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.

my shoulder I head toward the docks in the direction of my

wouldn’t be. Not for the wages they were offering. Besides, this was not a town riddled with ritzy cars, and boujee customers. When I applied over the internet at the library in Miami, I didn’t really think I would get the job. It was just one long shot hope in a string of long shot hopes that I had

with an apartment located above the establishment. Two birds with one stone there, so of course, it was the highest on my 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 like me. Someone who didn’t exactly want her name

as opposed 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. Now, all that is left to do is pray my employer might overlook my little slip up and let

here, like actually here, I am completely charmed by the

modern font of purple lettering, I take

unusual for bars at this time of day. The dim lighting and retro leather interior give the place an almost mafia vibe. Stepping

on the table in the far corner, closest to the tinted front windows. There are three men seated there and each of them look

it is as if I recognize him. As if

hair in a short ponytail 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

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

Fuck you too, fellas.

bar, I ring the little bell next to the

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 guy’s mouth twitches upward as he checks me out. His gaze roving over me from my head to my

little lady?”

nod, “Are you

from the shelf, he nods. “I am. Who

it is. The moment

Piccoli. I’m supposed to start

the table in the corner, then shifting back to me. “No. You can’t be. Draven is supposed to