The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter One Hundred Ninety–Five

DRAVEN

The look in Gio’s eyes now, is much different than I’ve come to associate with him. The sharp, intense calculation is gone. The glowing fiquid gold irises that remain bright even when he appears emotional, are dim with pain. I can see the veins that ride over the tops of his hands to curl along his forearms, pulsing as he squeezes the glass in his hand. Its obvious this conversation pains him, but he promised to answer all my questions and it appears its time for me to ask them.

You said your father had her killed, I reprise. “How does that become your honor, if he’s the one who sent someone after her?

Again he swirls his glass, chuckling sadly. “Because, I had a chance to leave her before anyone even discovered her existence, knowing danger that would likely follow if I stayed, but I chose to be selfish. I stupidly thought I could keep her safe. That we could remain hidden. I was willing to give up everything for her. As it turns out… she ended up giving everything for me.”

“I don’t understand,” I say carefully. “Who is your father? Why would he want her dead at all if she’s what you wanted? Although you haven’t told me, I assume she was your mate.” He nods and I continue, “So then, what was the problem? Do shifters not accept mat where you come from? Or

They do,” he replies coolly.

“Okay. So then, what gives? Why couldn’t you have yours?”

Go takes a deep breath, then downs the rest of his whiskey. Setting the tumbler on the coffee table, he loosens a few more of the buttons along his sleeves and at his throat. Almost as if he’s feeling suffocated. To understand that, you have to understand that pack laws in every county vary, much like human laws do. In Italy, things are done differently. First, there are the fire families of power. The strongest. richest, most capable, and most deadly of the bloodlines. Each family reigning over a different territory and each territory being made up of any number of packs that – while still independently governed – come under familial rule. Out here, it’s different. Packs move independently of others. They can move as they want to. Govern how they want to. Answering to their Alphas and their Alphas alone. In Italy, pack Alphas answer to their respective Lords. Their… Alpha Lords if you will. Referred to as Lord Alpha at each and every setting. It is done this way to keep our numbers controlled and our humans unaware.

families in each region came to an agreement to take control of every pack in their respective territories. Those who swore fealty

why, but more and more shifters were finding themselves mated to humans, Call it nature’s fix to what would have been an inevitable end of both species. When it became apparent that shifters and humans that were motes could reproduce, a protective order came into effect, barring all shifters from revealing themselves to humans without due cause. New mind you, shifters and shifters can reproduce with each other, any day of the week. For a shifter to reproduce with a human, he or she must bear the mark.

of human mates. So if a shifter found himself mated to a human and he or she wanted to keep that mate, they had to leave the country. Go rogue or die. These were our laws for a very long time. Now if a shifter applying for leave was not approved and left anyway,

that what happened to you? Did they

you loft

anyway?”

approved by their respective Lords prior to acceptance. Then if approved, the couple in question is given no more than three years

1/2

One Hundred

alien

mia, he says lovingly and I suddenly find it hard to

And honestly, I can feel a bank of memories hovering in my mind, just waiting to be acknowledged. Likewall full of pictures that you walk by every day and stubbornly refuse to look upon. Knowing that the things you see there will cause you a great deal of pain, you simply exist alongside them. Wondering if there will

feeling so alone and abandoned, blocking every memory of him from my mind. So far I haven’t been able to think of a way to let him know that he’s still somewhere in here. Somewhere in me. Perhaps this is how I let him know without making any sort of real promise of forgiveness. He stares into the glass of whiskey and I say, “Sei il benvenuto papà.” You are welcome daddy, in full on Italian and it rolls

he takes a minute to breathe. Cold, calculated, Gio looks so vulnerable right at the moment that I almost don’t know what to do. I need to keep going.