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“Where would you like to start?” Caleb asked gently. “Your childhood? Your mother? Or farther back?”

I pressed my fingers to my temples, already feeling a headache building. “I have a feeling this is like trying to summarize the entire history of the world in one paragraph. How about just give me the short version first? Before my brain explodes from information overload?”

Marcus leaned forward in his chair, his ice-blue eyes intent. “The simplest version? Supernatural beings—specifically shifters like us—have existed alongside humans for millennia. We’ve always been here, hiding in plain sight, protecting our territories and keeping our secrets.”

“And I’m… what? Some kind of werewolf catnip?” I gestured at myself. “Because last night was definitely not normal, even by supernatural standards, I’m guessing.”

“You’re special,” Caleb said, his fingers resuming their soothing pattern on my neck. “More than you know.”

“Special like ‘you tried your best’ special, or special like ‘ancient destiny’ special? Because one of those is significantly more concerning than the other.”

The brothers exchanged another loaded look, and my heart sank. “Oh no. Please tell me there’s no destiny involved. Because I’ve seen how that story goes, and my skill set tops out at ‘can successfully order takeout without having an anxiety attack.’ I’m aiming for invisible nobody who works a boring office job and whose biggest adventure is finding a parking spot at the supermarket. I can barely manage my student loans—I’m not qualified for supernatural responsibility.”

Derek’s laugh rumbled through the sofa. “No chosen one status, little mate. Just…”

“Special,” Marcus finished. “You carry First Pack blood.”

I blinked. “First Pack? Look, I know I’m half-Asian, but I didn’t think Chinese mythology included werewolves. Aren’t you guys more of a European thing? Like, moonlight and brooding castles and an unhealthy obsession with leather pants?”

The brothers exchanged amused looks. “The First Pack blood comes from your father’s side,” Marcus explained gently.

My heart did that thing where it forgets how to beat properly. My father. The grand mystery of my existence, the topic that could turn my mother from smiling to devastated in half a second. I’d learned young that asking about him was like poking an open wound—it only caused pain and never gave answers. Eventually, I’d created my own narrative: either he’d abandoned us—in which case, screw him—or he’d died—in which case… well, that hurt differently. After a while, not knowing seemed easier than either truth.

“He died,” Marcus said softly, “before you were born. He was a guardian of the old bloodlines, and in him ran the purest strain of First Pack blood. Those golden flecks in your eyes? That’s his legacy.”

I resisted the urge to cover my eyes. The weird gold flecks that Mom always blamed on “bad lighting”—turned out they were just another supernatural souvenir. Fantastic.

“They’re beautiful,” Caleb murmured, his thumb brushing my temple. “Especially that elegant curve at the corners.”

“Great,” I said, trying to ignore how his touch made my skin tingle. “So not only am I part wolf, but I’m apparently some kind of genetic supernatural jackpot? Any other surprises? Secret dragon powers? Ancient prophecies? An unexplained urge to howl?”

“Your First Pack blood,” Marcus continued, his voice taking on that professor-giving-a-lecture tone, “makes you uniquely powerful. Other wolves can sense it, even if they don’t understand what they’re sensing.”

“Like supernatural catnip. Or wolf-nip. Whatever.” I paused. “Wait, is that why those guys last night were so… homicidal? Murderous? Kill-happy?”

“Partly,” Derek growled, his arm tightening around me. “Mating with someone of First Pack blood can increase a pack’s powersignificantly. The original werewolves weren’t pure wolves—they were a combination of different magical bloodlines. Each brought unique abilities, strengths.”

“So I’m basically a power-up? Like some kind of supernatural energy drink?” I rubbed my temples. “Speaking of mating—and boy, that’s a word I never thought I’d say outside of nature documentaries—what exactly does that mean? Because you three keep throwing it around like it’s totally normal to call someone ‘little mate.’”

The brothers exchanged one of their telepathic looks. Seriously, did they practice those?

“A mate,” Marcus explained carefully, “is our perfect match. Our other half—or in this case, quarters.”

“Wait.” I held up a hand. “Are you saying you’re like… my husbands? All three of you? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not legal in any state, and I haven’t even filed my taxes for last year yet.”

Caleb’s laugh was warm against my neck. “Technically, it’s unprecedented. But yes, little mate. We’re yours, and you’re ours.”

My face felt hot enough to fry an egg. “So we’re going to… um… do mate stuff?” Oh God, did I actually just say that out loud? Someone please push me off a cliff.

Caleb’s grin turned wicked. “Eager, are we?”

“That doesn’t explain why you keep running away every time things get… heated,” I muttered, remembering last night’s frustrating encounter. “If we’re mates and all that, why the whole hot-and-cold routine? Because let me tell you, that’s getting really old.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as the brothers tensed around me. Even the dogs lifted their heads, sensing the shift in mood.

“That,” Marcus said gravely, “is a more complicated matter.”

“Of course it is.” I sighed. “Because nothing in my life can ever be simple anymore. Not even my apparently polyamorous supernatural love life. You know what? Let’s shelve the complicated mate stuff for now,” I said, waving my hands like I could physically push away the tension. “Because my brain can only handle one earth-shattering revelation at a time, and I really want to know about my father. And my mom. How did she even get mixed up in all…” I gestured vaguely at the supernatural soap opera my life had become. “…this?”