POV: Tristan
I kept my hand firmly on the small of Rena’s back as we entered the tactical archive. It was a public statement. I wasn't hiding her in my chambers like a shameful secret; I was bringing her into the heart of the pack’s operations.
The room was filled with map-tables and senior scouts. As we entered, the scratching of quills stopped. Heads turned. I felt the sharp, prying sweeps of their senses, searching for the tell-tale scent of a mating bite on Rena’s neck. When they found nothing but the lingering, integrated scent of my own aura wrapped around her like a second skin, the murmurs started.
"She’s still clean," a Beta scout whispered to his partner. "He didn't mark her."
"Maybe he couldn't," the other replied, his voice dripping with doubt. "Maybe the Omega blood reject
