Note from the Author:
Explicit Sex, violence, forced intercourse, shape shifters and dark erotica under a Mating Moon.
Please read with caution as some things may be triggering.
01 - Fated
It was relatively well-known what the fate of the breedable females was in our pack. I was the oldest of the breedables so I understood it better than the younger ones.
I’ve been avoiding the males during the Mating Moon longer than the rest. I did understand the expansion of the pack was essential and that mates were what would provide the next generation.
The same plague that was killing humans had mutated and affected the packs. Very few were able to stay together but mothers and daughters refused to leave their young and their families leading to mostly the males who were bold enough to venture off alone until much of the plague had waned off. This left a population of males much more prevalent than females.
She-wolves are now one of the rarest commodities. I had been mentoring Samantha that eventually she would have to let one of the males mate her but the brutality of the males under the Mating Moon was well-known. The elder she-wolves told tales cautioning of it.
And in truth, their tales had scared us all.
There were multiple cases where the males had grown too fevered in their mating and marking and had killed their mates under the pull of the Mating Moon.
It was now a valid fear.
The former alpha, Edrick had rounded most of our pack up as strays from other packs. Meticulously collecting healthy females and the strongest most vicious males to build a healthy pack but with plucking up the most skilled and aggressive males he’d built a pack of essentially males which were all capable of being alphas. It meant their overall pack aggression under the Mating Moon was unprecedented.
In most packs only the Alpha becomes fevered enough to kill a mate.
Not in this pack.
I often sat with one of the elder she-wolves, Marta and she had told me many stories.
In truth I did have love for our pack.
The younger females had lost their families, become lost, or known great brutality and need some kind guidance. And the males…well they were young hotheaded alpha-grade males but many were sweet.
Like the Hayden boys who liked to take care of the lost pup.
They’d been tending that female since they’d chased her into the Asara Territory, bloody and lost.
I knew eventually it would be my duty to pick a mate and help build the next generation of Asara wolves.
It was just this reason that Draven had implemented Declarations the morning after the Mating Moon. For all to declare if they’d marked or been marked so matings were known and young could be expected.
But I could admit that even I was scared.
The males were utterly dominant and I wanted to pick my own. But none so far had struck me as one I’d like to spend all my days with.
But one seems to have picked me.
This morning I was sitting having a bit of herbed tea with Marta. She was telling me tales of when the packs had been lush and they had been less territorial, often taking in the lost or outcast and nurturing them as their own.
A luxury we can afford no longer.
Taking in strays meant risking another flare of the plague.
Or letting in a spy for another pack. Such as the NightHunters.
Everyone knew what the NightHunters were.
And about their scarred alpha.
He was large and strong and cruel. And after the plagues, his uncle who’d been alpha at the time, had decided to replenish his own pack by taking or killing all those weaker. He did that by raiding other packs and demolishing what was left of survivors to only incorporate those that would make his numbers stronger.
Now the scarred alpha believed far more in numbers than skill too. Taking anyone rough enough to fight or killing them if they objected.
Most of the other packs feared him.
But our former alpha, the one who had assembled all of us as young pups, had not been afraid of the NightHunters. He’d killed their alpha who’d also fatally injured him. Making his scarred nephew the new alpha of the NightHunters.
And Draven Dachao, our alpha.
I could admit he caught the eye. How could he not?
He had a confident, rolling stroll and a way of turning his head that challenged anyone in the room to defy him.
Though none did.
None but me…
Merci pour la lecture!
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