Thirteen Posessive Alpha Mates and the Nerd

Chapter Three: The Party

I walk into the crowded party hall alone. Dylan couldn't accompany me, he was too busy bleeding out on the side of the road, and Darnell went missing after he galloped into the sunset. Most people came with their parents, but mine can't walk, talk, eat, breathe, or party since the fire anyways.

It's 11pm now, and the party is officially in full swing. Couples, embracing passionately, dance across the room to the upbeat music. The Alpha family has spared no expense this year. There are 12 disco balls hanging from the high ceiling, casting a shimmering kaleidoscope of colors across the sleek hardwood floor. I make my way through the pack house, feeling lonelier than ever.

Nestled in the corner of the room is a young DJ with patchy facial hair and a smell that rivals my own. He reeks of cheese puffs and maybe dried semen, a classic basement dweller combo. Even though he stinks to high heaven, I can't help but groove to his mashup of 'Crazy frog' and the Glee version of 'Don't stop Believing'

Trying to back away from the smell, I push my way past Jizzabell and her family of sluts. She shoots me a dirty look, but doesn't try anything while we're in public. Even though I hate her, I have to admit she looks stunning in her official slut uniform; a hot pink thong and bedazzled breasts.

Eventually, all the noise starts to blend together into a chaotic chorus of drunken singing, the DJ's baby shark dubstep remix, and jovial laughter. It's all just too much energy for me right now, so I have to run out onto the balcony.

Stepping out into the cool air, I immediately feel myself growing calmer. The full moon pops against a starlit sky, brightening the view ahead of me. A lukewarm breeze rustles my hair, and the trees. I watch as they sway gracefully beside the werewolf Starbucks just next door to the pack house, and the picturesque scene comforts my anxieties. I'm reminded that even though tonight may be stressful, Starbucks will be open again tomorrow morning.

I'm about to head back to the party when a deep, husky voice catches my attention.

"Ahaha, it's your boy, itz_darren, attending the biggest party of the year. If you like my abs, don't forget to follow me on Instagram and buy my merch." The voice says from behind me. I turn around to see our local tiktok eboy, Darren. I'm immediately starstruck, and rush over to him in hopes of an autograph.

"Oh my god, Darren! I'm like, your biggest fan!" I shout excitedly. Darren faces me with a mischievous smirk, his emerald green orbs sparkling in the distant light of one of the disco balls. "I LOVED the slow motion grinding video you posted yesterday!"

"Thanks, kitten," Darren says slyly, swooping an eerily pale hand across his forehead and brushing back his middle part to reveal a balding hairline. I swoon at his courage. Darren donates a small profit of all his earnings to a male pattern baldness charity, raising money to hopefully cure the genetic failure one day. "Want an autograph?" He offers.

I happily oblige and offer up my left tit for the autograph since I don't have any paper on me. I don't shower anyways (shower burned down in the fire), so hopefully it will never wash off or smudge. After he's done autographing my boobs, we walk back into the party together, arms linked. When he's done, he asks me if I want to be in his next tiktok! I enthusiastically agree and start to freshen up for the camera.

Darren sets his tiktok on a timer and positions the camera to perfectly capture us pranking people by running up behind them and repeatedly kicking them in the ass until they fall over and then we steal their wallets. We have a blast, and the video will go viral for sure.

Finally, a few minutes before midnight, our Alpha, Dick, and his wife, Tiffany, step forward into the spotlight. They stand hand in hand on a raised platform looking out over the entire group of 17 year olds, or soon to be 17 year olds, and their families.

"We're gathered here today to celebrate the strength and vitality of our pack, and to hope for an even more prosperous New Year. Without further adieu, let's fuck!" Dick cheers excitedly, pumping his fist in the air. He has the same piercing blue orbs as his sons, but honestly he's old and saggy as fuck. Tiffany looks around the room with a glazed look in her eyes, all the crack I watched her snort in the bathroom probably just started kicking in. "Oh, and don't forget to pick up your complimentary gift bag on the way out. Be sure to tell the staff what size condom you need, so they can give you the right bag!"

The entire crowd erupts into lustful applause. I shudder at the traumatic memories I have from prior New Years days. Because I don't really have a house, the sex sounds from everyone who finds their mate during the annual party isn't muffled at all. Not surprisingly, there are an alarming amount of werewolf babies born in October.

I watch the giant clock in anticipation, beads of sweat rolling down my forehead with each tick of the second hand. The crowd grows quiet, and the parents of the said 17-year-olds slowly start to back away, trying not to get caught up in the mating frenzy that's about to take place. 

Ten seconds now. I take a deep breath, and pray my mate doesn't find me disgusting and smelly. Five. Four. Three. Two...

Gasps and hollers of joy begin to spring up around the party hall as my peers start to find their mate, one by one. Their are a few groans of disappointment too, one noticeably coming from a girl who's mate is a Republican neck beard. But my mate is nowhere in sight.

But then, I catch a whiff of an intoxicating scent. It must be my mate!

Frantically, I begin to scramble around looking for him. I can't pinpoint where the smell is coming from, it's almost like it's coming from a bunch of different directions. After a few minutes of searching, I give up, and sink to my knees in despair. That's when I notice footsteps, multiple sets of footsteps, and hear the sentence that will change my life forever.

"You're my mate!" Thirteen different guys yell in unison.