His jaw flexes. "I know this is hard."
"Do you?" I ask. "Because from where I'm standing, this seems pretty easy for you. New omega shows up, perfect scent match, and now you're just... rearranging furniture."
"Vee." His voice drops lower, that warning edge creeping in.
But I can't stop. "What happens when she gets here, Ragon? When your instincts decide she's the one who really matters? When you have to choose?"
"I'm not choosing," he says firmly. "That's the whole point. We're keeping both of you."
"Until it becomes inconvenient," I whisper. “Until you decide I’m too much trouble and everything will be easier with me gone.”
Something in his expression cracks. For just a moment, I see past the commanding alpha exterior to something raw underneath.
"Come here," he says, voice gentler now.
I don't move.
He sighs, long and slow, then crosses the distance himself. When he's close enough, he reaches out and cups the back of my neck with one large hand, thumb pressing just below my ear in that spot that always makes my instincts settle.
"Look at me," Ragon says.
I force myself to meet his eyes, my much smaller frame dwarfed by his presence.
"I would have ripped their throats out if I'd been there when your first pack sent you back," he says quietly. "You know that, right?"
My throat tightens. "You weren't there."
"No," he agrees. "But I'm here now. And I'm not them."
"You're doing the same thing they did," I say, and my voice breaks on the words. "Bringing in someone else. Someone your instincts want more."
His hand tightens slightly on my neck—not painful, just grounding. "My instincts are not the entirety of who I am or what I want. Neither are Drake's or Eli's. Yes, her scent hits us hard. That doesn't erase five years of you."
"It feels like it does."
"Then we're failing you," he says bluntly. "And we'll do better. But Vee, you have to meet us halfway. You can't spend every waking moment attacking Drake or mocking Marie before she's even walked through the door."
Heat rises to my cheeks. "I'm allowed to be angry."
"You are," Ragon agrees. "You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to hate this. You are not allowed to take that out on the entire pack every second you open your mouth."
"So I just shut up and smile?" I whisper. "Be the good little omega while you rearrange my whole life?"
"You will behave like the omega of this household," he says, and there's steel in his voice now. "Which means you do not throw barbs at Drake every time he speaks, you do not mock Marie before you’ve even met her, and when I give you a direct instruction you do not ignore it."
My eyes sting. "Why does she get all this consideration? 'Oh, poor Marie, be nice to Marie, welcome Marie.' Where was this protectiveness when it was just me? Where was this spine when the last pack sent me back like a defective appliance?"
A muscle jumps in his cheek. "You know damn well I would have ripped their throats out if I'd been there."
"You weren't," I say again. "You're here. Now. Doing this."
His scent spikes with pure frustration. "This isn't about her getting more consideration than you. It's about you not turning vicious because you're scared."
"Iamscared," I snap. "Congratulations on noticing."
"That doesn't give you license to lose control of your mouth," Ragon says. "Omega or not."
Rage, hot and humiliated, flares through me. "What are you going to do, Ragon? Ground me? Take away my phone? Send me to bed without dessert?"
