It's just cardboard, smooth and innocuous, and it burns my palm like a brand.
"Good girl," he says, satisfied, and some part of me hates that the words instinctively make my stomach flip.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Ragon's voice hits like a thunderclap.
The air between us snaps tight.
Chase's attention shifts over my shoulder, unconcerned.
He doesn't step back.
I stiffen.
The scent of smoke and pine and alpha command floods in from behind me, heavy and sharp.
"Ragon," I whisper, turning.
He's a storm walking.
Jaw clenched, eyes cold, shoulders coiled. He closes the distance in three long strides.
"Get your hand away from my omega."
Chase lifts both hands, palms out, still holding my gaze. "Didn't touch her. Just talking."
"And offering her things she doesn't need."
"Doesn't she? From where I'm standing, she looks like she could use a few better offers."
My stomach drops.
"Watch yourself," Ragon growls.
His scent spikes, dominance pouring off him in a thick wave that makes my knees want to buckle.
Other zoo-goers start to notice. Heads turn. A child tugs on a parent's sleeve.
I suddenly want to disappear.
Chase's eyes flick to the growing attention, then back to Ragon.
He takes a small step back. "Relax. I'm not poaching. Yet."
"Leave," Ragon says. The word is command.
Chase's lips curl, amused. He turns his gaze back to me for one brief, searing second. "Offer stands."
My fingers tighten around the card in my hand.
"Drop it," Ragon snarls.
Chase winks.
Then he turns and walks away, unhurried, disappearing into the crowd.
For a heartbeat, the only sounds are penguins splashing and my own heart trying to hammer out of my chest.
