The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter Three

DOMONIC

There is something disturbingly wrong with me today and although I don’t want to admit it, I know what it is.

The girl. Not the one presently kneeling in front of me as she expertly sucks my dick.

But the one from this afternoon. The one from the bar.

Draven.

An image of her long black hair and bright green eyes fills my vision and suddenly, my chest is aching again. The way she looked at me – the pleading in her gaze, then the disappointment in her eyes when I told her she had to leave – has me haunted. Leaving me with a burn in my chest that feels like my heart might explode.

I’m done with this bitch in front of me. Try as I might, I’m just not into her anymore. I guess I never really was. But now, since meeting Draven, I can’t even pretend to be.

First, Margo looks nothing like Draven, and suddenly, that fiery girl that I just sent out on the train is the only woman I want on my dick.

Fuck!

“Get up,” I hiss, and she smiles. Lifting off her knees and reaching for my neck. I shake her off, “No. Don’t touch me. I’m not in the mood.”

She jerks back, her blond hair swinging with her breasts as she shakes her head at me. “What is the matter with you baby? You’ve been acting funny all day.”

I roll my eyes and head for my bathroom to clean her mouth off my cock. “It’s nothing,” I say, rubbing at my chest and the bruising ache there.

It’s not nothing. But it will be soon enough.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I’m ashamed. I’m probably never gonna see her again. That girl. I’ll never know any more about her than I did today. I won’t get to feel that pull I felt earlier either. The way every hair on my body stood up when she entered the bar and the wolf inside of me purred as the world fell away at my feet.

When I was growing up, my mother always told me that one day she would find me… my mate. Mom said that when it happened no one else would matter for me, but her. Then mom would pretend to be jealous of the imaginary human just to hold me in her arms and make me promise to never to grow up. I guess I never believed it could really happen.

But it did today.

Relax. She’s gone. It will get easier.

It had better.

“Hey Dom! I was talking to you,” Margo snaps, stepping into the reflection of my mirror, her large breasts still unbound and heaving with sexual energy. “I want you inside me. Please?” She reached for me and I grab her hands in mine, forcing a smile on my face.

“Take a shower. Let’s head to the bar. I

thin lips flattening out in a way she thinks

I snap before heading

see for myself that Draven is gone, this fucking ache in my chest

it might just get

DRAVEN

a quick and pleasant tour of the establishment as well as the apartment above it, Bart left

showered, I brushed the tangles out of my long black hair and decided to leave it down to sway past my ass. It fell straight and shiny without even the possibility of curl, but I usually wore it braided and wrapped into a tight bun. A habit I developed to keep it from being easily grabbed. Now

distressed jeans and a tight long-sleeved black turtleneck, much like the white one I arrived in, I smile at my reflection. Despite the bags under my sparkling

nude lip gloss to my naturally pouty lips and a two-brush coating of mascara over my long lashes, I am

to find Bart standing there with a tiny purple crop top in hand. The front of

wants me to wear that

it to me, his mouth falls open in shock and

– I’m guessing you want me to wear that.” I grimace,

grins, eyeing me suggestively.

as is my habit sometimes when I get nervous. “Can it wait until, say a

smile falters. “I would prefer it didn’t, but I suppose it could. Any particular reason why? I think it’ll look great

takes note of the turtleneck I’m wearing and the nervousness in my eyes. “Let me see,” he

refusing to move. Rolling up the sleeve of one arm, I showed

sharp hissing breath, his face goes momentarily red with anger. “I’m guessing that’s not the

pulling my shirt up to just below my breasts and turning around. I allow him a moment to view the ones

“Your stepfather did that

bit more honesty can

truth is always hard to get

son?” Bart growls out. “how fucking old

“My age.”

what it is – refused to allow my using my trauma to gain sympathy, to

I deserve to use it for

me, I didn’t exactly understand the

a

you asked me where the

wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty,” I sigh. Haha – well maybe I was… “I really would have

can pull it over my head.

know I never

“Bartlett,” he corrects me.

I saunter past