Becoming Luna: My Triplet Alphas

Chapter 10: Respect her boundaries

Lainey: Are you having s*x yet?

Lainey: Please tell me you are

Lainey: You deserve it after your drought

Lainey: Remember! Do not mention Kyle to him! Guys hate that!

Lainey: Please God! Let her be having s*x!

I looked at Tyson incredulously. Jaxon had never mentioned anything about becoming a werewolf. Not once. His eyes danced in the sunlight that was slowly but surely descending into the horizon, casting golden hues over his already impossibly perfect features.

“Don’t worry, Stella. Nothing will happen before you’re ready for it, I promise.” His hand was still resting on my face, his thumb grazing my cheekbone repeatedly. The small, steady movements sent an electric pulse through my skin. It felt so incredibly good that shivers raced down my spine each time he touched me.

“But do I have to become one?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The thought of transformation—of becoming something so otherworldly—terrified me as much as it intrigued me.

“Yes, you will,” he said gently. “Your transformation will begin as soon as we mark you.”

“Transformation?” The word tasted foreign and heavy on my tongue.

His hand slid down, leaving my cheek and landing in his lap before he turned toward me completely. His position mirrored mine now, his body shifting to face me fully. His arm rested casually on the back of the couch, causing the fabric of his shirt to stretch across his chest. Gods, they were all gods, and it pained me just to look at them. Each of them seemed to have been sculpted by some celestial artist, and Tyson was no exception. I wanted to drench them all in caramel sauce and lick it off, and the absurdity of that thought made my cheeks heat up.

“To become a werewolf,” he explained, his voice calm and patient, “you have to bear the marks of your mate. Or, in your case, mates.” A soft smile tugged at his lips, making my cheeks flush even more. “That means not everyone can become a werewolf. They have to be—” He paused, his brows furrowing as he searched for the right words. “‘Invited’ by the Moon Goddess. But as soon as you bear the marks of your mates, the transition will begin.”

His hands moved as he spoke, gesturing animatedly, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the veins in his forearms stood out, the way his biceps flexed and relaxed with each motion. It was mesmerizing. “At the following full moon, there will be a ritual. You will sacrifice a lock of hair so the Goddess knows what color your wolf should be, and a small squeeze of blood—not a lot—which grants your wolf access to your body. Then we will accept you into the pack, and you will go through your first shift.”

It actually didn’t sound too bad. Not horrible, at least. Rituals, sacrifices, transformation—it was strange, sure, but there was a certain beauty in the way he described it. “How do you mark me?” I asked cautiously.

He lifted his hand again and pressed a finger onto the side of my neck. The moment his finger touched that spot, my eyes rolled to the back of my head, and a moan slipped from my lips before I could stop it. Heat pooled in my cheeks as I tried to recover, but he didn’t seem fazed.

“You have marking spots,” he said, his voice more gruff now, almost strained. “Three different spots. I can see mine here on your neck, while Mason will see his, and so will Jaxon. We give you a little bite—call it a love bite if you like that term.”

His fingers left the spot, and the fog in my head began to lift. My eyes finally fluttered open, meeting his. Golden flecks swirled in his irises, just like I had seen in Mason’s earlier. My gaze flicked downward, catching movement, and… oh God. He was hard. Instantly, I darted my eyes away, my cheeks burning like fire.

I cleared my throat and turned back toward the TV, hoping to regain some semblance of composure. Family Guy was long gone, replaced by another show I didn’t recognize. It looked like one of those dramas where people screamed at each other every five minutes. Perfect background noise to drown out my racing thoughts.

“Don’t tell me you’re a prude,” Tyson teased, his chuckle low and warm.

“I’m not,” I shot back, my tone defensive. “I'm just…”

“A prude?” he challenged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Please,” I scoffed. “I’m definitely not a prude. I just don’t have s*x with guys I’ve known for a few hours.”

“Who said anything about s*x?” He tilted his head, his expression feigning confusion.

“Well…” I began, only to trail off.

“I’m just reacting to you,” he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “I have a great sense of smell, Stella,” he murmured, his nose brushing against my cheek as he spoke. Slowly, it trailed toward my ear. “And I can smell your arousal.”

My cheeks were no longer just warm; they were blazing. I was sure I had turned the shade of a ripe tomato. I turned my head back toward the TV, hoping to hide my embarrassment. Tyson laughed softly, clearly amused by my reaction, and leaned back in his seat.

Silence fell between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that happens when two people watch TV together, their attention split between the screen and their own wandering thoughts. For me, those thoughts were anything but innocent. I was acutely aware of his presence beside me, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the way his hand had felt on my neck just moments ago.

Suddenly, I felt it again. His hand. Warm, strong, and steady, it wrapped around my neck, his long fingers curling gently against the front while his thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles on the side. His touch sent shivers cascading through me, my body tensing in response. My fists clenched, nails digging lightly into my palms as I tried to ground myself.

I can smell your arousal. The words echoed in my mind, taunting me, teasing me. How could a man say something like that? It wasn’t proper etiquette. It wasn’t gentlemanly. And yet, it was the only thing I could think about. Did he know what kind of effect he was having on me? Could he hear my heart pounding against my ribcage? Could he feel the way my body had wound itself tighter and tighter under his touch?

A loud bang from the foyer shattered the moment, and I jumped slightly. Tyson’s hand dropped as Mason appeared in the doorway, his grin as wide as ever. Relief flooded through me when I saw him. He’d been at the breach, and for all I knew, it could have been dangerous. But he looked perfectly fine—not a single scratch or tear in his clothes.

“My turn,” Mason announced with a mischievous glint in his eye. In just a few strides, he crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of me. Before I could react, he threw his arms around me, burying his head against my chest like a child seeking comfort.

My arms shot up instinctively, unsure of what to do. Tyson chuckled beside me, clearly amused by his brother’s antics. Mason held me tightly, his face pressed firmly against me, and I couldn’t help but smile despite my confusion. “Hi, Mason,” I said hesitantly, still trying to process what had just happened.

Jaxon entered the room shortly after, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “If he’s too much, Stella, just say so, and I’ll remove him,” he offered, though his tone suggested he already knew what my answer would be.

A low growl rumbled from Mason at that, making me laugh softly. “It’s okay,” I assured them, finally draping my arms around Mason. He sighed contentedly, his grip on me tightening even more.

“Who was at the border?” Tyson asked Jaxon as he settled into the recliner beside us.

“A small group of vamps,” Jaxon replied with a shrug. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“What about the rogues?” I asked, my hands now instinctively running through Mason’s hair. His thick, product-free locks felt soft and warm beneath my fingers, and I couldn’t help but lose myself in the repetitive motion. Mason groaned softly in response, his body visibly relaxing against me.

Jaxon exchanged a loaded look with Tyson before sighing. “You don’t need to worry about that, Stella.”

I couldn’t believe that I had once felt uncomfortable when he grabbed me the other night. In this moment, all I felt was safety and satisfaction. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t allowed myself to feel these things before, or maybe it was because I finally understood that I was truly safe with him. Either way, there wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that Mason would be the last person to let me get hurt. His presence was grounding, like an unshakable anchor in a storm. It was hard to believe how quickly I had adjusted to being this close to him.

“I’ll get some dinner started,” Tyson said, clapping his hands on his thighs as he stood up from the couch. His tone was cheerful, the kind of warmth you couldn’t fake. “Will you be staying for dinner?” His hazel eyes lit up with genuine hope, as though the idea of me staying brought him joy.

“It doesn’t look like I’ll be going anywhere soon,” I giggled, gesturing down at Mason, who was still clutching me close. His arms were wrapped around me as if I were the most precious thing in the world, and his expression told me he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. “So, if it’s not putting you out?”

“Not at all, Stella,” Tyson replied with a soft smile that reached his eyes. He leaned in briefly, his fingers brushing my cheek gently—just as he had done earlier. The gesture was almost featherly, though there was nothing patronizing about it. It was a simple, affectionate acknowledgment, one that made me feel seen. “Do I have anything I need to avoid? Allergy-wise?”

“Nope,” I answered, returning his smile. “Not a big fan of sushi, but other than that, I’m easy.”

“Noted,” he said with a grin, before heading off to the kitchen. His footsteps faded, but the warm energy he carried lingered in the room.

“Goddess, you smell amazing,” Mason groaned against me, his voice deep and low, vibrating through my chest as he shifted slightly. He wriggled on top of me, adjusting his position as if he couldn’t get close enough.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he suddenly froze, his movements stopping mid-shift. His gaze shot up to meet mine, and there was a mix of curiosity and intensity in his expression. He lifted himself slightly, giving me just enough space to breathe before asking, “What is that?”

“What do you mean?” I furrowed my brows, genuinely confused by his abrupt question.

Without answering, he reached for the hem of my shirt and gently tugged it upward, stopping just below my bra. His eyes widened, and a breathless Goddess! escaped his lips as he stared at my belly button piercing.

Jaxon, who had been quietly observing from his spot on the couch, leaned closer. His caramel-brown eyes twirled, their depth seeming to shift as he got a better look. “How f*****g sexy is that?!” Mason exclaimed, his words tumbling out in awe.

Before I could say anything, Mason leaned down, his nose brushing against the silver barbell that adorned my navel. It wasn’t anything extravagant or flashy, but it had always felt like a little piece of rebellion, something that represented a new chapter in my life. Kyle, my ex, had hated the idea of me getting it. He’d dismissed it as pointless and unattractive, which only solidified my decision to wait until after we broke up to finally get it done. It was still new, and I hadn’t given much thought to how anyone else would react to it.

Heat rushed through my body as Mason’s lips grazed the skin around the piercing. His touch sent shivers down my spine, and I found myself hyper-aware of every point of contact. His hands, which were massive compared to mine, rested firmly on my waist, his fingers wrapping far enough around that I could feel them pressing lightly against my back.

“You smell like peaches,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath was warm against my skin, and I couldn’t help the way my body reacted—muscles tensing, breath hitching—as his nose moved upward, nudging my shirt higher.

“Whoa! Relax there, tiger,” I said hastily, grabbing the hem of my shirt and tugging it back down before he could expose anything else.

Mason looked up at me, and I swear I saw the most pitiful expression on his face. He gave me actual puppy-dog eyes, like I had just told him he wasn’t allowed to eat dinner.

“Forget about it,” I said with a teasing smile. “You can cuddle all you want, but on top of the shirt.”

“Mason,” Jaxon chimed in, his voice carrying a note of warning. “Respect her boundaries.”

Mason mumbled something against my shirt, his words muffled and indistinct, before settling back down. He pressed himself against me once more, his hold as firm and unrelenting as ever.

With Mason content to stay where he was, I turned my attention back to the TV. Jaxon let out a dramatic sigh, breaking the silence. “Stella, I get that you like that kind of TV, but can we please watch something else?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his exasperated tone. “I most definitely do not like that kind of TV,” I assured him. “You’re more than welcome to switch it up.”

Time passed in a comfortable rhythm, the kind of peace that’s hard to come by. The sweet scent of something delicious began wafting from the kitchen, and my stomach growled in response. The aroma was a perfect blend of savory and fresh—fried meat, roasted vegetables, and herbs mingling in the air.

“Something smells amazing,” I said, unable to turn around and look because Mason had me thoroughly pinned down. His warmth was all-encompassing, his body acting as a living blanket that made it impossible to feel anything but cozy. My fingers absentmindedly played with his hair, the strands soft and surprisingly silky between my fingertips.

“Thanks,” Tyson called from the kitchen, his voice carrying over the sound of sizzling. “Dinner will be ready in just a few.”

“Do you need help with anything?” I asked, though I wasn’t particularly eager to move from my spot. The idea of leaving Mason’s embrace felt almost criminal.

“Not at all. You just stay put,” Tyson replied.

“Besides,” Jaxon added, his grin widening as he glanced at Mason, “I’m not sure Mason’s letting you leave until you absolutely have to.”

“You’re right about that,” Mason rumbled against me, his voice a deep, comforting vibration. I giggled at his response, which only prompted him to hold me tighter, his arms like steel bands around me.

When Tyson finally declared dinner ready, Mason let out an annoyed grunt, clearly displeased at the interruption. He shifted, his hands sliding down from my back to rest on my hips, before stopping just shy of my butt. He lifted me effortlessly, his movements smooth and precise. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, clinging to him like a koala to a tree.

He carried me to the dining table and set me down on a chair, his hands lingering on my waist for just a moment before he leaned in close. “Eat quickly, peaches,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “I need more cuddles.”

I shook my head at him, half-amused, half-bewildered. The idea of a big, intimidating werewolf like Mason needing cuddles from me was both adorable and absurd.

The food was incredible. Tyson had outdone himself with perfectly cooked steak, a vibrant and tangy salad, and crispy roasted potatoes seasoned to perfection. As we ate, the conversation flowed naturally.

They told me stories about their childhood—how Jaxon had always been the responsible one, keeping Mason out of trouble–or at least trying to. Mason, it seemed, had been a born troublemaker, much to their mother’s exasperation. They told me how she often almost pulled her hair out of frustration from Mason, only for Tyson to follow after her offering to pick up her hair again. Tyson talked about his love of nature and how it led him to study agriculture, while Jaxon shared how he had pursued law in college before returning to prepare for his role as alpha.

In return, I told them about my love of history, and even though Jaxon had heard it all before, he still asked thoughtful follow-up questions.

It felt easy, like we had known each other forever.

“So, I have a question,” I began, drawing their full attention. “What am I going to tell my family?”

They exchanged looks, a silent conversation passing between them.

“You should tell them what you want,” Mason said with a shrug.

“There are some things you can’t keep from them,” Jaxon added. “But they’ll have to do a blood oath.”

“What is a blood oath?”

“It’s a legal document that they sign, followed by a thumbprint made with a drop of their blood,” Jaxon explained.

“Why do they need to do that?”

“You live in a dangerous world, Stella,” Tyson said, his tone gentle but firm. “With supernatural creatures come hunters. Even though it’s not a secret that we live here, no one should go around giving extra information about us.”

“Like how many warriors we have or how large the pack is in general,” Mason added, his deep voice serious, underscoring the gravity of the situation.

I nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, that makes sense.” Setting my utensils down on my plate, I quickly wiped my mouth with a napkin. “But I think I should tell them everything. I trust my family, and they deserve to know, especially if I’m supposed to become a werewolf myself.”

Jaxon exchanged a quick glance with Tyson, who lowered his gaze in silent thought. “We’re in no rush, Stella,” Jaxon reassured me. “We can take this at a pace you’re comfortable with.”

“I know, Jaxon. Tyson told me the same thing,” I replied with a warm smile, hoping to put him at ease.

“Good,” Jaxon said, his voice softening as his shoulders relaxed slightly.

I nodded, taking it all in. My mind was already racing with thoughts of how to approach the conversation with my family. “I think I want to start with Lainey.”