The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter One Hundred–Forty–Nine

DREAM SEQUENCE

I’m running through the woods, wearing nothing but an inversized button ap shirt that I’m fairly a

doesn’t belong to me. Although my (feet are bare, I somehow don’t feel the sharp rocks when I land on them or the thorny bushes as barrel through them um laughing and playing. Iraping nimbly from tree to tree as hide. Each time I hear a brunch break, or catch a whisper in the wind, I move on. Slowly but surely making my way deeper and deeper into the kingdom of Evergreens. The further in Ign, the higher the ground becomes and soon I am climbing. over boulders and shattered tree stumps. Hurding my way toward the sover hala of light that beckons beyond a tight circle of redwoods. I must there. I have to find him. He is searching for me. I know it. No matter what it takes. I have to make it to that point so that I can fully meet Him. My guardian in the woods, my wolf I havent heard him howling for me but in my heart I can feel him calling. He waits at the highest point. Minding his secrets and my own at the top of this grueling hill.

Suddenly, I catch my foot on something and look down. At first, 1

the streets of LA Except

ether you might

slivers of

In woods so brevity beced

what is staring back at me. It just appears to be a face, like any

forest, on a mountainside rodilled with spikes of green and “there is a part who uta atop this peak smoking a cheroot and dressing the

trees in curfs of smoke.

This face ducunt belong here. As I pert closer, Enota

sht about the neck that I didn t before, it appears to be torn. A long gash has (the first tattered and uneven. I pop en my eyes curch on the letters written’ulong the chin and

“are ubu mumbers circling the evelib, hed etched along

ripped the onær soft skin of the thereket over the forehead. They mean some the jawline that end just at the aman

of the

I fall to my needs a pot of the face o Tinije”

meuth any bat bytt

and the terribly dead eyes burn incu ime and follow my movement. The ground

arway from the face. A rumble bus sturted behind me. An

than a black beast made from the dark of the

thrums at the

of the

of the black

body almost wraithicke

of me. Freach and for

if he can’t understand any

any bady before settling in

neck and shoulders are

I

dungting in the ground. My font une untunging is he brings me closer and shudder, marveling at the perfectly curved toge of hugs. They get drop of black und forming at the sharpened points bound the curve mat.” I whoper.

growl erupti frum has bya as he darts forward, plunging the points at his

OF DREAM SEQUENCE

panting

I

• the fud.”

meal beling

Bartlett

Chapter One Hundred–Forty–Nine

supposed to be on the yacht. Then a lingering scent walls

surfaces. My mind is still Hazy, and the events of the morning mill fogo, bet atsto where I am. “Shit, I say to myself, my eyes welling with tears. “Damn I whine. He’s

in my head won’t let me release my tears. Bly neck on the tight side tingles and

this little studio is coming from the windows and a tiny lamp near the front door. Looking down at my hands, I realize I’ve been clutching something to my chest. It’s a dark, navy blue shirt that smells just like Heaven and I hold it closer as I stand up. Flipping on the nearest lightswitch, the apartment is suddenly flooded with yellow light.

When did

him he had to let me go. The instant anguish… the panic. Then his loss of control when he snapped and latched onto my body, begging

To his wife.

my head to inspect my neck. It doesn’t long to find what I’m looking for, but when I do my eyes widen like saubers and the ending of my dream resurfaces. “Oh my God! 1 hiss, shifting closer to the mirror to get a better look. My throat is covered in hickles and even though the sight of them causes me to

and my shoulder- there is a mark that

He

le bit m

som he punched right through my flesh. Studying it, I notice the two darkest points of the bitemark. Right above where the incisors

the first

“Did that shit really happen?” I whisper, closing my eyes as the image of Rainier hovering over me on the couch superimposes onto the image of Rainier in my dream. “No fucking way,”

reality y into fantasy. I

certainly. Ashamed, definitely. But there was also this little voice inside my head that said my sacrifice would not go unrewarded. That somehow one day, the sick twisted life I was forced into would eventually

right wasn’t I?

right,” I scolded myself.