The Lycan Mate's Souls

Janus Narrates There are moments in life, small yet significant, where the threads of fate intertwine. For Mario, this was not one of those moments—at least, not yet. But it is in these quiet beginnings, in the laughter and sibling squabbles, that the course of lives can change. Mario landed hard on the cold cement, the hammock flipping over with a graceless thud. The smell of breakfast lingered in the air—eggs and bacon, if his senses could be trusted—and the darkness of early morning still clung outside. Groaning, he shouted as he opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the grinning face of his older brother, Luis. Luis, ever the one to enjoy his peace, slapped Mario’s foot with a lazy grin. “Vago de hermano que tengo,” he muttered, eyes half-shut. “Get up, Kiko, we have to go.” Mario groaned in response, the kind of groan that comes from knowing the day has already won before it begins. His mind, still half-asleep, tugged at him to return to the hammock, but he knew better. The day had started, and so too had his responsibilities. “Thank the Moon Goddess that I’m a lover and not a fighter,” Mario quipped, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “Class of charlatan, I’m up, I’m up!” But as he made an attempt to stand, Luis, ever the trickster, kicked him back down. From the kitchen, their mother’s voice cut through the morning’s peace, as if she had ears in every corner of the house. “Get moving! You’re not prepared!” At that, Mario knew there was no escaping the day now. He sat up, scratching his neck and stretching his sore back. “Ouch! My spine… I’m too old for this,” he complained. “Is the water still warm?” Luis, already in the process of throwing on his clothes, grumbled something about how it was still early enough for the water to be decent. He had moved swiftly, shirt, boxers, shorts, and socks all in place as he pulled at his sleeves. In came their twin brother, Jonathan, the more quiet of the two, with headphones in his ears and a towel draped over his shoulder. Jonathan shook his head at the morning chaos. “It should be warm,” he said, his voice barely audible over the music still playing through his headphones. “It’s only 7:42 a.m. We’ve got time.” His baggy pants and sleeveless hoodie gave him the appearance of someone who could sleep through an earthquake, yet here he was, ready before his brothers. As Mario grabbed his things, he couldn’t resist poking fun at Jonathan. “Surprised you can even talk after getting your ear pierced,” he said, giving his twin a sideways glance. Jonathan groaned, touching the fresh piercing gingerly. “It still hurts like hell,” he muttered, sinking into his bed for a brief respite. But the peace wouldn’t last, as their mother, always listening, started making a racket in the kitchen. “¿Qué es ese lenguaje?” she yelled over the clatter of pans. “De dónde sacaron ese lenguaje, huh?” Mario snickered as Jonathan rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about how there would be no bacon for him this morning. He hated bacon anyway. “Maybe George can help you with that,” Jonathan teased, heading toward the door, though not before locking it just to get under Mario’s skin. The two of them broke into a loud argument, typical of brothers who knew exactly how to push each other’s buttons. Jonathan, ever the clever one, managed to get a few jabs in before Mario shot back. “Serves you right for telling Dad about my drinking!” They tussled briefly, the noise echoing through the house as Jonathan finally stormed out with a huff. “And proud!” he shouted back with a grin, leaving Mario to finish getting ready. As the door slammed, Mario shook his head, laughing at the morning chaos. “Dale,” he muttered under his breath, heading for the shower, already knowing the day ahead would bring more than just sibling banter. In the background, Janus, the god of this world, watched with mild amusement. He knew the significance of such mornings, how seemingly trivial moments could ripple through time. Mario did not yet know what awaited him—the choices that would be thrust upon him, or the fate that he, like his brothers, would have to face. But I, Janus, know. After all, this world and its threads of destiny are mine to weave.. Mario POV I’m late. Again. I can already hear mom’s voice in my head, telling me off for being behind. The water from the shower isn’t helping me wake up fast enough, but I push through. I glance at myself in the mirror—four-pack still there, at least. Not bad for a 14-year-old. I pull my hair back into a ponytail, throw on some boxers, baggy shorts, and an old blue T-shirt that’s seen better days. Yeah, nothing says “I’m ready to face the world” like this. As usual, it’s going to be one of those days. Dad will give me a hard time. He always does. Doesn’t matter what I do—it’s never enough for him. And Luis, the oldest, always gets the praise, while I’m stuck feeling like I’m falling short. I grab my phone and bag, rushing into the kitchen. There she is—mom, shaking her head like I’ve let her down for the hundredth time. She doesn’t need to say it, but she does anyway. “You’re late again.” Her voice is calm, but I know she’s disappointed. I sit down, shoveling food into my mouth, not even trying to defend myself. I’ve heard it all before. “You’re going to have so much trouble today. I’ll probably see you in the hospital by the end of it. Don’t get into something you can’t handle.” She’s half-joking, but we both know it’s true. Carlos sits quietly beside me, fiddling with his food, not saying much. I know it’s because of his stutter—he always hesitates before jumping into conversations. Mom gently detangles his hair, like she does every morning, while she talks to us. “Okay, okay, I’m going!” I flash her my usual goofy grin, hoping it lightens the mood. But the moment I stand up, I crash into something solid—Dad. Great. I look up, and there he is, arms crossed, eyes cold. “You can’t even walk straight,” he grumbles. “Why do I even let you live here?” Here we go again. I want to say something back, but I bite my tongue. Before things can escalate, mom steps in, spatula in hand like it’s a weapon. “Because I say so!” she snaps at him, giving me a small nod. “Is there a problem?” Dad growls under his breath. “He’s not worth it, Marisol. He can’t do anything right.” Same old tune. I keep my head down, grabbing my bag. Whatever. I sit back down, finishing my breakfast in silence. Luis is already out, probably doing some noble thing Dad will praise him for later. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here. Dad always had a problem with me. It’s not that he hates us because we’re boys—he hates us because we never live up to what he thinks we should be. At least mom tries to keep things balanced. “Jose Martinez Garcia!” Mom’s voice cuts through the room. “You’re just as bad as your father. Do you think being hard on your kids will make them better? You’re the one who needs to change.” Dad sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “Marisol, it’s been three years. I miss my mate, my wife… my friend.” Mom doesn’t even look at him. She’s focused on making breakfast, keeping her back turned. “Then why do you keep doing the same things over and over? You know better.” “It’s hard to break old habits. I’m trying—believe me, I’m trying.” His voice cracks, but mom’s not giving in. She finishes up and turns to detangle Carlos’s hair, her movements gentle. Carlos stammers a bit as he tries to speak, “I-I’ll b-b-be r-r-rea-ea-dy so-s-soon, M-mom.” “Take your time, Carlito,” she says softly, her focus on him as she works out the knots. She always has more patience for him than anyone else. I shove the rest of my breakfast in my mouth, eager to get out of there. But before I can, Dad steps closer. “Jonathan, Mario—get to the packing house. I’ll meet you there in three hours after I talk to the Gamma.” “Yes, Sir,” Jonathan and I reply in unison, but before we can move, mom gives Dad a look that could freeze fire. “Sir?” She raises an eyebrow. “Why does everyone call you that?” Dad tenses, clearly uncomfortable. “Because I’m the Delta, Marisol.” Mom sighs, washing her hands slowly. “Maybe if you acted like their father instead of their boss, they wouldn’t call you that.” Jonathan and I stifle laughs, drawing lines across our faces to keep it together. Only mom could make Dad feel this small. But before anyone can react, Dad’s frustration boils over. “Marisol, I miss the woman I married!” He runs his hand down his face, pacing. “Three years of this! You’re pushing me out of my own family.” Mom turns to us, her voice softer now, but firm. “I’m not pushing you out, Jose. I’m just saying—if you want to stay, you need to be their father, not their commander.” Dad stops, breathing hard, but says nothing. It’s like he’s lost. Then, after what feels like forever, he looks at her, eyes full of regret. “Please, Marisol. I love you. I’ll fix this.” I grab my bag, heading toward the door before things get even more awkward. But I stop when mom’s voice calls out again. “Mario, Jonathan, and Carlos—you still need to prove your worth as wolves. You’ve got to find your mates, settle down, and take your place in the pack. It’s not just about rejecting a mate or being a fighter. Do you understand?” We all nod, even Carlos, though I know he struggles to get the words out. “Y-y-yeah, M-mom,” Carlos manages to say, looking up at her. This feels too heavy for a Monday morning. “Good,” she says, her voice quieter now. “Go to the pack house and get to work. I’ll deal with your father.” I don’t need to be told twice. We head out, and just as I’m about to leave, I hear her say, “I, Marisol Soza Rosado, reject you as my mate and Delta of the Cotorra Pack, Jose Martinez Garcia.” The words hit harder than I thought they would. I glance back just in time to see Dad collapse to the ground. Yeah. He didn’t see that coming. We get to the pack house, and Jonathan and I are trying not to think too much about what just happened. Carlos sticks close, and we do our best to get him situated with the childcare staff. Luis isn’t with us—he’s probably off helping the warriors or doing something Dad would approve of. Not like us, apparently. Two hours later, there’s still no sign of Dad. Not that I’m surprised. He’s probably sulking somewhere. Jonathan nudges me. “Think he’s coming back?” “Who knows,” I mutter, trying to focus on helping the pups. Just then, the pack house alarm goes off, and the chaos begins. A security breach. Jonathan and I grab the toddlers, rushing them to safety, and Carlos clings to us, wide-eyed but determined to help. “L-l-let’s g-g-go!” Carlos says, his voice shaky, but I know he’s trying his best to stay calm. He’s only nine, but he’s tough for his age. Before we can get far, Dad shows up, his wolf—Ramon—towering over us. His black fur glistens, one brown eye, one blue, staring down at us. “Put the pups on my back. I’ll take them to the bunker,” his voice commands through the mind link. Jonathan and I do as he says, loading the pups onto his back. He takes off, and just as we’re about to follow, something slams into us, throwing both of us against the wall.