"It was already logical. It was my system. Why do you keep moving my things?"
She blinks, startled. "I'm not—I was just trying to help make things more efficient."
"I don't need your efficiency!" My voice rises before I can stop it. "I need you to stop touching my stuff without asking. The pantry, the drawers, the hot sauce—every time I turn around, you've moved something. This ismykitchen, Marie. Mine."
"It's the pack's kitchen," she says, defensive now. "I'm part of the pack too."
"Then act like it instead of trying to erase me from every corner of this house!"
"I'm not trying to erase you!" Her eyes well up. "I'm trying to make things better. I'm trying to contribute. I thought—"
"I don't care what you thought," I snap. "Stop moving my things."
"Vee—"
"I said stop!"
The snarl comes from behind me.
Low, guttural, unmistakably alpha.
I freeze.
Ragon stands in the doorway, blue eyes blazing, dominance rolling off him in waves so thick I can barely breathe. His scent sharpens to smoke and iron and command.
"Enough."
The word cracks through the kitchen like a whip.
My instincts slam me to my knees before my brain catches up. I'm on the floor, head bowed, hands fisted in my lap, every nerve ending screamingsubmit submit submit.
"You do not speak to her that way," Ragon says, voice deadly quiet. "She is your pack sister. She was trying to help."
"I didn't—" I start.
"I don't want to hear it." He moves closer, each step deliberate. "You've been hostile since she arrived. Territorial. Possessive. It stops now."
Tears burn behind my eyes. "She keeps changingthings—"
"She's making a home here. Just like you did five years ago." He stops in front of me, towering. "You're going to apologize. And you're going to mean it."
My throat feels like it's closing.
I force my gaze up to Marie. She's pressed against the counter, face pale, eyes wide.
"I'm sorry," I manage. "I shouldn't have yelled."
"Vee—" Marie's voice cracks.
"Again," Ragon says. "Like you mean it."
"I'm sorry, Marie." The words taste like ash. "I was out of line."
Ragon's hand comes down on top of my head. Not gentle. A firm press of dominance and control.
"Better," he says. "Now go to your room. Cool off. I'll deal with you later."
I stand on shaky legs and flee before he can see me cry.
