This is what they can’t touch.

Rose’s POV

The knot throbbed deep inside me, a living pulse that matched the frantic beat of my heart. Every tiny shift of Jason’s hips sent fresh sparks racing up my spine, even though the peak had already shattered me twice more since he’d first locked us together. His weight was perfect—solid, grounding, the broad planes of his chest pressing me into the scarred oak of his desk while his arms caged me like the safest prison in the world. The room smelled like us: pine-iron and rose-honey, sex and sweat and the faint metallic tang of reopened claiming bites. Papers lay scattered across the floor like fallen leaves, forgotten casualties of our surrender.

I traced the raised edges of the old scar on his collarbone again, my fingertip trembling. “I still can’t believe I did that,” I whispered, voice hoarse from screaming his name. “Marked you. Claimed you. A professor. My professor. If anyone finds out before we’re ready—”

“Shh.” His lips brushed my temple, then the fresh indentations of his teeth on my throat. The gentle laps of his tongue sent lazy aftershocks rippling through the bond, soothing and arousing at once. “They’ll know when we decide they know. Not before. And when they do, they’ll see two sovereigns standing together, not a scandal.” He rolled his hips in the tiniest circle, grinding the swollen knot against that devastating spot inside me. I gasped, walls fluttering helplessly around him, another trickle of slick and cum leaking around the seal. “Feel that? That’s us, Rose. Irrevocable. The board can schedule all the hearings they want. Marcus can sniff and scheme and seethe. But this—” another slow grind, “—this is what they can’t touch.”

I moaned softly, nails digging into his shoulders through the rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Marcus… gods, I saw the way he looked at me in the dining hall yesterday. Like I was something he’d already decided belonged to him. When he caught my scent this morning, his face twisted. Pure jealousy. He cornered Lila after breakfast, asking if I’d ‘finally come to my senses and picked a real alpha.’ She told him to crawl back to his eastern pack and choke on it. But I felt it through the bond—your wolf rising the second his name crossed her lips. You didn’t storm the hall, but I knew you wanted to.”

Jason’s silver eyes flashed, the possessive growl vibrating straight through his chest and into mine. His knot pulsed harder, as if the bond itself reacted to the threat. “He thinks because he’s young and loud and backed by old money that he has a claim. He doesn’t. Never did. You were never his to want.” His hand slid between us, thumb finding my swollen clit and circling with devastating patience while the knot kept me stretched and full. “Say it again, little omega. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I breathed, hips twitching despite the lock. “Only you, Alpha. My mate. My sovereign. Not some entitled pup who sees me as a trophy to parade in front of his eastern pack cronies.”

“Good girl.” The praise melted over me like warm honey. He kept the slow torture going—thumb, tiny rolls of his hips, the constant pressure of being so perfectly stuffed—until I shattered a fourth time, clenching and fluttering around his knot, sobbing his name into the crook of his neck. He followed with a low, broken groan, another hot pulse of cum flooding me until I felt swollen, claimed, owned in the most exquisite way. Through the bond, his silver wolf rumbled approval, nuzzling my russet form with a protectiveness that made tears sting my eyes.

We stayed locked like that for long minutes, breaths slowing, foreheads pressed together. The fire had burned low, casting the room in deep amber and shadow. Outside, the academy slept under a blanket of stars, oblivious to the war brewing in these stone walls. Inside, the bond glowed golden and steady, our wolves curled together—his massive silver form wrapped protectively around my smaller russet one, tails entwined like they had been forged that way from the beginning.

Eventually the knot began to soften. Jason eased back with care, slipping free with a wet sound that made my cheeks burn. He gathered me into his arms immediately, carrying me the few steps to the wide leather couch beneath the tall window. We collapsed there in a tangle of limbs, his big body spooning mine, one heavy thigh draped over my hip to keep me close. His hand stroked lazy patterns over my belly, where I could still feel the warmth of him inside.

“Tell me about the cabin again,” I murmured, nuzzling into the claiming bite on his throat. The mark was still tender, still humming with shared magic. “The one in the northern passes. The one you built with your own hands. I need to hear it tonight—need to picture a place where no one whispers behind our backs.”