Now I'm Yours | JJK

Distance Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

If you thought Jungkook would have become Prince Charming after claiming you as his mate during your designation celebration, you were quite wrong—and perhaps a bit disappointed. You moved to his pack lands a week ago, much to the disgruntlement of your old pack leader, Roland. It was the last thing he wanted for you; even if the Jeons agreed to adjust the boundary lines to where they were supposed to be, the centuries-long feud between the two packs was still a very sore subject.

You groan, blinking blearily at the weak morning light filtering in around the thick curtains over the windows across from the bed. At this point, it's a bodily habit for one of your hands to swipe across the space beside you, seeking information, despite the hum in your chest having already confirmed it. The other side of the bed is cold, devoid of your mate, his scent so faint in the room you know he never even laid in the bed last night.

It irritates you that he doesn't communicate or consider your well-being. You wouldn't be surprised to learn that he doesn't experience the same discomfort that you do being apart from him so often and for such long periods. It's the only explanation for why he can so easily leave you.

The intimate moments you shared well into the wee hours of the morning at your celebration seem like just a figment of your imagination, a figment your mind designed to taunt you. If it wasn't for the giant rock residing on your lefthand ring finger, you might think it was a dream. But the teardrop-shaped amethyst surrounded by chips of starlight opal, reminiscent of the gown you wore the night of your designation celebration, is a constant reminder that this is, in fact, very real.

It's not just the ring, which you came to learn is a family heirloom—the same ring his father gave his mother when they bonded—but also the ever-constant tug that you feel in the center of your chest, like a wildfire that refuses to be smothered. It's accompanied by a hum right under your breastbone that only lessens when you can put your eyes on Jungkook, which is harder than it probably should be. He's constantly gone, blaming his absence on being pack alpha.

So, you've spent most of your days since moving to the Jeon pack land with his mother. She's a wild contrast, every inch the demure omega you met the night of your celebration while simultaneously intimidating the hell out of you. All it takes is one look from her, and you feel stripped bare, your soul hers for the reading. It doesn't help when you periodically catch Jungkook's father looming in the shadows as if he's worried you might bring harm to his mate.

It's expected of you, now that you're to be the Jeon pack omega—Jungkook's mate and intended Luna—to learn the art of mending and lead the healers' circle. In Roland's pack, you stayed as far from the healer's quarters and clinic as possible, suited more for field work and strategic planning of pack land agriculture. The idea of setting broken bones and tending to wounds is not your idea of a great time; far too delicate of work. Yet, in the Jeon pack, the responsibility for pack health falls on the pack omega—which is what you are now.

You grumble, shoving back the blankets and stretching your aching muscles. It's not hard work, per se, learning medicine. That's not why your body thrums with a dull throb of tightness. It's the hours you spend pacing and waiting for Jungkook to come home. You hate it, staying up all hours of the night to the point your body grieves sleep and comfort alike; it's just not something that can be helped, damn him.

The rumbling hiss of the shower turning on in the attached bath draws your attention. "Fucker," you mumble under your breath, beelining straight for the closed door. "What the...fuck...is...your problem?" your question trails off, the words slowed by the sheer shock of what you find when you fling open the door.

Muscles. So many muscles. Thick, tattooed fingers wrapped around a straining, water-slick knot. The scent wafting through the steam is overwhelming. It stops you in your tracks. Whatever tirade was filling your head fades. It's been weeks since you've seen Jungkook's body not hidden behind leather and denim—since you've been able to get a lungful of his fresh, tantalizing scent. Saliva instantly pools under your tongue.