Marcel Conway is fresh on the market for a new year of the Mating Season: a sex auction masquerading as a Peace Trade to keep the packs from going to war. But she's gritting her teeth and digging her heels in, determined to come home to her small bu...
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☽☾☽☾☽☾
Act Two.
I had to be on my best behavior today, and not because I saw the light, or someone finally knocked some sense through my thick skull. It was the amount of enforcers that would be present, the Elders that would be watching, the people that would control my score that would decide whether or not I am qualified to mate with an Omega or mate with an Alpha.
Not that I rightly gave a shit.
But if I was left to the Omegas, I would not have a chance at disputing the claims. Omegas got their picks of the 'leftovers.' If you were chosen by an omega, there was no escape. It was game over.
Of course, I had lovely messages of encouragement to motivate me for the day.
Gray: istg don't fuck this up anymore marce
Gray: they are already looking at hurting your score
just because they can.
Gray: Any pretty girls around there?
Dad: I know you're under a lot of stress right now
But I want you to know I love you. I'll see you soon.
Please, try and keep the dramatics to a minimum...
I don't think my hair can get any grayer
Alpha DICKFACE: If you so much as step one more
Toe out of line, there will be hell to pay, Marcel.
Don't fuck with my pack's appearance. The sooner
you're out of my hair the better.
I planned on taking a shit in a bag and FedExing it to Ash Oak, right on his front door step. Who was he to reprimand me? Already, it put a sour flavor in my mouth for the day. I couldn't wait to prove that bastard wrong and watch the look on his face when I walk back onto his territory a free woman.
"Are you ready?" Khadra yelled from the living area and I did a once over. I was donning athletic gear that matched, which was a rarity for me. I was wearing a pair of black legging with sheer cut outs, a black sports bra, and a stretchy black jacket to tie it all together.
"Yeah, what does the schedule say?" I called over to her, finishing my running shoes off with a perfect, tight bow.
"If you'd bother to read..." I heard her grumble once before I entered. "Breakfast at 8 a.m., followed by the station rotations beginning at...9:30. Cardio is last, so you don't have to eat light but don't pile up."
