And I'm still trying to process all of this.
It's too much. Too impossible. Too... perfect.
"I'm just a beta," I say finally, voicing the doubt that's been circling in my mind.
The five men exchange confused glances.
"What does being beta have to do with anything?" Zayn asks, genuine puzzlement in his voice.
"Betas can absolutely be scent matches," Jax adds, his brow furrowing. "Designation doesn't determine compatibility."
"But..." I trail off, unsure how to articulate the lifetime of subtle messaging I've internalized. The way betas are portrayed as the practical choice, the sensible option, but never the passionate, destined match. The way I've been left behind, again and again, for the promise of something more intense, more "biologically right."
"You think being a beta makes you less?" Darren asks softly, realization dawning in his eyes.
I shrug, uncomfortable with how exposed I suddenly feel. "It's always been the reason before. Why I wasn't enough."
"That's bullshit," Zayn says flatly, surprising me with his vehemence. "Complete and utter bullshit."
"He's right," Dmitri agrees, his accent thickening slightly with emotion. "Designation is just one aspect of a person. Not the defining characteristic."
"The people who made you feel that way were idiots," Aidan adds, his green eyes flashing with indignation. "Being a beta doesn't make you any less of a match."
"If anything," Jax says thoughtfully, "it makes more sense for our pack. We already have an omega," he nods toward Darren, "and four alphas. A beta brings balance."
I look around at their faces, searching for any hint of insincerity or condescension. But all I see is genuine confusion at the idea that I might consider myself somehow lesser because of my designation.
It's refreshing. And completely unexpected. My alpha exes always acted like I was supposed to be grateful for being chosen.
And the messed up part? I was.
"So you're all saying that I, a beta woman you just met who knits fucking sweaters, am somehow the perfect scent match for an entire pack of giant professional hockey players?" I clarify, still struggling to wrap my head around the concept.
"Biology likes to throw you for a loop sometimes," Zayn says with a smirk. "Can't fault its sense of humor."
"Or its timing," Jax adds, a hint of rueful humor in his voice. "It's not an excuse for our behavior, but this came at a time when our brains were already collectively scrambled by Darren's designation."
"No, I get it, I just…" I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. "This is a lot to process."
"We know," Jax says, his expression softening. "And we understand if you need time. Space. Whatever you need."
"We just wanted to be honest," Aidan adds earnestly. "Now that all the cards are on the table."
"And to apologize again," Dmitri says, his blue eyes serious. "For the poor first impression. And second."
"We know we've made a mess of things so far," Jax continues, his gray eyes meeting mine directly. "But we'd like the chance to show you who we really are. What our pack is usually like, not what it's been lately."
The sincerity in his voice, in all their faces, is disarming. These aren't the awkward, uncomfortable men from The Terrace, or the absent pack from our first planned meeting. They seem genuine. Open.
And terrified I'm going to walk out the door. I'm used to being on the other end of the equation.
"I don't know what to say," I admit, overwhelmed by the intensity of five pairs of eyes fixed on me. "This isn't exactly a situation I ever imagined myself in."
"Join the club," Zayn mutters, earning himself an elbow from Dmitri.
"We're not asking for any decisions tonight," Jax assures me. "Just a chance. To get to know you. For you to get to know us."
"As people," Aidan adds quickly. "Not just as potential... whatever."
