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

beast made from the dark of the trees. Soon I

the base

monsters of

out of the

his powerful body almost wraithicke

me. Freach and for

if he can’t

before settling in the side of my

my neck and shoulders are bare

I

My font une untunging is he brings me closer and shudder, marveling at the perfectly

he darts forward, plunging the points at his fangs into the side of

OF DREAM SEQUENCE

panting

as I

• fud.”

beling

Bartlett

Chapter One Hundred–Forty–Nine

yacht. Then a lingering scent walls

I smell Vanilla Bourbon. My heart clenches with pain as the memory of Rainier’s wedding ring 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

tight side tingles and burns for a moment and I gasp as the sensation quickly becomes soothing Chasing away the melancholy in my heart of the events

shirt that smells just like Heaven and I hold it closer

go? When did he

go. The instant anguish… the panic. Then his loss of control when he

dummy. To his wife. You know the

firing my insides and causing the sore spot on my neck to heat. Walking toward the full length mirror next to the window, I tilt 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

the junction of my neck and my shoulder- there is a

He

le bit m

knew he did. I felt it when it happened. But I could have som he punched right through my flesh. Studying it, I notice the two darkest points of the bitemark.

the first

as more of my memory surfaces. I hold up the shirt and realize for the first time that it is ripped beyond repai “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,” I say to myself,

No way I can’t afford to turn reality y into fantasy. I need to

I act on intuition more than I do logic. Always have, always will. Even when my dad agreed to trade me to Hector for his debt – I relied on my intuition. I was hurt, certainly. Ashamed, definitely. But there was also

right

right,” I scolded myself. “He’s