A circle. An open door. A wolf’s head. Three marks around the outside.
Our pack mark.
“I got us inked,” I say proudly.
Silence.
Then Meemaw raises her arm beside me and adds, “Me too, darling. Hurt like hell. Ten out of ten, would do again.”
Jason makes a sound that is absolutely illegal for an alpha, half laugh, half sob. His hands frame my arm with trembling reverence.
“You… you got our mark,” he whispers.
“We wanted to match,” I say. “Fiona too.”
Beau inhales. “You too?”
“Actually,” Fiona says. “I got the brand. “I hope that’s okay? I cried so hard the innkeeper offered me a lollipop. I took two.”
There’s a distinct sound of kissing, and Meemaw groans.
Jason’s breath hitches, then suddenly I feel him move off his chair, his hand on my knee.
I blink. “Jason?”
He’s shaking, just slightly, pressing a box into my hand. His scent is wild and soft all at once. He smells like love, fear, awe, devotion, all braided together.
“I was going to wait until dessert,” he says, voice breaking, “but I can’t. I can’t look at you marking yourself with my pack symbol and not—” He inhales shakily. “Open it.”
I do. My fingers whisper over the cold metal. A ring.
My heart stops.
Then starts again, too fast.
“Violet Ashford,” he says, voice trembling like he’s terrified I’ll disappear, “will you marry me?”
The air leaves my lungs.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes,” I say louder.
“Yes,” I laugh, sweeping forward into him. “Of course I will. Yes.”
Beau cheers so loudly wolves three counties over probably perk up their ears. Fiona squeals. Meemaw whistles and mutters something about “finally.”
Jason pulls me close, arms wrapping around me tight, forehead pressed to mine.
“You’re sure?” he whispers.
“Jason,” I say, cupping his face, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”
He kisses me, soft at first, then deeper, one hand sliding to my waist, the other cupping the back of my neck.
When we finally pull apart, Beau slaps Jason’s back.
“Don’t worry, Alpha,” he says proudly. “Beau the Builder will handle all your wedding backdrops.”