The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter One

“There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you. You are mine. You will always be mine and I will plant my seed inside of you, so that you will never be free.”

The words of a monster that is sometimes a man.

DRAVEN

When I got off the train at the Port Orchard Station, the first thing I noticed was the thick fog surrounding the town. Like wisps of smoke in a heavy blanket, branching like arms from a single cloud, it stretched everywhere. Wrapping around the evergreen trees and up along the mountainside. Settling over the ocean shore and the docks of Port Orchard, Washington.

The sky above loomed a deep gray despite that it was mid-afternoon, and a fine sprinkling of rain danced in the air. It was beautiful, and now, it was my home.

I had applied for a job at one of the few bars in town while I was still living in Florida. I’d been saving for the last three years awaiting the day I would finally disappear from Miami, forever. About two weeks ago, I got my chance. And I took it.

Then again, not sure if you would call what I was doing before, living. I guess, it was more like existing.

And…

Suffering.

Shrugging off the memories of the people I left behind, I step onto the mildly crowded street. Port Orchard wasn’t the largest of towns, but for whatever reason there were a lot of people out on the streets. Picturesque shops line the block I am on, with towers of old-style cottage homes climbing up the hillsides behind it. To my right, I could see the fresh fish market near the docks and to my left, a bustling marketplace full of charming townsfolk selling their wares.

Lovely.

I had studied the map of this city on my phone before I busted it to smithereens, back in Miami. I was happy to see the pictures of this place were pretty accurate. Online it looked like a virtual heaven. For someone wanting to escape into rain and fog, it seemed perfect. The reality did not disappoint.

backpack up higher on my shoulder I head toward the

town riddled with ritzy cars, and boujee customers. When I applied over the internet at the library in Miami, I didn’t really think

wish list. The owner wanted someone who could not only bartend but serve as kind of a live-in caretaker of the place. So naturally, it was perfect for someone

to female, and the offer I received was addressed to a Mister Draven Piccoli, I wasn’t going to correct this miscommunication until I arrived. Which is what I was about to do now. Not many caretakers are ever female.

Well, then I’d hold up in a motel or something until I found employment elsewhere. Now that I am here, like actually here, I am completely charmed by the mysterious aura

sign flashing Moonlight Lounge in a modern font of

is clean and mostly empty. Not completely unusual for bars at this time of day. The dim lighting and retro leather interior give the place an almost mafia vibe. Stepping further inside toward the long wooden bar, I pull off my hood and glanced

tinted front windows. There are three men seated there and each of them look up the moment I walk in. One of them stiffens,

it is as if I

and eyes the color of burned coal. Deep and gray and… somewhat penetrating. The other two men appear more basic, and not nearly as intimidating as the first. Nothing special there, just a

chin and look away, secretly hoping that one of the three is not the

Fuck you too, fellas.

bar, I ring the little bell next to the cash register, hoping it might catch the attention of whoever

burly man who appears too young to be the owner, comes bounding through the swinging double doors behind the counter. Sporting a scruffy brown beard and a head full of hair to match, he too, appears to be overly built and impossibly muscular. The

you, little lady?” He asks with

nod, “Are you

terry cloth rag he pulled from the shelf, he nods. “I am. Who

it is. The moment

supposed to start

shifting back to me. “No. You can’t be. Draven