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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☽☾☽☾☽☾
☽☾Donovan Blackmon☽☾
That scent.
He couldn't shake it from his head since it blessed him at the parade. Something so tantalizing, fragrant, and beautiful it made his once dormant heart thud in his chest. Could he really have a mate here?
Each year he would come to the Mating Season, watch as his pack members would reap the harvest of their mates and return home happy and stronger, the ties that bind the pack were impenetrable after the Season.
But each year, much to his grandmother's disdain and the Elder's grief, he always left empty-handed.
"I don't want a hollow brained bimbo becoming the Luna," Donovan had argued with his gran at one time. "I won't just bring home a random woman. The pack is still strong."
"Donny," He recalled his grandmother had begun kindly. "You wouldn't know what your mate looked like if she fell out of the sky and into your lap. You are too thick-skulled. Just because the pack is strong now does not mean it will stay this way. We need a new Luna."
Donovan grimaced, approaching a busy tavern in town, the warm lights inside contrasting against the blue hour of the sky. With nightfall came a drop in temperature and he stepped inside to warm his hands by a heater and his stomach with liquor.
It wasn't that he didn't want a mate.
Truth be told, very few things frightened the Alpha of the revered Night Blood pack.
Among that minuscule list of fears changed. Donovan had inherited the pack at the ripe age of 17, with his grandmother's guidance, the pack was stronger than ever. He worried about what type of ripple effect might occur by changing the Lunas of the pack.
There was also a little known fact that Donovan had never been in a serious relationship in his entire life, and had no clue how to entertain a woman long term if it didn't include a bed.
The pub was crowded, the air coated in a haze of smoke as the Alpha navigated through the tightly packed bodies of men who were excitedly waiting for the update on the females' scores.
As they sensed the presence of the Alpha, many bowed out of his way.
There was only one seat open at the bar, next to a worn looking blonde-haired man with his head hung between his hands. The bartender immediately was at his service.
"Corona with lime," He ordered, fishing out a few crisp bills and sliding them across the counter. "-and whatever he wants. Looks like he needs it."
The man weakly picked his head up, noticing the Alpha for the first time before bowing his head respectfully.
"...appreciate it, Alpha," He thanked him before ordering a dry bourbon.
