Chapter Seventeen – Pack Rules
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pack Rules
I only realize Jo hasn’t said a word to us after everything went down when we’re finally alone.
Fontes left with S?nia right after the cops pulled out, and Mike and Hugh followed a few minutes later. Jenna stayed a little longer, asked Jo if she wanted to talk or help clean up, but Jo just thanked her and sent her on her way.
As soon as Jenna took off, Jo walked straight into the house without a word, and we followed.
She’s on the couch when we catch up, knees pulled tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them, eyes fixed ahead.
Her scent is sharp and sour, wrong in a way I’ve never felt. We’re already on edge from everything, but the moment it reaches us, it’s like pouring gas on a fire.
When she sees Jay, she finally speaks. “How could you do that?” she asks.
We all look at her, confused. She heard everything that guy said. She saw him stumbling toward her, drunk and unpredictable. We thought — hell, I thought — she understood.
When none of us answer, she raises her voice, still locked on Jay.
“You know what people already think about aegis: that you’re unstable, dangerous, not safe to be around.
Ever since they found out what I am, I’ve been trying to show them they’re wrong.
That we’re normal. That we can be trusted.
And you still chose to prove them right? ”
I’ve never seen her that angry. After her parents' call, she was devastated, but not furious. After the Realtor hit on us, after Bree Sorensen’s visit, yeah, she was livid. But this is different.
“Jo, love…” Jay walks toward the couch and sits beside her. “Do you really think I proved that aegis are unstable and dangerous?”
She doesn’t answer, but her face stays locked and furious.
“I know I’m not human, so I don’t get to say ‘I’m only human,’” Jay goes on.
His voice is calm, but I can hear the hurt beneath it.
“But I’m not a mindless animal. I have feelings.
The way he talked about you, about us...
he’d already hit every button I had. And when I saw him coming toward you, I just wanted him to stop. ”
“I know a lot of humans who would’ve snapped for less,” Shane adds, voice low and tight. “And no one would’ve called them unstable. ”
He’s hurt too. So am I. Jo blaming Jay like that, talking like it was his fault, like most humans would, cuts worse than anything that little piece of shit Luc said.
Jo’s expression shifts. She leans back, closes her eyes, and takes a long breath. When she opens them again, she looks exhausted. “I’m sorry,” she says, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. “It’s just… you know what people are going to think. What they’ll say about us.”
“Humans will talk shit about us no matter what we do, Jo,” Jay replies, his voice drier now.
“I… I…” she starts, then stops and swallows hard. Then finally she looks him in the eye. “Before you, I blended in. Most people didn’t even know what I was. And even when they found out, like when I was in college, it wasn’t this bad.”
The thought that bonding with us ruined Jo’s life has been in my head since the first day she went back to work after the bond.
And stupidly, even though it’s true, I still hoped she didn’t see it that way.
But now that she’s said it out loud, I can’t pretend anymore. She does. And it fucking hurts.
One of the many things my brothers and I have in common is that our fathers destroyed the lives of the women — in my fathers’ case, the nyra — they got involved with.
We did everything we could not to repeat their mistakes, never getting too close to a nyra who wasn’t our scent-mate, never letting things get complicated with human women.
But somehow, we managed to do the same thing they did anyway. Like it’s a curse we can’t outrun. And despite the fact that it fucks me up down to my core, I know it’s even harder on Jo.
When she first told us how different her life had been from any other nyra, back at the hospital in D.C., I saw it as a gift. An advantage.
She isn’t shy or submissive or cloistered. She has a life: friends, cookouts, hockey games, a career. And I’m still glad she has all that. But now I can see the other side. Only now is she learning what it really means not to be human in a human world. She’s not used to this shit like we are.
“I have to ask,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Do you regret bonding with us?”
It’s a pointless question since a bond can’t be undone, but I need to know.
“No,” she replies, her voice shaky. “I didn’t know what was coming when I did it, but even if I had, I still would’ve done it. You’re mine, and I’m yours. None of this would’ve happened if I’d stayed hidden behind a human facade, but I wouldn’t be whole either.”
Shane exhales, then walks to the couch and sits down on her other side. “Since you were raised human, nobody ever taught you pack rules,” he says gently. “You’ve shown us so many incredible things about your world, but it’s time we show you ours.”
I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but he’s right. Jo gave us so much: we screamed at hockey games. We met neighbors. We had fun. A life we didn’t know was possible. But we need some balance now, between her world and ours.
“We always show up as a unit,” I say, reciting.
Shane nods, approving. “We don’t crack. We’ve got each other’s backs, no matter what.”
“Even when one of us screws up,” Jay adds, serious.
A flicker of anger returns to Jo’s eyes. “So if you do something reckless or stupid, I’m just supposed to smile and say it’s fine?”
She doesn’t understand. Not yet.
“No, Jo,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “We don’t smile and pretend. But we do believe that no one in this pack would ever hurt one of us, or himself, on purpose. So there’s no reason to punish him for it.”
“Out there, when I lose control, when I screw up, Kory doesn’t jump down my throat. Jay doesn’t shame me,” Shane adds. “They steady me. Jay talks me down. Kory puts a hand on my shoulder to ground me. They don’t attack me for losing it; they help me stop losing it.”
“This is what a pack is,” Jay says. “Everyone else in the world will punish you when you mess up. They’ll shame you. Point fingers. Make you suffer for it. But we’re not the world; we are your pack. If we treat each other like outsiders would, then what’s the point of calling each other family?”
Jo covers her face with her hands and sighs. When she looks up again, I meet her eyes.
“Jay did what a lot of humans would’ve done,” I say to her. “That guy had it coming, and anyone watching would’ve said so. It’s not fair to act like what Jay did was wrong just because he isn’t human.”
“But the consequences are much worse because he’s not human, Kory!” she snaps, voice raw. “We live in the world the way it is, not the way we want it to be!”
“You’re right,” I reply. “The world tears us down for not being human. That’s exactly why we build each other up, because we’re a pack.”
She doesn’t respond. Just breathes deep, stands, and heads upstairs.
The moment we hear the bedroom door close, we slip out of the house. The town’s dead quiet at this hour, no cars, no lights, no movement. Just the wide old streets of the historic district. We run. Through sidewalks and tree-lined blocks. Feet pounding in sync. Breath sharp. Muscles burning.
We run until the fury dulls. Until the shame bleeds out and we feel steady again. Then we circle back home. Calmer, ready to crawl into the nest and hold her.
We take quick showers and settle in, but none of us sleep much. Jo is restless all night, shifting in the nest, and we feel every movement. The sweetness in her scent that usually relaxes us is gone, replaced with a sourness that keeps us wired.
When I was a kid, I remember hearing my mother say she could feel the bond with my fathers, and I never understood what she meant until now. I feel it: a cold pressure in my chest, like Jo is far away, even though she’s lying right beside me.
Every morning since the bond, we’ve kissed her good morning. Hugged her. Touched her. But today, when her alarm goes off and we all rise, she heads straight for the bathroom before we can reach her.
Breakfast is silent, and then she leaves for work without saying a word.
After the door shuts, Shane asks, “You think she’s gonna be okay?”
We’re all thinking the same thing: last night wasn’t the end of the mess, it was just the beginning, so what’s going to happen when everything else comes crashing down?
“She’ll be fine,” I say. “She just needs time to adjust. She’s strong.”
I hope I’m right. But that hope feels thin when we step out into the morning. None of us say much on the way to work.
We barely make it through the front doors of the station before someone flags us down. Internal Affairs wants to see us at nine o’clock.
It’s starting.
When the time comes and we head to the interview room, my hearing picks up voices through the closed door. I can already tell Wilsbone and Fontes are inside, with Lieutenant Borgianni. Never spoken to the guy, but I’ve seen him around. The type who watches more than he talks.
“No, sir. I wasn’t coerced in any way,” Fontes is saying, tight with irritation. “I acted on my own judgment.”
Figures. They think we pressured him to cover for us. He’s telling the truth, but that doesn’t mean they’ll let him keep backing us.
The second we walk in, the conversation cuts off. Borgianni doesn’t even look up from his file. “Officers. Have a seat.”
We sit shoulder to shoulder. We know what’s coming: suspicion, bias. I glance at my brothers, and their faces are blank. Good. Let them see stone, not sweat.
Borgianni closes the folder and presses the button on the small recorder in the center of the table.