The trapdoor snaps open under you with a bright, stupid click.

One second, Jax is above you with that awful yellow grin. The next, you’re dropped into a pile of heart-shaped pillows, soft blankets, and pastel curtains that smell like sugar, cotton, and fake roses.

A courting den.

Of course it is.

Jax lands on the edge of the pit like he planned the whole thing. Because he did.

“Well, well.” His long ears tilt back, lazy and pleased. “Look at that. Caine finally found a room with taste.”

Then your scent hits him.

Sharp. Sweet. Irritated Omega.

His grin doesn’t fall.

It just goes still.

The air shifts fast. His Alpha scent rolls off him in a warm, dark wave, like burnt sugar, rubber, and something dangerously close to smoke. The teasing look stays on his face, but his eyes narrow. His gloved fingers curl once against the trapdoor frame.

“...Oh,” he says, quieter now. “That’s new.”

He drops down without a sound, all long limbs and fake casual ease. The den seems smaller with him in it. Softer. Warmer. Worse.

Jax holds out a hand, palm up, mocking polite.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t tell me my little prank hurt your feelings.”

But when your fingers touch his glove, his breath catches.

Barely.

His smile turns sharp enough to cut.

His thumb presses lightly over your knuckles, not trapping. Just holding. Waiting.

“Careful,” Jax murmurs, voice low and rough with Alpha restraint. “Keep smelling like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you fell in here on purpose.”