Page 132 of Claimed By the Psychos

Such a country boy.

"My what now?" I echo, thinking I've heard wrong.

Juniper settles into the chair, pulling her shirt off her shoulder to expose the smooth skin where a mating mark would traditionally go. The skin I've bitten a hundred times over, even if the mark always fades eventually. The last one is barely visible. "Your mark, Felix. I'm getting marked by the pack tomorrow night, and I want to wear yours first."

"Juniper, I can't—" The words stick in my throat. Can't mark her. Can't bite her. Can't give her that thing that alphas aresupposed to give, that biological claim that saysminein a way nothing else can. I used to think I wantedto be an alpha, but these past couple of months have made me realize I just wanted to know she belonged to me. I wanted to protect her, to be everything she needed. "You know I can't?—"

"Sure you can." She grins up at me, and it's soft and wicked and perfect all at once. "You're going to bite me hard enough to leave an impression, and Roxy's going to tattoo it. Make it permanent."

I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't process what she's saying.

"We've always done things differently," she continues, reaching for my hand. "Outside the box, unconventional, completely fucking insane by most people's standards. Why should this be any different?"

"It's perfect," I manage, because it is. It's so perfectly Juniper, so perfectly us, that it feels like I'm actually going to break from pure happiness.

That's new.

Roxy's already prepping her equipment, moving with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they're doing. "I'll need you to bite through this," she says, holding up a piece of plastic wrap. "It'll leave a perfect impression without breaking skin. Then I'll trace it, make it permanent."

My hands are shaking as I move closer. The alphas are watching but not crowding, giving us space for this moment that's ours even as they witness it.

"You sure?" I ask Juniper one more time, because I need to hear it again.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she says, tilting her head to expose her neck. "Mark me, Felix. Make me yours first."

Roxy positions the plastic wrap over Juniper's shoulder, right where a traditional mark would go. "Bite down firm andhold for about ten seconds," she instructs. "Need a good, clear impression."

I lean in, and Juniper's scent hits me full force. Her heat's definitely ramping up, probably triggered by the significance of this moment. She smells like home and wildflowers and forever, and when my teeth close over her shoulder through the plastic, she gasps.

"Fuck," she breathes, and I can smell her arousal spike, can feel her trembling under my mouth.

I bite down harder, making sure the impression will be clear, and count to ten even though every instinct is screaming at me to either pull away or bite through the barrier and claim her properly. But this is enough. For now.

When I pull back, there's a perfect impression of my teeth in Juniper's skin, and Roxy nods approvingly. "Perfect. This'll work beautifully."

She immediately fires up the tattoo gun and I step back to let her work, but stay close enough Juniper can reach for my hand when she needs to. The buzz fills the shop, and I watch as my mark becomes permanent on her skin, each line etched in ink instead of broken blood vessels, but no less meaningful for it.

Juniper's discomfort is obvious, but not from the pain. Her heat's ramping up faster now, triggered by the significance of being marked, even unconventionally. She's squirming in the chair, thighs pressing together, and I can see the alphas shifting restlessly as her scent gets stronger.

"Good thing we got those nesting supplies," Elias murmurs beside me. "I think she'll be in full heat by tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Did you all help plan this?" I ask.

He smirks. "The tattoo? That was all Juniper's idea. But we knew Roxy already. She's one of the omegas we've helped over the years. No one else we'd trust with our girl."

The words make a strange warmth spread through my chest, even if they once would have stirred only jealousy. I know he means it in the collective sense.

Ourgirl.

Ourpack.

I look at Roxy again, seeing her differently now. She's so confident, so clearly thriving, that I never would have guessed she'd been through what we had.

"You wouldn't know it from looking at her, would you?" Elias asks softly.

"You helped her," I say, and it's not really a question.

"We got her out," he corrects. "The foundation made sure she had support, therapy, whatever she needed. But she did the hard work. People heal in their own ways, in their own time."