Becoming Luna: My Triplet Alphas

Chapter 6: You'd be surprised

I leaned further back into the couch, my body sinking into the soft cushions as I watched the surreal scene unfolding before me. Jaxon’s eyes began to change right before my own. The caramel irises I had once found so warm and inviting seemed to come alive, the golden twirl within them actually starting to swirl. It wasn’t just a trick of the light. The colors darkened and deepened, yet somehow grew lighter at the same time, until they seemed to glow with an otherworldly luminescence.

My breath caught in my throat, and I found myself unable to look away. Behind him, Mason moved closer, his towering frame radiating intensity. His gaze was fixed intently on Jaxon, his posture tense and alert, like a predator ready to strike. The third man, the one whose name I still didn’t know, remained motionless near the door. He seemed to be waiting, observing, his presence a quiet yet powerful contrast to the growing storm in the room.

“Mate,” Jaxon growled, his voice no longer the smooth tone I had grown to trust. It was a low, guttural rumble that seemed to resonate deep in my chest. The sound pulled my attention back to him, making my eyes snap to his glowing gaze. “Don’t be afraid. We want nothing more than your happiness.”

My heart pounded in my chest, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind as I struggled to make sense of his words. Mate? Happiness? What in God’s name was happening?!

“Do you believe us?” Mason asked, his voice quieter than before, though still commanding. His intense green eyes shifted toward me, and as soon as his gaze landed, his entire demeanor softened. The tension in his broad shoulders eased, and he let his arms fall to his sides. “Stella?”

I glanced back at Jaxon, whose eyes were gradually returning to their natural color. He remained where he was, kneeling on the floor with his hands resting on his thighs. Despite everything, he made no move to reach for me.

“Go,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, trembling with the weight of my emotions. Tears pressed against the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill over. “Leave.”

“Stella,” Jaxon said softly, his voice almost breaking as he reached out for me, “please.”

“Go, Jaxon,” I said again, my voice a little stronger this time, though still quivering. “Leave me alone.”

“Stella, we can’t just leave you—not now,” he replied, his frustration and hurt written all over his face.

Tears spilled over and rolled down my cheeks. I could feel myself unraveling, my composure slipping through my fingers like sand. Soon, I knew I would break completely, falling apart in front of them. That was something I couldn’t allow. I didn’t need their pity, didn’t want them to see me like this.

“I don’t want you here,” I said, my voice trembling and barely above a whisper. My hands shook as I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, trying to hold myself together. “I can’t have you here.”

The first tear slid down my cheek, and with it came the flood. “You lied to me,” I said, my voice cracking as I looked directly at Jaxon. My brows furrowed, the betrayal cutting deeper than I had thought possible. “We were together for hours, Jaxon. Hours!” I saw the pain flash in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to stop the words pouring out of me. “You kissed me!”

“You kissed her?!” Mason roared, his booming voice cutting through the room like a thunderclap. He turned toward Jaxon, his face contorted with fury.

“Not the time, Mason,” Jaxon snapped back, his tone sharp. Then his attention shifted back to me, softening instantly. “Stella, I’m so sorry. I should have told you the second I saw you, I know that, but please, believe me—you are not in any danger.”

“You need to leave,” I whispered, my voice fragile and unsteady, tears streaming down my face now. “Now.”

Jaxon’s shoulders slumped as if the weight of my words had crushed him. I could see the tears welling in his eyes, though he blinked them away. The confident, charismatic man who had given me wildflowers, opened doors for me, and listened to my endless ramblings was gone. He was now a shell of himself, his pain raw and visible.

“Okay, Stella,” he said quietly, his head bowed. His hands rested limply on his lap. “We’ll go.”

“What?!” Mason barked, his green eyes flashing with defiance as he shot to his feet. “I’m not leaving her!”

Jaxon rose to his full height, his presence suddenly overwhelming. His chest expanded, as if he were drawing in all the oxygen in the room, his authority palpable. “We will leave her alone if that’s what she wants!” he said, his voice firm and commanding. He turned to Mason, his gaze sharp. “Or do you not care about her wishes?”

“If you ruin this—” Mason began, his voice dripping with frustration, but the third man placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

That small gesture seemed to defuse some of Mason’s anger, and he turned his eyes toward me. All three men were now looking at me, their features strikingly similar yet each distinct. The unspoken connection between them was undeniable, even as tension hung heavy in the air.

Finally, the third man nodded toward the door and exited my apartment without a word. Jaxon moved to follow, his hand lightly gripping Mason’s arm as he tried to guide him out. Mason resisted, his expression torn, but I spoke before he could say anything.

“Please, go,” I said again, my voice barely above a whisper. My arms tightened around myself as I sank deeper into the couch. “I need time.”

Mason’s green eyes searched mine, probing for something—understanding, perhaps, or permission to stay. But I couldn’t give him what he wanted. After a long moment, he looked away and stepped out into the hall.

Jaxon paused in the doorway, turning back to me. His caramel eyes were filled with longing, regret etched into every line of his face. “I’ll give you time,” he said softly, his voice laced with pain. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.” He hesitated, his hand on the door handle. “I’m really sorry about this, Stella. I wanted it to happen differently.”

His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he added, “Stella, I know this isn’t fair, but you can’t tell anyone.”

I met his eyes, my own gaze hardening. “Nobody would believe me anyway,” I said, surprising myself with the bitterness in my tone.

“You’d be surprised.”

With that, he closed the door behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on me like a heavy weight. The energy in the room had shifted, leaving behind an emptiness that felt both suffocating and eerily calm.

My eyes fell on the bouquet of wildflowers sitting on the coffee table. Just hours ago, I had admired them, smiling as I thought of Jaxon. Now, they seemed to mock me, a reminder of the kiss we’d shared and the impossible truth I was now forced to confront.

He's a f*****g werewolf?!

How could this be real? All my life, I’d been told that the supernatural was nothing more than myth and fantasy. And yet here I was, living in a reality that defied everything I thought I knew.

I wiped my tears away, though they were quickly replaced by fresh ones. My chest ached with the weight of it all, but I knew I couldn’t let myself drown in confusion and despair.

I needed answers. And the only way I knew how to make sense of the impossible was to start researching.

My mind buzzed with thoughts too chaotic to allow rest. Giving up, I got up and gathered every book I owned—anything on werewolves, folklore, and legends—and spread them across the living room floor. I flipped through pages filled with stories that conflicted wildly. Some described werewolves as savage, bloodthirsty creatures, driven solely by their primal instincts. Others painted them as cursed beings, transformed by the full moon, losing all traces of their humanity.

But amid all the variations, one theme was consistent across the tales: werewolves were dangerous.

According to folklore, you could identify a werewolf by its face. A wolf wouldn’t grin at you, but a werewolf would—a dark, knowing grin that betrayed its human intelligence.

The illustrations were no less disturbing. One old drawing depicted a monstrous beast, its elongated snout dripping with saliva as it crouched in the shadows, glowing eyes piercing through the darkness. Muscles bulged beneath its matted fur, and its teeth gleamed like daggers. Another showed a wolf-like creature mid-transformation, its body grotesquely contorted, half-human and half-beast, as it devoured a helpless victim.

I shuddered, but my eyes were drawn to the next page, where a massive wolf stood on its hind legs, its back hunched and fur bristling in rage. Its eyes were hollow and demonic, its fangs sinking into the tiny, lifeless form of a baby. My stomach churned violently, and with a sharp breath, I slammed the laptop shut.

My breathing grew erratic, my chest rising and falling with short, shallow gasps. I pressed a hand to my racing heart, willing myself to calm down.

I stood abruptly and began pacing the room. My mind replayed Jaxon’s words. You’re not in danger. We want nothing more than your happiness. They had all insisted I was safe, but their intense gazes lingered in my memory. The way they looked at me had made my skin crawl, not because I felt physically threatened, but because it was so raw, so unrelenting, like they could see through me entirely.

Especially Mason.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss the thought, but it clung to me. The way Mason had stormed into my apartment, scooped me up, and held me so close—it hadn’t felt like I was being consumed. It had felt... inevitable. Like he just needed me near, as though the very act of holding me was a relief for him.

My eyes flicked to the couch, where a messy pile of books and papers lay scattered. Most of them were novels I had read before, some multiple times. Many portrayed werewolves as heroes—passionate, fiercely protective creatures who would do anything for the person they loved.

I picked up one of the books, running my fingers over the glossy cover. Three impossibly chiseled men stood on a cliff, their muscular forms barely concealed by scraps of clothing. The scene glowed with the golden light of a setting sun. I knew the story well—triplets who discovered their one true mate, a young woman whose life was turned upside down on her eighteenth birthday. It was an over-the-top, steamy fantasy filled with love and adventure.

Sighing, I tossed the book back onto the couch and turned toward the window. The sky had begun to brighten, the first rays of sunlight painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink. The colors bled into one another, creating a serene canvas that momentarily quieted my racing thoughts.

Wrapping myself in a blanket, I stepped onto the small balcony attached to my apartment. The morning air was cool against my skin, and I sank into one of the metal chairs, tucking my feet beneath me. The balcony was small but cozy, with a round table and two mismatched chairs I’d found at a thrift store.

With a deep breath, I opened another book.

I read without stopping, losing myself in the fictional worlds. Each story presented its own version of how the werewolf community functioned, some with detailed hierarchies, others with looser structures. But one detail stood out across nearly every tale: the concept of mates.

Werewolves, according to legend, had mates—one person destined to be their perfect match. The bond was described as unbreakable, creating a connection so deep it transcended anything imaginable.

You’re our mate. Mason’s voice echoed in my mind, calm and unyielding. Our. That single word replayed over and over. I was their mate. That was how he had phrased it, with no hesitation. No doubt.

The memory of his anger flashed through my thoughts. You tried to keep her from us, he’d accused Jaxon, his voice charged with fury.

The words repeated themselves, intertwining with the endless descriptions from the books. Mates. One true love. A connection that defied logic.

Time slipped by unnoticed until the sound of my front door creaking open startled me. My gaze darted to the clock on the wall—4:57 p.m. I had been awake for over twelve hours.

“b***h!” Lainey’s familiar voice rang out, cheerful and loud. “I brought pizza!”

I turned toward her just as she stepped into view, holding the pizza box aloft like it was a prized trophy. Her brown eyes scanned my face, and her expression softened instantly.

“This isn’t just a wine-type of problem, is it?” she asked, setting the box on the coffee table. Her gaze caught on the bouquet of wildflowers Jaxon had given me.

“Stella, what happened?” she asked gently, her voice tinged with concern.

The moment felt safe, like I could finally let go. For years, Lainey and I had weathered countless heartbreaks and breakdowns together. She had seen me at my worst, and I had done the same for her.

“I can’t tell you,” I said, shaking my head as tears spilled over.

“What do you mean?” She moved toward me, pulling me into a tight hug. Her hand rested softly on the back of my head, her voice warm and soothing. “You can tell me anything.”

“Not this,” I whispered. “I want to, but I can’t.”

Her brown eyes searched mine, filled with a mixture of confusion and understanding. After a long pause, she nodded. “Okay,” she said, her hands squeezing my shoulders gently. “What can you tell me?”

We sat together on the couch. I wiped at my tears, willing myself to find the words.

“I met a guy,” I began hesitantly. I told her about Jaxon—how we met, the date, his family, and the way everything had gone so horribly wrong. I avoided the specifics of the bombshell he had dropped but shared the emotional fallout.

Lainey listened intently, asking thoughtful questions but steering clear of the secret I clearly couldn’t share. That was her way—always respecting boundaries while offering unwavering support.

“Why do you think he didn’t tell you at first?” she asked after a while, her head tilted as she sipped her wine.

I stared down at my hands, folded tightly in my lap. I had changed into shorts at some point, though I still wore the oversized T-shirt I’d slept in. My hair was pulled into a messy bun, and I felt utterly disheveled.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, meeting her gaze. “I don’t get why he didn’t just tell me.”

“Maybe he was scared of how you’d react,” she suggested, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Maybe he wanted to wait until you liked him enough to handle it when he finally told you. Be honest,” she added, pointing her wine glass at me, “would you have gone out with him if you’d known everything from the start?”