask, my voice light, but my heart pounding.
He leans in, voice low, rough with meaning. “No. I’ll make damn sure he remembers whose omega you are.”
Heat flares across my skin.
Not because of the words alone, but the certainty behind them. The promise.
Not if I’m his omega. Whose.
“Oh, my God,” Carson says, dragging the words out like he’s witnessing something scandalous. “Did we just witness the strong, silent alpha pull a full territorial swoon? Are we… are we sure you don’t have omega blood somewhere in that stoic body?”
Hunter doesn’t look at him.
He just shrugs, one corner of his mouth tilting. “She’s mine. I’m allowed.”
“Damn right you are,” Carson replies easily, then turns to me and fans himself dramatically. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m jealous—but if someone wanted to throw me against a wall and stake a claim, I wouldn’t say no.”
I burst out laughing, the tension bleeding out of me with my joy.
Graham snorts from across the room. ”You already are claimed.”
Hunter lifts an eyebrow at Carson. “You want to be thrown against a wall, you just have to ask.”
Carson’s grin goes positively feral. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”
