Let the pup stare.

Rose's POV

"As my lady commands."

He slid home slowly this time—inch by thick inch—until the base of his knot kissed my folds once more. The stretch was still perfect, still overwhelming in the way that made the world narrow to just us, just the bond, just the certainty that we were rewriting every fear into strength. I wrapped my legs around him, heels digging into his back, and whispered against his lips, “Together.”

“Together,” he echoed, beginning those deep, rolling movements that rebuilt the fire between us—not as conquest, but as alliance. “Always. Through hearings and whispers and jealous pups who will never understand. Through whatever storm the board throws at us. Through exile if it comes to that. We ride north and build the life they tried to deny us—a cabin where pups learn that sovereign bonds are the oldest law, not the newest scandal.”

The night deepened around us, filled with more whispered plans and shared visions. We spoke of the cabin in vivid detail: the wide porch where we’d watch fireflies dance, the river where salmon would leap like silver promises, the meadow where our children—russet curls and silver eyes—would shift for the first time under open stars, unafraid. “They’ll never know the taste of herbal tonics,” I murmured against his chest during one quiet interval. “Never feel eyes judging their scents. Lila promised to visit—bring her grandmother’s old-law texts so we can teach them properly.”

Jason chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through the bond like distant thunder turned gentle. “And Marcus? He’ll fade into the background noise of academy gossip. A cautionary tale about what happens when possessiveness mistakes itself for destiny.”

By the time the sky outside the tall window began to pale, shifting from deep indigo to the soft gray of false dawn, we lay tangled on the couch once more. My head rested on his chest, his fingers tracing idle circles on my bare back. The claiming bites on both our throats throbbed in perfect sync, warm and alive. The scent of us saturated the room—unmistakable, sovereign, permanent. No herbal tonic could touch it now. No politics could erase it. The bond felt like armor forged in moonlight.

A soft knock sounded at the outer door—Lila’s familiar three-tap pattern, urgent but gentle. “Rose? Jason? Ravens just arrived. Elara’s seal is glowing like hearth-fire, brighter than I’ve ever seen. Marcus is already camped outside the ethics hall with half his pack—pacing the flagstones, snarling at anyone who looks twice. Whispers are everywhere: betas saying the board’s leaning toward a full scent audit at first light. But Thorne slipped me a note—Hargrove’s routing everything through him, burying complaints under ‘routine maintenance.’ The omegas are split—some scared, whispering in corners; some ready to stand with us, three seniors already waiting in the courtyard with statements in hand. Clara’s spreading poison like wildfire—‘She’s setting us all back’—but even she sounds desperate now. It’s time. The academy’s waking, and the old magic is stirring; even the stones feel it.”

Jason pressed one last kiss to my claiming bite, the touch lingering like a vow that sealed every promise we’d made tonight. His lips brushed the mark with such reverence that fresh tears—happy ones—pricked my eyes. “Ready, little one? We face them as equals.”

I nodded, though my pulse raced like a wild river in spring thaw. He helped me up, steadying me when my legs wobbled—not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what waited beyond the door, the culmination of every fear and every certainty we had woven together. We dressed slowly, deliberately, turning the act into its own ritual of defiance and pride. His fingers buttoned my blouse with careful reverence, pausing to trace the edge of my collar where the mark would show—two perfect crescents, proud and unmistakable, still faintly warm from the night’s reaffirmations. I straightened his shirt, leaving the top button undone so the claiming bite I had given him gleamed in the growing light, a silvered declaration for the world. No high collars today. No hiding. No more.

“Marcus will see this and lose what little control he has left,” I said softly, possessiveness of my own flaring hot through the bond. My wolf lifted her head, russet fur bristling with quiet defiance as she nuzzled closer to his silver shadow. *Let the pup stare. He will never have what we share. Never understand the equality that makes us unbreakable.*

Jason’s smile was slow, fierce, devastating—the smile of a war hero who had faced blizzards and now faced politics with the same unyielding steel. “Good. Let him scent the truth on both of us. Let every alpha in that chamber feel exactly who you belong to—and who belongs to you. Sovereign. Not claimed. Not owned. Chosen. Equals in the eyes of the old rites.”

Lila’s voice came again, softer through the door, laced with excitement and nerves. “I’ll walk with you to the hall. The courtyard’s already filling—students whispering in clusters, but some are nodding in support, betas exchanging glances like they’ve been waiting for this crack in the old walls. The old magic is stirring; even the stones feel it. Clara tried to rally more omegas against us, but two turned away and joined the seniors backing us. It’s happening, Rose. You two are rewriting the rules before they even convene.”

We stepped toward the door hand in hand, the bond humming like a live wire—fear still there, sharp and real as a northern wind, but no longer alone, no longer a wound. It was fuel now. Outside, the academy stirred with morning light and rising whispers. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, growing louder as we emerged. A group of betas fell silent as we passed, eyes widening at the visible marks, the intertwined scents that rolled off us like dawn breaking over the northern passes—pine-iron and rose-honey, sovereign and undeniable. One senior beta, a quiet girl from my tactics class, gave a small, respectful nod. “For what it’s worth,” she murmured, “the old law is on your side. We’re tired of the whispers too.”

Marcus waited at the ethics hall entrance like a storm cloud given form—broad shoulders rigid, scarred face twisted in barely contained jealousy that radiated off him in ugly waves. His pack flanked him, nostrils flaring dramatically as we approached, their postures stiff with forced superiority. The courtyard crowd thickened, murmurs rippling like wind through dry leaves. “Vale,” Marcus bit out, voice loud enough for the gathering spectators to hear every venomous syllable. “Professor Voss. Bold, showing up marked like that for all to see. The board will see coercion when they smell how deep it goes. An omega like you—mid-tier, impressionable, fresh from a scholarship pack—doesn’t just choose a tenured alpha without pressure, without influence. I warned you after orientation. I could have protected you properly.”

Jason’s grip on my hand tightened—possessive, protective, but calm as mountain stone worn smooth by centuries of storms. His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “Marcus. Jealousy makes a poor witness and an even poorer alpha. The Accord doesn’t care how loud you bark or how many cronies you rally. Step aside. This is between sovereigns and the law, not spurned pups throwing tantrums.”

I lifted my chin, meeting his dark eyes without flinching, the bond surging as Jason’s certainty flowed into me like tempered steel. My voice rang clear, steady despite the flutter in my chest. “I chose him. I marked him. Willingly. Deliberately. As his equal. If you call that manipulation, then explain why my wolf sings every time he’s near—why the bond hums with mutual choice, not coercion. Yours never did—because you never saw me as an equal. Only a prize to add to your collection, a mid-tier omega to parade before your eastern pack to boost your status. Your ‘protection’ is just another cage, Marcus. And I chose freedom. I chose him.”

Marcus’s face flushed crimson, jealousy boiling over into a visible snarl that made his pack shift uncomfortably. “You’ll regret this, omega. When they strip his tenure and send you home disgraced, marked as compromised, your family will disown you. The board will see the truth—power imbalance, scent tampering. I’ll testify myself. Everyone will hear how you changed overnight after one ‘tutoring session.’”

Lila stepped forward from beside us, voice cutting like a honed blade through the growing tension. “The only disgrace here is a pup who can’t accept he lost before he even started. The old magic doesn’t bow to eastern pack tantrums or jealous sniffing. Step back, Marcus. The Accord is already in the chamber. Your words won’t rewrite centuries of precedent.”

The crowd murmured louder now—some voices supportive, others shocked, a few alphas dipping their heads in subtle recognition of the sovereign weight rolling off us. Heads turned. Through the bond, Jason sent a pulse of fierce pride that warmed me from the inside out. *Together, little one. Always.*

We walked past Marcus into the ethics chamber, hand in hand, marks displayed proudly, scents woven irrevocably, wolves side by side in the shared landscape—silver and russet, unyielding. The heavy oak doors closed behind us with a resonant thud. Inside, the board waited—crimson banners hanging like judgment, stern faces arranged at the high table, politics bared like teeth in the dim lantern light. The air hummed with tension, the faint scent of ink and old parchment mixing with the undercurrent of anticipation.

Consequences loomed like storm clouds over the northern passes—hearings that could drag on for days, exile threats whispered in side chambers, family outrage that might reach us by raven before noon, Marcus’s festering jealousy already poisoning the corridors outside. But so did we.

Sovereign.

Claimed by choice, not circumstance.

Unbreakable.

Together.

And whatever came next—endless inquiries, potential transfer orders, the sting of public scrutiny, Marcus’s inevitable attempts to rally more opposition—we would face it as equals. The golden thread held firm, pulsing with every heartbeat. The old magic endured, older and wiser than any charter. And in the quiet space between heartbeats, where fear met certainty and transformed into resolve, I felt it fully for the first time:

We weren’t surviving the academy.

We were rewriting its rules.

One sovereign bond at a time.