Because he did.
Owen’s growl builds in his chest as his hand slides to my lower back.
Protective.Possessive.Branding me with his touch in front of the others without a single word.
I should resent it.Demand he allow me to stand on my own two feet—but I'd be lying if I said I didn’t like it.That I didn’t crave this kind of attention from him.
I swear, I feel it under my skin like a second heartbeat.
I’m his.
And more than that?
He’s mine.
“This place is insane,” I whisper, scanning the space.“How does the DPCA not know about this?”
“Oh, they do,” he says.“But like you said, it’s on our town’s land.Our territory.Jun even has a pact with the local Shifter Council allowing supes to come to dine.No violence.No politics.Just food.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling.“No violence, no politics, just food.Sounds like a t-shirt.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Agent.I’ll tell Jun.He loves merch ideas.”
We slide into a private booth, the table already hot, the metal grill in the center glowing faintly red.Within seconds, a tall, broad-shouldered man with thick black hair and a sleeve of tattoos appears with a tray ofbanchan—all those delicious Korean side dishes thatgowith the meal—and a plethora of sliced and marinated meats.
The enormous man looks at me.
Then at Owen.
Then nods once, solemnly.
“You must be the DPCA agent,” he says in a deep, rumbly voice that screams Bear Shifter.
Owen just grins.“This is Agent Megan DiNapoli.”
Jun gives me a look that’s not unkind, just assessing.
I square my shoulders, meeting it head-on.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
After a beat, Jun nods.“You’ll do.”
And then he walks away.
Owen chuckles.“That’s high praise, by the way.”
“I gathered,” I say dryly, but warmth blooms low in my chest all the same.
Because this place?These people?
They might be rough and weird and covered in fur and secrets, but there’s something else here too.
Something I didn’t even realize I’d been missing.
Belonging.
Between bites of galbi and sips of cold barley tea, I watch Owen cook for me.
