Chapter 68: Something Different
The authority in his voice is absolute. Alpha dominance that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.
Corrian holds his gaze for a long moment, and I can see the conflict playing out across his face, the desire to protect me warring with his respect for Ezra’s position, for the promise Ezra apparently made about honesty.
Finally, Corrian nods once, resigned, and settles back against the sofa. Permission granted, or at least opposition withdrawn. Ezra’s attention returns to me, and his hand comes up to cup my face with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
"You’re not an omega," he says, and his thumb strokes across my cheekbone. "And you’re not an alpha. You’re both. A mix of the two designations in one person, which is exceptionally rare. We’re talking maybe a handful of documented cases in the entire history of all packs. That alone would make you significant to the Council, would make them want to understand you, study you, figure out what your existence means for pack dynamics and power structures."
I process this information slowly, turning it over in my mind and examining it from different angles. Both omega and alpha. Two designations that are supposed to be opposite ends of a spectrum, existing simultaneously in one body. My body.
When you think about it, it explains some shit. The way I respond to their dominance but also push back against it, the way my wolf feels both submissive and aggressive depending on the situation, the way I seem to bring out protective instincts in all five of them while also making them want to fight each other for dominance.
But it also raises about a thousand new questions, and I can feel my analytical brain starting to spiral through implications and possibilities.
"Okay," I say slowly. "That’s definitely unusual. But unusual doesn’t necessarily mean Council-level significant. There has to be more."
Ezra’s expression shifts into something that might be pride, and his thumb continues its soothing path across my skin.
"There is more," he confirms. "You’re not just a rare designation. You’re also fated to all five of us. Simultaneously. Fated mates aren’t common to begin with, most wolves never find theirs, spend their whole lives in chosen bonds that work but don’t have that soul-deep recognition. But a fated mate to five alphas at once? That’s not just rare, Frankie. That’s essentially unheard of. We’ve been researching since we first discovered what you were to us, and we can’t find a single confirmed case of a six-way fated bond in any of the records we have access to."
The weight of that settles over me like a physical thing. Not just unusual. Not just rare. Essentially unprecedented.
No wonder the Council wants to see me. I’m not just an anomaly, I’m a complete unknown, something that doesn’t fit into their carefully constructed understanding of how wolf bonds and designations work.
People in power hate unknowns.
They want to categorise them, control them, understand them well enough to predict how they’ll behave. The thought of being studied like some kind of supernatural lab rat makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to focus on the practical questions instead of spiralling into anxiety about things that haven’t happened yet.
"So I’m a mixed designation fated to five alphas," I say, working through it out loud. "That explains why the Council is interested. But what does it mean? What am I supposed to do with this information? What are the implications?"
This time it’s River who answers, his voice calm and measured in that way he has when he’s trying to explain complex concepts.
"That’s where things get murky," he admits. "We have theories, but no solid answers. Your mixed designation might mean you have abilities or powers that neither pure omegas nor pure alphas possess. The five-way bond might indicate some kind of greater purpose or destiny that requires all of us working together. Or it might just be a quirk of fate with no deeper meaning. We don’t know."
"The Council might know," Corrian adds, and his voice has lost some of its earlier tension. Now he just sounds tired. "They have access to records and archives that go back centuries, information that individual packs don’t have. If there are other cases like yours, even ones that aren’t well documented, they would be the ones to know about it. That’s probably part of why they want to see you, to compare you to whatever historical precedents exist, to figure out if you fit a pattern we’re not aware of."
I lean back against the sofa, my mind racing through everything they’ve just told me. It’s too much information and not enough all at once, a puzzle with half the pieces missing and no picture on the box to guide me.
My wolf’s restless, responding to my agitation, and I can feel her pressing against my skin like she wants to break free and run until none of this matters any more. But running won’t help. Running never helps. I learned that lesson weeks ago when I tried to avoid this whole situation and ended up right back here anyway, because apparently fate doesn’t care about my preference for control and predictability.
Jax’s hand finds my knee, and when I look down at him I find his beautiful eyes full of concern and apology. He’s sorry for being part of something that’s made my life this complicated. The thought is absurd enough that I almost laugh. None of this is their fault. They didn’t choose to be fated to me any more than I chose to be fated to them. We’re all just trying to navigate something none of us fully understand, trying to build something real and lasting out of supernatural circumstances that defy logic.
"Hey," Jax says softly. "Whatever this Council thing is, whatever they want, we’re with you. All five of us. They don’t get to take you, study you, use you, or do anything else without going through us first. And we’re not exactly easy to go through."
Leo makes a sound of agreement. River’s hands find my calves again, resuming that soothing massage, and Corrian shifts closer. Ezra’s arms come around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest, and I’m surrounded by them again. Protected. Claimed. Theirs.
The fear doesn’t disappear, I’m not naive enough to think love and good intentions can solve every problem, but it becomes manageable. Bearable. A thing I can face because I’m not facing it alone.
"I’m scared," I admit quietly, and saying it out loud makes it feel less overwhelming somehow. "I don’t know what I am or what I’m supposed to do or what the Council wants from me. I don’t know if I have powers or a destiny or if I’m just a genetic anomaly that’s going to spend the rest of my life being poked and prodded by supernatural bureaucrats. I don’t know anything, and I hate not knowing."
Ezra’s arms tighten around me, and his voice rumbles against my back when he speaks.
"Then we’ll find out together," he says simply. "We’ll go to the Council, get whatever answers they have, and figure out what comes next. But you’re not doing this alone, Frankie. You’re never doing anything alone again. That’s what pack means. That’s what being mated means. Your problems are our problems. Your fears are our fears. Your destiny, whatever it turns out to be, is something we face together."
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the warmth of them, into the absolute certainty of their presence and their commitment. The movie is still playing in the background, forgotten and irrelevant. The snacks Jax made are cooling on the coffee table, untouched. The cozy domestic evening we were having has been thoroughly derailed by reality intruding in the form of a phone call and a Council summons.
But wrapped in Ezra’s arms with Jax’s hand on my knee and Leo’s solid presence in front of me and River’s hands on my legs and Corrian’s presence pressed against all of us, it doesn’t feel like the end of something. It feels like the beginning. Whatever comes next, whatever the Council reveals or demands or expects, we’ll face it the same way we’ve faced everything else so far. Together. As a pack. As mates.
My wolf settles, still restless but no longer panicking. She’s not afraid of what we might be. She’s excited. Ready.
This is what we were made for, whatever this turns out to be.
With these five men at my side, I’m starting to think maybe I’m ready too.
