Becoming Luna: My Triplet Alphas

Chapter 8: Don't start without me

Lainey: How did it go? Did you get your answers?

Stella: I’m on my way to meet his family.

Lainey: He must be really hot.

Lainey: Think how easy our lives would have been if we were that hot.

Stella: We’re hot.

Lainey: Not that hot.

The black SUV was just as sleek and advanced as I remembered. A large screen dominated the center console, displaying a detailed map, synced to Jaxon’s phone, and the ever-present radio commercials droned softly in the background. We were leaving town, and the scenery outside the window was slowly transforming.

I had come to terms with one undeniable fact: everything Jaxon did was attractive. It wasn’t just the obvious things, like his jawline or his effortlessly tousled hair. It was the little things—the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the quiet confidence in his posture, and even the way his laughter filled the space between us. It was maddening, really.

“Does your pack have a name?” I asked, breaking the relative silence. The radio announcer’s cheerful voice was advertising a sale on something I didn’t care to register.

“A name?” Jaxon echoed, his brows furrowing slightly. “Oh,” he continued, “we don’t really have a name, but at bigger meetings and such, we go by the North-Western Pack.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. It started as a small chuckle but quickly grew louder, taking on a life of its own. The look Jaxon gave me only made it worse.

“What’s so funny about that?” he asked, his shoulders shaking with his own suppressed laughter.

“In books, they always have some ridiculous name,” I managed between breaths. “Something dramatic and over the top. Always something with moon in it.”

He joined in, his deep laugh resonating in the enclosed space. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Stop,” I gasped, holding my hands up as if to shield myself. “It’s not fair.”

“Goddess,” he said between laughs, “this is fun.”

“Goddess?” I repeated, mock outrage lacing my tone. “There’s nothing ordinary about you, is there?”

“Not even a little,” he replied, his smirk nothing short of smug. “You’d get bored far too quickly otherwise.”

“Ah,” I said, catching on, “so that’s why the moon goddess thought I needed three mates?” I quirked an eyebrow at him, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

“Probably,” he admitted, grinning like he knew exactly how ridiculous the whole situation sounded.

I shook my head, letting the moment settle as I turned my attention back to the world outside the window. The concrete jungle of the city had given way to a lush expanse of green. Trees replaced buildings, and the pavement faded into gravel paths dotted with patches of wildflowers. The occasional streetlamp became increasingly sparse, the warm glow swallowed by the encroaching twilight.

“How many people live in your pack?” I asked, curiosity bubbling to the surface.

“127,” he replied, his tone casual but laced with meaning. “Hopefully 128.”

I caught the side-eye he threw in my direction, and I chose to ignore the implication. “Is that small or big?”

“Neither,” he said with a shrug. “It’s pretty standard.”

I nodded, absorbing the information as my gaze drifted back to the passing scenery. The radio finally began playing a song, though I didn’t recognize it—just a vaguely familiar melody that faded into the background of my thoughts.

“What’s quicker?” I asked, breaking the silence again. “Driving or you running back into town?”

He glanced at me, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Human or wolf?”

“Wolf, obviously,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Me running,” he answered, his tone suggesting the answer was obvious.

The car veered onto a gravel road, and as we moved through the dense forest, a clearing came into view. Small cottages were scattered across the open space, each one nestled snugly amidst the trees. People milled about, their movements easy and unhurried. There was an undeniable coziness to the scene, a sense of community that was both foreign and inviting.

“Do you have, like, a pack house?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

“We do,” he replied, “but mostly it’s a home for our warriors who haven’t mated yet. It’s also where we hold meetings, parties—pretty much anything that involves the whole pack.”

“So you don’t live there?”

“Goddess, no!” he exclaimed, a hint of amusement coloring his words. “We have our own place.”

As he spoke, a larger cottage came into view at the end of the gravel road. It was slightly bigger than the others, with two stories and a wraparound porch that exuded warmth and charm. The rich, dark wood of its exterior gleamed softly in the light, and the soft glow of porch lights made it look almost magical.

Jaxon parked the car and, as I had come to expect, was at my door before I could make a move. He offered his hand, and I took it, letting him help me down from the SUV. The gravel crunched softly beneath my feet as I stepped out, the sound almost drowned out by the creak of the front door opening.

Tyson appeared, his ocean-blue eyes locking onto mine. He was wiping his hands on a cloth, his casual attire doing nothing to hide the strength in his frame. His movements were unhurried as he descended the steps, his gaze never wavering.

Before I could greet him, a rustling sound to my left drew my attention. Mason emerged from the woods, his green eyes practically glowing. His grin was as sharp as it was confident, and the sheer presence he exuded was almost overwhelming.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and I was powerless to stop my eyes from roaming. His broad chest and defined abs were a testament to a lifetime of physical discipline, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My cheeks burned when I realized he’d caught me staring, and his smirk only grew.

“Mason,” Jaxon said, his tone a warning, "put on a shirt."

“Why?” Mason asked, his voice smooth yet edged with mischief. “Our mate seems to like it.”

“Mason.” Jaxon’s voice held an unmistakable authority, and the tension between them was palpable.

“Don’t start without me,” Mason said, throwing a wink my way before retreating toward the house.

I turned back to Jaxon, the heat in my cheeks intensifying. “Do you have it too?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” he asked, his hand coming up to gently brush against my cheek.

“The tattoo,” I clarified, my fingers brushing over his chest.

“We all do,” Tyson answered, lifting his shirt to reveal a similar mark. The intricate, tribal-like design was mesmerizing, the bold lines forming the image of a wolf’s face.

“We get it after we turn and become warriors,” Jaxon explained, his voice low.

My fingers traced the lines of Tyson’s tattoo without thinking, the warmth of his skin beneath my touch sending a shiver down my spine. The electricity between us was different than with Jaxon—equally intense but uniquely its own.

“You’re warriors?” I asked, my voice barely steady.

“Yes,” Jaxon said firmly, pulling my attention back to him.

I looked back at him, and his clenched jaw made my hand drop. Tyson dropped his shirt again and looked at his big brother. The tension in the air shifted. When I had touched Tyson, I had felt the same electrical streams as when I touched Jaxon, but still in a different way. Like I got a different feeling out of each triplet.

“Come on,” Jaxon tried to smile at me, “let’s give you a tour.”

His hand rested on the small of my back, guiding me toward the house. Tyson followed close behind, his presence a comforting weight at my back.

The entryway of the cottage was as inviting as the exterior, filled with warm, earthy tones. A shoe rack held an assortment of footwear, from sturdy boots to well-worn sneakers. A coat rack stood mostly bare, save for a couple of jackets. A small table held a mirror and a bowl filled with odds and ends—keys, chapstick, and other little necessities.

On the left, a staircase led up to the second story. “Bedrooms are up there,” Jaxon provided, his voice calm yet rich with subtle authority. I nodded in reply, taking in the cozy, welcoming atmosphere. This place wasn’t a typical bachelor pad; it was warm and full of life.

We moved toward the archway leading to the living room, and as we stepped through, my jaw dropped. It was, without a doubt, the most stunning living room I’d ever seen. The hardwood floor gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated the back wall. They framed a view of a lush, vibrant garden, the kind that felt like it had been cultivated with love and care over decades. The sunlight cast warm patches across the room, dancing over the white walls and crown moldings.

Family pictures hung in a thoughtful arrangement, each one telling a story. I caught glimpses of the triplets as children, their grins wide and mischievous. A massive sectional couch stretched across one side of the room, with a recliner perfectly positioned nearby. They faced a humongous flat-screen TV, the centerpiece of this inviting space. A sleek glass coffee table sat between the seating, adorned with a tasteful arrangement of fresh flowers, their fragrance faint but comforting.

To the right, the living room transitioned seamlessly into an open-plan dining and kitchen area. A large dining table dominated the space, easily accommodating ten people, its polished surface gleaming under the soft overhead lighting. The kitchen itself was a harmonious blend of old-school charm and modern sophistication. An island sat at its heart, its marble countertop pristine. Copper pots and pans hung neatly, their surfaces gleaming. It was the kind of kitchen that invited you to cook, even if you weren’t good at it.

“Would you like something to drink?” Tyson’s deep, serene voice drew my attention. He stood near the kitchen, his hands clasped behind his back, a stance that somehow made his broad chest look even more pronounced. His ocean-blue eyes held a gentle warmth as he waited for my answer.

“Sure,” I said, smiling softly.

“We have juice, iced tea, some Coke, I think,” Tyson listed, glancing at Jaxon for confirmation, who nodded. “Coffee, tea…”

“Iced tea sounds perfect,” I replied. Tyson nodded, his smile growing as he headed into the kitchen.

Jaxon’s hand found the small of my back, the gesture natural and protective as he guided me toward the seating area. “Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing with a hand. I chose the recliner, curling my legs up and resting my chin on my knees. My gaze fell on the flowers on the coffee table, but my mind wandered elsewhere.

“Are you okay, Stella?” Jaxon’s voice was close, his concern palpable. I looked up to see him sitting on the chaise longue of the sectional, only the coffee table separating us.

“Yes,” I answered truthfully, offering a small smile. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you,” he said, his smile gentle. “It’s mostly Tyson’s handiwork, though.”

“I like a place for everything,” Tyson’s serene voice chimed in as he set down a glass of iced tea in front of me. The glass was frosty, condensation forming small rivulets that trickled down the sides. Mint leaves floated among the ice cubes, giving the drink an inviting freshness. “It makes things easier.”

“My sister’s the same way,” I said, smiling up at him. Tyson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression intent, silently urging me to continue. “It was a hassle to live with, but at least I always knew where her lip glosses and stuff were if I wanted to steal something.”

A sudden, thunderous clatter from the staircase broke the serene moment. My head turned just in time to see Mason barreling down the stairs, each step a testament to his boundless energy. His damp hair clung slightly to his forehead, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. He tugged a shirt into place as he descended, though his broad shoulders and muscular arms still commanded attention. His grin was wide, almost boyish, though his green eyes held an intensity that set my heart racing.

“What’d I miss?” Mason asked, his voice teasing yet magnetic. He didn’t wait for a reply, his gaze locking onto mine.

“Tyson offered her something to drink,” Jaxon said, his tone tinged with mild exasperation.

“So you don’t have systems?” Tyson asked, steering the conversation back on track. His calm demeanor was a stark contrast to Mason’s stormy presence.

Mason circled the couch, grinning like a mischievous cat, before unceremoniously squeezing Tyson out of his spot. Tyson let out a long-suffering sigh but didn’t argue. I couldn’t help but smile at their antics.

“With some things, I do,” I admitted, addressing Tyson. “Mostly my books, but that’s because I care about them. Everything else is more… proximity.”

“Proximity?” Tyson tilted his head, a curious expression crossing his face.

Heat crept up my cheeks. “Like… I know I left my keys somewhere near here.”

“Controlled chaos,” Mason interjected, his grin widening. “I dig that.”

I laughed softly, picking up the glass of iced tea to hide my flustered expression. The drink was delicious—sweet and tangy with hints of peach, raspberry, and lemon. The mint added a refreshing kick that made it irresistible.

“So, what are your hobbies?” Tyson asked, his eyes tracking the glass as I set it back down.

“Hobbies?” I echoed, momentarily taken aback. It felt like an interview question, and I wasn’t sure how to answer.

“What do you do for fun?” Tyson clarified, his smile gentle but compelling. It made my heart skip, and I found myself wanting to tell him everything.

“I like reading,” I began, my voice thoughtful. “I enjoy history and researching, finding out how things came to be. I like cooking, though I’m not great at it. I enjoy making things for others. I love spending time with my family and friends…” I trailed off, suddenly unsure of myself. What could I possibly say that would measure up to the weight of their attention?

“What about you?” I asked Tyson, redirecting the focus.

He leaned back into the couch, his blue eyes never leaving mine. The intensity in his gaze made me feel like the only person in the world. “I like gardening,” he said, his voice low but clear. “I enjoy watching things grow, seeing them thrive.”

His words made my heart flutter. It wasn’t just what he said, but how he said it—as if he were promising to nurture and care for me in the same way.

“And I do most of the cooking,” he added, his lips quirking into a modest smile.

I nodded, warmth spreading through me as I turned to Mason. “What about you?” I asked softly.

Mason’s grin returned, sharper now, more teasing. “You’re asking me about my hobbies?” He arched a brow, leaning closer. His sheer presence was overwhelming, his green eyes glinting with mischief and something more primal.

I nodded again, my voice caught in my throat.

“Stella,” Mason said, drawing out my name like it was a song. “You’re my hobby. My job. My dream. My everything.”

Heat rushed through my body, his words igniting a fire deep within me. Mason didn’t mince words; he spoke with raw honesty, his intensity leaving me breathless.

“Mason,” Jaxon interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. “She’s trying to get to know you. Turn down the charm.”

Mason’s grin widened. “You’re telling me I can’t tell my mate the truth?” He glanced briefly at Jaxon before returning his gaze to me, his expression softening. “You wanted us to introduce her to our life. I’m just doing that.”

“How?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re my entire being, Stella,” Mason said, his green eyes flickering with a golden shimmer. “From the moment I saw you, everything else became obsolete.”

The air grew thick, charged with an energy that seemed to pulse between us. My breath hitched, my pulse quickening as his words hung in the silence. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could find the words, the chime of a cell phone broke the moment, its ring sharp and jarring.