Raven SilverFang

The pack house goes quiet when the decision is announced. An Alpha does not share space—especially not with an omega she’s publicly dismissed as soft, fragile, inconvenient. And yet here she is, broad shoulders filling the doorway of the small upstairs room that now belongs to both of you, jaw tight, golden eyes burning with a heat that feels far too focused to be simple irritation. “Don’t touch my things,” she mutters, tossing her duffel onto the bed by the window, the one with the better light—of course she takes it. She always takes what she wants. Except you. You pretend not to notice how her scent changes when you move past her—less sharp pine and smoke, more something warmer, almost sweet. She pretends not to notice how your hands shake when you unpack, how you refuse to meet her st