Becoming Luna: My Triplet Alphas

Chapter 7: We're okay

Jaxon: I know it's a lot. I know you need time. Please let me answer your questions.

Jaxon: Research if you must, but don’t trust everything.

Jaxon: Are you okay?

Jaxon: Please just answer, so I know you’re okay, Stella.

Jaxon: You're making me freak out.

Jaxon: It’s been almost thirty hours. Text me back.

Stella: I have questions. Meet me at the coffee shop just by my apartment tomorrow at one.

Jaxon: I’ll be there.

Lainey and I spent all of Sunday together, dissecting everything that had happened over and over again. No matter how many times I replayed the events for her, they still didn’t make sense. Lainey, ever the curious friend, tried to guess the bombshell news, throwing out increasingly wild theories, none of which even grazed the truth. Eventually, her guesses turned into jokes, and we both burst into laughter that bordered on hysterical—perhaps the only way to keep from crying.

At some point, I crashed on the couch, the emotional exhaustion finally catching up with me. When I woke up, Lainey was sound asleep in my bed, the apartment noticeably tidier than when I’d last seen it. Trust Lainey to handle not only my emotions but my messes too.

Grateful but still frazzled, I decided to make us breakfast. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air as I prepared French toast, and soon enough, Lainey emerged from the bedroom, her hair a chaotic halo around her face. “You’re a saint,” she mumbled, grabbing a mug of coffee and joining me at the table.

Over breakfast, we delved into the topic once again. Lainey, in her infinite wisdom, decided it was best for me to meet with Jaxon and get the answers I so desperately needed. “If you want to forgive him for keeping it a secret,” she said, her tone unusually serious, “you have to get all the cards on the table. And if you choose to forgive him, you have to do it fully.”

Her maturity lasted all of five seconds before she added, smirking, “And you have to decide if he’s hot enough to forgive.”

“Lainey!” I groaned, though I couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips.

“I’m just saying,” she teased, wagging her fork at me. “If you’re going to go through all this drama, he better be worth it.”

My face burned as I admitted, “He’s... very attractive.” That much was undeniable. Jaxon and his brothers were all impossibly good-looking, with features that seemed sculpted by some divine hand. Their piercing eyes, confident postures, and deep, velvety voices didn’t help my resolve either.

**

The bell above the door chimed as I pushed it open and stepped into the small café near my apartment. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wrapped around me like a comforting embrace. The space was cozy, with white walls and black-tiled floors that gave it a clean, modern aesthetic. A chalkboard menu hung above the counter, listing an array of drinks and sandwiches in carefully handwritten script. Despite its charm, the barista behind the counter looked less than thrilled to be there, his expression bordering on boredom as he rang up another customer.

Scattered around the café were small round tables paired with chairs that looked stylish but not particularly comfortable. A handful of patrons sat sipping their drinks, some engrossed in books or their phones, while others chatted animatedly. The low hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of ceramic cups created a soothing background noise.

In the middle of it all, Jaxon sat at a table that seemed almost comically small for his broad frame. He looked up as I entered, his caramel eyes locking onto mine instantly. There was a mixture of nervousness and hope in his expression, and I noticed the way his hands fidgeted slightly on the table. He was dressed similarly to how he’d been the night we met—black jeans and a fitted T-shirt that hugged his muscular build. His presence was magnetic, drawing my attention no matter how much I tried to focus on anything else.

“Hi,” I said softly as I approached him.

Jaxon stood immediately, his chair scraping against the floor. “Stella,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. The way he said my name—it wasn’t just a greeting. It was a plea, a prayer, a desperate request for understanding. “Please, sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “I ordered you a caramel latte.”

A pang of something—gratitude, guilt, confusion—washed over me. He had remembered my coffee order from our brief conversation about drinks during our date. “Thank you,” I murmured, taking the seat he offered.

“How have you been?” he asked, his gaze searching mine for answers I wasn’t sure I could give.

I hesitated, then decided honesty was the only option. “Not great,” I admitted. “I haven’t slept much. I’m confused, overwhelmed, and honestly, I feel like I’m trapped in a dream that’s on the verge of becoming a nightmare. But more than anything, I have questions, and I need you to answer them.” My voice wavered slightly, but I pressed on. “How about you?”

Before Jaxon could respond, the barista arrived with our drinks. I offered a polite thank you, though the man’s expression remained impassive, as if he couldn’t wait to retreat back behind the counter.

Jaxon waited until we were alone again before answering. “I haven’t slept much either,” he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. “My brothers are mad at me, and honestly, I don’t blame them.” He let out a humorless chuckle, his eyes dropping to the coffee cup in his hands. “I talked to my dad about it. He told me I’ve handled this terribly, and he’s right. I owe you an apology, Stella. A real one. I’m so, so sorry.”

His words were sincere, but they didn’t erase the hurt I’d felt. “Why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning?” I asked, my voice quieter now but no less firm.

Jaxon sighed, leaning forward. “I don’t know,” he said, his frustration evident. “I think I was scared. I thought if you got to know me first, if we connected, it wouldn’t matter—or at least, it wouldn’t seem so overwhelming. And maybe I was selfish too. I wanted you to see me, not... all the complications that come with me.”

As he spoke, I found myself drawn to the vulnerability in his voice. This wasn’t the confident, enigmatic man I’d met days ago. This was someone who was just as lost as I was, trying to navigate a situation neither of us fully understood.

I placed my hand over his, a gesture of both reassurance and solidarity. His eyes flicked down to where our hands touched, and I saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“I wanted to be the man who fell in love with an amazing woman,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t want anything to ruin that.”

The lump in my throat grew, and I struggled to keep my emotions in check. “I—I have some questions,” I managed, pulling my hand back to retrieve the piece of paper I’d tucked into my bag.

“You wrote them down?” Jaxon asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the seriousness of the moment.

“Yes,” I replied, unfolding the paper. “I didn’t want to forget anything important.”

“Fair enough,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I’ll answer anything you want to know. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll find it. You deserve that much.”

I nodded, and he reached for my hand again, which I gave him. His touch was warm, grounding me in the surreal reality of the moment. “It was unfair of me to make you play a game where you didn’t know the rules and didn’t have all the cards.”

“So you’ll give me the rules and the cards?” I asked, searching his caramel-colored eyes for the truth.

“I’ll give you anything you want.” The honesty and sincerity in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, raising goosebumps on my skin. My heart raced, pounding so hard I feared he might hear it.

I cleared my throat, looking down at the paper I had brought while taking a slow sip of my latte, its sweetness doing little to ease the bitterness of my swirling emotions. I knew this was just the basics. I knew more questions would come, but I had to start somewhere.

“Can you control your shifts, or is it only on full moons?” My voice was steady, but I gripped the edge of my cup as if it might anchor me.

I glanced back at his caramel eyes, which seemed to soften as he locked onto mine. There was a rawness there, a naked honesty that matched the tone of his voice. “We can shift whenever we want, although our primal instincts can easily take control on a full moon.”

“Are you more primal?” The question flew out before I could stop myself, and a mischievous smile spread across his lips.

“I mean,” I stammered, trying to clarify, “are you more animalistic?”

“I guess that depends,” he said, shifting slightly in the small chair as if it barely contained his broad frame. “Maybe, sure. Possibly more than the average man. But I have manners. I've been human most of my life.” He leaned back slightly, letting his words hang in the air.

I nodded, taking another sip of my coffee, urging him silently to continue. The rich, caramel-vanilla flavor seemed dull compared to the intensity of the conversation.

“We shift for the first time when we turn sixteen,” he explained, his voice smooth but tinged with an underlying weight, “and then the Moon Goddess grants us a mate by the time we turn nineteen.”

“How old—” I paused, shaking my head as another question overtook me. “Moon Goddess? Is all that true too?”

His brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Most of the werewolf books I’ve read,” I began hesitantly, feeling slightly foolish, “are about powerful males who are granted a mate by the Moon Goddess. Your eternal god, whom you pray to and serve.”

Something flickered across his face—an emotion I couldn’t quite place, somewhere between happiness and relief. “Where did you get your sources?” he asked, shaking his head as a small chuckle escaped his lips. “It’s true. Just like Christianity, we also have a story of creation.”

I took another sip of my coffee, its warmth filling the quiet moment as I listened intently. He shifted in his chair again, leaning forward slightly as if he were about to share a secret meant only for me.

“Before everything else, there was only the sun and the moon,” he began, his voice dipping into a storytelling cadence that captivated me instantly. “They were supposed to be opposites, never to coexist peacefully. But the sun fell in love with the moon’s serenity, and the moon fell in love with the sun’s power. Out of that love, life was created. The sun granted us our power, our bodies, our ability to breathe, eat, and function. The moon granted us our minds, our personalities. The God of the sun and the Goddess of the moon—a beautiful pair. Soulmates, if you will.”

He glanced at his coffee cup but kept darting his gaze up to me, as if to ensure I was still following. I nodded, caught in the poetic simplicity of his words.

“The Moon Goddess thought it horrible if we weren’t granted the same kind of love they felt for each other,” he continued, his voice softening, “so she created the mate bond—a bond between two individuals so strong that nobody could break it.”

“And that’s what we have?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s what your brother called me—your mate?”

He nodded, drawing in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. His caramel eyes seemed to pull me in, leaving me no room to doubt the gravity of his words. “Yes,” he said simply. “We all have them, but humans aren’t as good at sensing them as we are.”

“How do you know?” The question escaped me in a whisper, more for myself than for him.

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand gently, though his strength was palpable. The gesture, so small yet so profound, sent a spark up my arm. “Because of this,” he said, nodding toward our joined hands. “The feeling you create in my body, the urges I feel...” His voice trailed off, and I felt my cheeks flush. “Because you’re perfect.”

I shook my head, my gaze dropping to my coffee cup. “I’m not perfect, Jaxon,” I murmured. “So your goddess decided to pair you and your brothers off with an insignificant human girl?”

His hand remained on the table, steady and strong, drawing my attention back to him. His caramel eyes were firm, unwavering. “There’s nothing insignificant about you, Stella.”

The weight of his words, the conviction in his tone, sent another wave of heat to my cheeks. It was overwhelming—the intensity of his belief in me, the confidence in his words. I cleared my throat, glancing back down at my paper as a way to steady myself.

“How old are you?” I asked, the question feeling trivial but necessary.

“Twenty-eight,” he answered with a soft smile. “Twenty-nine in two months.”

I nodded, taking the information in. “I’m twenty-two.”

“I figured,” he said, smirking slightly. I tilted my head at him, curious. “You told me you graduated college a few months ago. Most people are around that age when they do.”

My eyebrows shot up, and a smile crept onto my lips. “Okay there, mister smarty-pants.”

He laughed—a warm, soft sound that made me smile even bigger. There was something disarming about his laugh, something that felt like home despite the impossibility of it all.

“So this is it?” I asked when the laughter faded. “You are my true soulmate, or whatever you want to call it, and if I’m not with you, I’ll never be happy?”

His brows furrowed again, and his expression grew serious. “There is the possibility of...” He cleared his throat, looking away as he shifted uncomfortably. “Rejection.”

“What do you mean?” My heart skipped a beat, anxiety creeping into my chest.

“You have a choice, Stella,” he said firmly. “We would never take that away from you.” His caramel eyes found mine once more. “If you don’t want us, you can reject us, and we can go our separate ways.”

It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. The air around me became heavy, unbreathable. The thought of walking away, of leaving him behind, seemed impossible. It wasn’t a question of if I would choose Jaxon—it was only a matter of when.

“And what about the other way around?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Can you reject me?”

He shook his head and grabbed my hand again, his grip firm yet comforting. “We’ve waited for you for so long, Stella. We accepted you the second I found you.”

The math wasn’t difficult, but it hit me with the force of a revelation. “Almost ten years,” I whispered. “You’ve waited ten years?”

A smile graced his lips—a smile that should have made me nervous, should have made me want to run for the hills. But it didn’t. It held an unmistakable adoration, pure and unfiltered, that I wasn’t ready for. The love. The joy. The utter conviction in his expression. “Yes, Stella,” he said softly, “ten years.”

I ran my hands over my face, trying to ground myself, to ensure I was actually still there. Ten years? Ten years?! The sheer weight of it felt impossible, like something ripped straight from the pages of a romance novel. This was the kind of love those stories were made of: undying, relentless, unyielding. A love so pure and so deep that it defied explanation. Yet there I was, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the moment I’d wake up from this surreal, dreamlike haze. My fingers found their way into my hair as I stared at him, unable to form a coherent thought.

“This is crazy,” I mumbled, my voice trembling under the weight of my disbelief. “This is absolutely insane.”

“Is love ever sane?” His question was gentle, almost poetic, and it rattled me in a way I hadn’t expected.

I reached for my coffee and took a shaky sip, the warmth doing little to steady the heat that was now radiating through me. It started at my feet and rushed upward, a tidal wave of warmth that left me flushed and breathless. I fanned myself, tugging at the collar of my shirt in a desperate attempt to cool down.

“Stella,” he said, my name falling from his lips like a soothing balm. I looked up at him, his caramel eyes filled with concern. “Breathe.”

It was such a simple request. Breathe. Just take in air, let it out. But in that moment, it felt impossible. My chest felt tight, as if the oxygen had been stripped from the room. My eyes darted around the coffee shop in a panic, scanning the faces of strangers who seemed to breathe effortlessly, oblivious to my struggle. It was just me—the odd, overwhelmed human girl sitting across from a werewolf.

His hand found mine, grounding me with his touch as he leaned forward. Without a word, he guided my hand to his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thumped beneath my palm, a reassuring counterpoint to my spiraling thoughts. “Breathe with me,” he urged gently, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. His calm breaths became my guide, and little by little, the tension began to ease. The air felt a bit more accessible, less foreign.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice a steady anchor. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I echoed, my voice barely audible. I needed to believe it, needed to hold onto the hope that his words were true. “I’m okay.” With each repetition, the tightness in my chest eased a little more. My eyes found his again, those caramel orbs locking onto mine like a lifeline. The next words came unbidden, slipping out before I could second-guess them. “We’re okay.”

The effect on him was immediate. A spark lit up his face, his expression radiant, as if I’d just given him the world. “We are.”

I took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay,” I murmured, mostly to myself. “That was... a little intense.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and I found myself mirroring his laughter. The shared moment of levity felt like a release, a small break in the overwhelming storm of emotions. I glanced down at my notepad, clearing my throat to refocus. “Tell me about your family,” I said, my curiosity flaring. “No holding back this time.”

“Of course not,” he replied, his tone sincere. “What I said before about my brothers and I taking over the family business was true. But what I didn’t say is that the business is more than just a mall and a few stores.” His gaze met mine, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Our father was the leader of our pack—”

“Wait.” I held up my hands, a sudden realization dawning on me. “You’re not just a werewolf. You’re an alpha?!” The last word came out as a strangled whisper-shout.

His grin widened, the devilish curve of his lips making him look both impossibly handsome and impossibly smug. “Well, yeah.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “That’s not a deal breaker, is it?” The mischievous glint in his eyes suggested that he already knew the answer.

“No,” I whispered, my voice betraying me. His gaze flickered down to my lips, and in that instant, memories of our kiss surged to the forefront of my mind.

I could still feel the ghost of his touch—the feather-light way his lips had brushed against mine at first, the tentative pause as he’d pulled back to search my eyes for permission. The permission I’d given without hesitation. Then the way he’d kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands tangling in my hair and gripping my waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go. My own hands had found their place against his chest, clutching his shirt, and in his hair, pulling him closer. The heat, the desperation, the way he’d groaned softly against me—it was all burned into my memory. And then the moment he’d pulled away, his hand lightly brushing my throat as his eyes fluttered shut. He’d looked conflicted, as if he were holding himself back, and I’d laughed to diffuse the tension. He’d joined in, his laugh just as breathless.

Was he holding back now? Did he want to kiss me again? Did I want him to?

His eyes met mine once more, a fire blazing in their depths that made my breath hitch. It was as if he’d read my thoughts, as if he knew exactly where my mind had wandered. And in that moment, I didn’t just want him to kiss me—I wanted him to lose himself in it, to let go of whatever restraint he was holding onto.

He cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the tension. “So, my father,” he continued, his tone steadying, “was the leader of our pack. Our family has led it for seven generations. My brothers and I took over about three years ago. But officially, we won’t be true alphas until you become our Luna.”

The weight of his words hit me like a tidal wave. Everything was true—the legends, the myths, the stories people had speculated about for years. My heart raced as I tried to process it all.

“I’m the eldest,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Mason is the middle, and Tyson is the youngest. We're triplets, if you didn’t notice,” he teased lightly.

I blushed. “What are they like?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Mason is hard-headed,” he said with a fond smile. “He knows what he wants and hates asking for it. He’s a bit impulsive, but that makes him incredible on a battlefield.” I thought back to Mason’s protective energy—the way his presence had felt like a fortress around me, unyielding and fierce. “Tyson, on the other hand, is the thoughtful one. He’s patient, measured. He keeps us all balanced.” His gaze softened as he continued. “Then there are our sisters—Melissa, she’s twenty-five. Raven and Flora are twins, twenty years old. And Delilah is sixteen.”

“Wow,” I murmured, trying to process the sheer size of his family. “So... triplets and twins run in your family? Cool, co-co-co-co-cool.” I did my best Jake Peralta impression, earning a laugh from him.

“No need to worry, Stella,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring. “We’d never force you into anything.”

“I have an IUD,” I blurted out, the words spilling from my lips before I could stop them. My cheeks flushed a deep crimson as I realized what I’d just said.

His lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Good to know,” he said with a wink. “Any more questions?”

I glanced down at my notepad, but most of my questions seemed irrelevant now. I folded the paper and tucked it into my bag. “I think I’m good for now,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Maybe we should go talk to your brothers?”

Relief flooded his features, his posture straightening as a sense of ease washed over him. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope.

I nodded. “It’s probably time I meet them officially.” I glanced down at myself, smoothing my shirt. “At least I’m not wearing a robe this time.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Trust me, Stella,” he said, his voice full of meaning, “none of us noticed the robe.”

Heat flared up my cheeks again, and I couldn’t help but laugh.