Chapter Two – Ninety-Three Percent
CHAPTER TWO
Ninety-Three Percent
W ait, what?
“Say that again?” Jay asks, his voice as stunned as I feel.
“You heard me.”
Holy fuck. A match. After all these years. I don’t even know what to think. What to feel.
Shane’s brain is the first to restart. “What’s the compatibility rate?”
He’s trying to keep his voice even, but it shakes anyway.
The commander’s smile widens. “Ninety-three percent.”
Jay whistles, long and low. We’re all thinking the same thing: Ninety. Fucking. Three.
That’s huge. Compatibility rates that high are rare. The chances of this nyra being our scent-mate are bizarrely good.
“How many other packs is she compatible with?” Jay’s brain is working again too.
The commander shakes his head. “None. Right now, you’re the only one.”
My voice finally comes back: “What do you mean, ‘right now’?”
The commander sighs. “Three years ago, when her genetic data entered the Matching Program, she had medium compatibility with two other packs. But when she met them, it became clear she wasn’t their scent-mate, and she rejected them both. Since then, she hasn’t had a single match.”
A heavy silence settles over us.
If her data’s been in the Program for three years… then we’ve been a match this whole time, and no one told us.
I feel the rage creeping in, pressing down on my chest, suffocating me. I don’t realize my hands are clenched into fists until I feel my nails digging into my palms.
The commander knows what I’m about to ask before I even open my mouth. His smile is gone.
“Why weren’t we notified?” I snarl.
I hear a slow growl coming from Shane, his body radiating aggression.
The commander isn’t stupid like Balls. He knows exactly how close we are to losing control. As a Tier-One aegis, he's bigger and stronger than any of us, but we’re three, and while his brothers are probably close, inside these walls, he’s alone.
His voice drops, low and grave. “If you don’t calm down right now, you lose. Everything. I am sticking my neck out for you, so do not fuck this up.”
That stops me. Because no one has ever stuck their neck out for us before. Not once.
Suddenly, I feel a shift in the air: Jay’s pheromones washing over us, slowly pulling me and Shane back from the edge. I take a deep breath, letting it sink in. My heart rate slows and my fists unclench.
This. This is what it means to be a pack.
Shane is fire — the one who pushes us forward, who keeps us ready, eager.
Jay is water — the one who keeps us rational, shows us choices, finds the angles we don’t see.
And I’m earth — the one who keeps us grounded. The balance.
All that’s missing is air. A nyra. The breath of the pack. The one who would bring lightness and joy. The piece that would make us whole.
The commander nods at Jay, approving. “I’m impressed. I’ve seen Tier-Three packs with less control.”
He meets my eyes again. “Now listen to me. You couldn’t have been notified three years ago because there was no match back then. From the beginning, the Military Aegis Board excluded all artificial packs from the Matching Program.”
I’ve been called a stray my whole life. A worthless dog. But hearing the formal term, hearing him call us artificial , it burns even worse.
Jay’s voice is even. “Why were we excluded?”
“The MAB argued that we didn’t have enough data on artificial packs to determine whether you could even bond with a nyra. And even if you could, there was concern that, without being blood-related, you’d become territorial over her. That your instincts would see each other as rivals, not brothers.”
The commander’s voice is neutral. “As you know, that would be extremely unsafe for everyone involved.”
Shane lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “After all this time, the MAB still doesn’t see us as a real pack.”
“No. They don’t,” the commander replies. “But Steve Bureau crashed the last leadership meeting at the MAB, and he didn’t come alone. He brought all four Under Secretaries of the DoD with him. He made it clear that he believes his Artificial Packs Project is being sabotaged.”
Like every aegis, he practically spits out Steve Bureau’s name, like it burns his tongue.
Dr. Bureau was the one who made stray packs possible. Before he founded the Artificial Packs Program, any unlucky aegis without biological brothers was condemned to a hard, short life. Back then, not a single one ever made it past twenty. Most didn’t even get that far, lost to violence or suicide.
Dr. Bureau gave us a chance to live.
“Bureau was furious when he found out you’d been excluded from the Matching Program,” the commander continues.
“He presented records showing that over a hundred and thirty artificial packs had already mated with nyras. The meeting was heated, but by the end, the Matching Center was ordered to include all artificial packs in the database. Your pack’s match was one of the thirty-six that came up immediately. ”
I exchange looks with my brothers. We didn’t know stray packs had successfully bonded with nyras.
And just like that, breathing becomes easier.
Until this moment, I never realized how much I had feared not just never finding our nyra, but the possibility that even if we found her, we might be incapable of bonding at all.
Bile rises in my throat, burning, and I swallow it back down. I have never felt such conflicting emotions in my life.
I’m furious they not only excluded us from the Program, but they didn’t even have the decency to tell us. So many nights hoping, dreaming of a phone call we couldn’t receive. But beneath all that rage, there’s something else: hope.
“Why did you say you stuck your neck out for us?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Seems to me that Dr. Bureau is the one we should be thanking.”
The commander pauses before answering, as if he’s choosing his words carefully.
“There’s a complication with your match.
Leadership wanted to wait to see if, in time, another compatible pack would turn up for that particular nyra.
I had to call in more than a few favors to force them to open the match process for you. ”
“Why?” Shane growls. “Why keep her from us? And why are you on our side? What’s in it for you?”
The commander’s face twitches, his annoyance clear. I don’t know if it’s directed at the corrupt leadership or at us for questioning him. “Your match is a Prime nyra. And the pack that bonds her will automatically be recruited into Special Operations under my command.”
Holy. Mother. Of. All. Shit.
A Prime.
No wonder they didn’t want to open a match process with her for us.
As aegis, we only develop so far on our own.
Unmated, we’re stronger than any human, but still nowhere near our full potential.
When a pack bonds with a nyra, she triggers a second wave of development.
Growth kicks back in. Muscle mass, height, sensory acuity: it all sharpens.
Bonded packs reach Tier-Three. Some even push into Tier-Two.
But a Prime nyra changes everything. The transformation is massive. Prime bonds are what create Tier-One aegis, fit for Special Operations.
And of course, no one wants a stray pack anywhere near the elite.
“I’ll be honest with you,” the commander says.
“I never gave much thought to artificial packs. But Steve Bureau swears you pass every pack-bond test he’s designed.
According to your files, despite being unmated, in some physical parameters you already match Tier-Three.
So, I don’t give a damn what kind of pack you are.
I see no reason to waste the possibility of a new pack for Special Ops. ”
Jay speaks up, his voice careful. “Does she know? Does the nyra know we’re strays?”
“She does,” the commander confirms. “I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t been informed of your status and already agreed to a match meeting.”
The tightness in my chest isn’t rage this time.
“When’s the meeting?” I ask.
The commander sighs. “It was scheduled for next Thursday. But that obviously won’t happen now. You can’t have a match meeting until at least four weeks after any disciplinary incident. Eight weeks after a suspension.”
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
“I’m overruling Captain Smith on this,” he continues. “I’ll remind him that per protocol, he can’t issue a suspension until the Use of Force Review Board has completed its investigation. You’ll receive a formal reprimand on record, but no suspension.
“Your meeting will be rescheduled for March 21st at the MAB main office. But listen carefully: if you step out of line again, I don’t care what the reason is, you’ll be on your own.”
The moment the commander walks out, and the door shuts behind him, we look at each other in disbelief.
It’s not even noon, but it feels like a lifetime since the end of our night shift. We should be bone-tired and starving since we’ve been working for over sixteen hours, but after everything, I feel like a wire pulled too tight, energy crackling under my skin.
Fear. Joy. Rage. Hope. All of it at once.
My brothers are no better; their scent is a mess of emotions too.
I wish we could head straight to the park and run until we burn off the overload and get our minds and bodies fully under control again.
But we don’t get to go until we finish the paperwork: use-of-force reports, incident statements, justification logs. So even though we’re vibrating with the need to move, we drag ourselves back to our desks.
Around us, the other officers pretend they’re working, but they’re watching our every move. When Balls walks past our desks, he doesn’t say a word, but his face is red with hate. His jaw’s clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
I force myself to focus. The form blurs in front of me, lines swimming as I try to remember the right sequence, the right phrasing, the damn protocol for describing a lethal engagement. My hands are steady, but my brain won’t sit still.
Jay has run his hands through his hair so many times, it’s now standing up in all directions.