Mine to protect.

Rose's POV

Breakfast in the great hall was torture dressed as normalcy.

The long oak tables groaned under platters of eggs, fresh bread, and spiced porridge. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows depicting ancient pack founders, casting colored patterns across the stone floor. I slid into my usual seat at the omega end of the table, keeping my head down, hood still up even though it was against etiquette indoors. Lila was already there, dark curls bouncing as she gestured wildly about something. Mara sat across from her, quiet as always, picking at a slice of toast.

I reached for coffee with hands that still trembled faintly.

Lila stopped mid-sentence, nose flaring. Her eyes widened.

“Rose… *gods*. You smell—” She leaned in, voice dropping to a scandalized whisper. “You smell *mated*. Like… pine and steel and… *claimed*. What happened last night? Did you finally—?”

I nearly dropped the mug. Hot coffee sloshed over my fingers, but I barely felt the burn.

“Nothing,” I lied, the word scraping my throat raw. “Just… stayed up late in the archives. Old texts carry strong scents sometimes.”

Mara gave me a long, skeptical look but said nothing, bless her. Lila wasn’t so easily deterred.

“Archives don’t leave bite marks under your collar,” she murmured, eyes flicking to the high zip of my jacket. “And they definitely don’t make your eyes glow like that. Rose, if you’re in trouble—”

“I’m not,” I cut in too sharply. My wolf bristled, protective. *Ours. Not theirs to question.* I forced a smile that felt like broken glass. “Really. Just… tired. Suppressants are messing with me again.”

Lila didn’t believe me. I could see it in the worried crease between her brows. But she let it drop, squeezing my wrist under the table once before turning back to her eggs.

The bond pulsed again—stronger now. Jason was fully awake. I felt the moment he sat up, the cool air on his bare chest, the instinctive reach across the bed. Confusion sharpened into something tighter. Concern. Not anger. Never anger. Just… steady resolve wrapping around the thin golden thread between us like armor.

*Little one.*

The endearment ghosted through me, soft as a caress. I closed my eyes for half a second and let myself feel it—the warmth, the safety, the absolute certainty that he would come looking for me if I didn’t come back.

I stood so fast my chair scraped loud enough to draw glances.

“I need air,” I muttered, and fled before Lila could protest.

---

The walk to Lore class felt like marching to judgment.

Students streamed through the corridors now, voices rising, laughter echoing off stone. I kept my head down, braid swinging like a noose, high collar choking the bite mark that still burned. Every alpha who passed flared their nostrils. A few seniors slowed, eyes darkening, but my wolf snarled silently—silver flashing in my own gaze for a split second—and they backed off. The bond hummed approval, Jason’s pride brushing mine even from wherever he was preparing for lecture.

*Good girl,* it seemed to say. *Mine to protect. Mine to cherish.*

Guilt twisted harder.

By the time I reached the lecture hall, my palms were damp. I took my usual seat in the back row, notebook open like a shield, hood still up. The room filled slowly. Whispers. Laughter. Normalcy that felt like mockery.

The door opened at precisely nine.

Jason entered.

Controlled. Composed. Every inch the respected professor in charcoal jacket and crisp white shirt, silver eyes calm as winter sky. He didn’t look at me at first. He set his notes on the podium with precise movements, voice smooth and authoritative as he began.

“Today we continue our discussion of irrevocable bonds in historical pack law.”

The bond thrummed the second his presence filled the room—aware, present, searching. He felt closer now. Grounded. Not panicked. That unsettled me more than fury would have.

He lectured without notes, pacing slowly, scarred forearms flexing as he gestured. The room hung on every word. But mid-sentence, while discussing the consequences of forbidden claims in the old territories, his eyes lifted.

Found mine.

Held.

The look was not accusation. Not wounded pride.

It was decision. Steady. Unbreakable. A promise wrapped in silver.

“As I’ve said before,” he continued, voice never wavering, “claiming is not about dominance. It is about responsibility. A true alpha does not take a mate lightly, nor does a true omega offer her soul without full awareness of the weight.”

A subtle emphasis on *responsibility*.

My pulse skyrocketed. Fingers gripped the edge of my desk until wood creaked.

“When one wolf chooses another across lines society deems impassable, that choice carries consequence. Running from those consequences does not erase the bond. It only strains it.”

His gaze remained locked on mine for three full heartbeats. The air in the room shifted. Students shifted uncomfortably, sensing subtext they couldn’t name.

Heat flooded my neck beneath the high collar. The bite mark throbbed in time with my heartbeat.

My wolf stilled completely. Listening. Hopeful.

He turned back to the board as if the moment had never happened, chalk scratching neatly: *Irrevocable Bonds — Mutual Protection, Not Isolation.*

The message was clear.

*You cannot protect me by leaving.*

Something inside me cracked wide open.

Because part of me had desperately hoped he would let me go quietly. Spare himself the risk.

He wouldn’t.

Not out of possession.

Out of partnership.