Neither of them said anything. They just listened, solid and present, giving me space for the words I'd never said out loud to anyone except maybe a bottle of whiskey at three in the morning.
"My family forgave me," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I never forgave myself. So I left. At eighteen. Spent years running, drifting, using charm and music and women and whatever else would help me outrun the guilt." I let out a bitter laugh. "Turns out you can't outrun yourself. Who knew?"
I looked up, meeting Harper's eyes, then Silas's. "I came back three years ago when my father got sick. Stayed because running wasn't working anymore. But I never—I never let myself get close to anyone. Not really. Because caring about people just meant you could lose them. And losing Luc nearly killed me." My voice cracked on my brother's name, and I had to look away. "I couldn't survive losing someone like that again. So I just... didn't let myself want things. Didn't let myself stay."
"And then you met her," Harper said softly, his gray eyes warm with understanding in a way that made my chest ache.
"And then I met her," I agreed, feeling the familiar warmth bloom at the thought of Artemis. "And I thought—okay, maybe this once. Maybe she's worth the risk. Worth staying for." I looked between them again. "But I didn't expect you two. Didn't expect that wanting her would mean finding... this."
"This?" Harper prompted gently, leaning forward slightly, his voice soft in a way I'd rarely heard from him, his gray eyes encouraging me to continue.
"A pack," I said, the word feeling too small for what I meant. "A family. Brothers—real brothers, not the kind who resent you for not being good enough or—" My voice cracked, and I had to stop, blinking hard against the sudden burning in my eyes. "I'venever had brothers like this. And now I've got two. And I don't—I don't know how to?—"
I couldn't finish. The emotions were too big, too overwhelming, clogging my throat and making it hard to breathe. A hand landed on my shoulder—Harper's, I knew from the size of it, the calluses rough against my shirt. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
Then another hand, on my other shoulder—Silas, his scarred fingers gripping firmly, grounding me. We sat like that for a long moment, three Alphas on a porch in the Louisiana twilight, connected by something stronger than words.
"Same," Harper finally said, his voice rough like gravel scraping stone. When I looked up at him, his gray eyes were suspiciously wet. "Never had brothers either. Just... just me. For a long time. Thought that was how it had to be." His jaw worked, muscles tensing beneath his beard. "Thought I was too much. Too big, too quiet, too... broken. Figured no one would want to deal with all of that."
"You're not broken," Silas said quietly, and the certainty in his voice made Harper's breath catch.
"Neither are you," Harper returned, turning to look at Silas, his gray eyes fierce with conviction. "Neither of you."
Silas was quiet for a moment, his pale eyes distant, seeing something we couldn't. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, rough with memories I could only imagine.
"I had brothers once," he said, his fingers tightening on my shoulder. "My unit. We were—we were a pack, in every way that mattered. Bled together. Fought together. Watched each other's backs in places so dark they don't have names on maps." He paused, and I could see the ghost of old pain flickering across his face, the weight of losses that would never fully heal. "Lost them. All of them. Thought I'd never—" His voice broke, and he hadto stop, swallowing hard before he could continue. "Thought I'd never find that again. Didn't want to. Easier to be alone."
"And now?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper, hardly daring to breathe as I watched his face.
Silas looked at me, then at Harper, something raw and vulnerable in those usually guarded eyes. "Now I'm starting to think I was wrong," he said quietly. "About a lot of things."
Something shifted in the air between us—a click, like a lock finding its key. I could smell it happening, our scents weaving together into something new, something that wasn't just three individual Alphas anymore. It was pack scent, fully formed, unmistakable.
Without really thinking about it, I reached out and gripped Harper's forearm, pressing my wrist against his skin, scent-marking him deliberately. He went still for a moment, surprised, then did the same to me, his massive hand wrapping around my arm.
Silas watched us for a beat, something complicated moving behind his eyes. Then he stepped off the railing and joined us, pressing his wrist to Harper's neck, then mine.
We probably looked ridiculous—three grown men rubbing on each other like oversized cats—but I didn't care. This mattered. This meant something.
When we finally pulled apart, the pack scent hung thick in the air around us. Pine and whiskey from Harper. Rain and something wild from Silas. Honey and warmth from me. All of it blended together into something that smelled like home.
Like family.
Like us.
"Well," I said, my voice thick with emotion I didn't bother trying to hide, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. "That was—yeah. That was something."
Harper and Silas very pointedly did not mention the fact that I was crying. I appreciated that more than I could say.
"So we're really doing this," Harper said, and it wasn't a question. His voice was steadier now, more certain, like the conversation had settled something that had been unsettled in him. "All of us. Bonding with her. Being a pack. For real."
"For real," I confirmed, sniffing and trying to pretend I wasn't still getting misty. "No take-backs. No running. We're in this."
Silas nodded, something fierce and protective kindling in his pale eyes. "We're in this," he agreed. "All the way. Whatever comes—developers, lawyers, her terrible parents—we face it together."
"Together," Harper echoed, his deep voice resonant with promise, and the word sounded like a vow coming from his lips.
The cicadas continued their chorus. The bayou lapped gently at the dock. Somewhere in the house, our omega was sleeping, dreaming dreams I hoped were soft and safe. Here, on the porch, three Alphas who'd never thought they'd have brothers sat together in the gathering dark, bound by something stronger than blood.
