Chapter 1 - Parade

No one rests easily, on the sixteenth of November.

For my friends, for my family. For any female over the age of eighteen who has the unfortunate curse of being born within our packs lands. Any female, unmated and of age, generally does her best to remain inconspicuous. You keep your head low, your mouth shut. If you don't attract attention, perhaps the man who may be your future mate won't see you. Won't notice you. You may survive another year, if you're lucky.

Alpha Nicholas' pack has the highest male werewolf population in not only the continent, but the world. He also had the highest unmated male population, including himself and his Beta. So he went to-and-fro, conquering and bringing fear to just about every pack that was convenient and worth his time, to allow his men to find their mates.

"Darcy." My mother's voice pulls me out of my trance of depression and anxiety, and I struggle to focus on the plate of toaster waffles in front of me, overdone at the edges and underdone in the center. I'm not sure how long I've been in my head, but they're cold once again. I eye the microwave across the kitchen, but decide I'm not hungry enough for the effort it would take to heat them up. I haven't slept in two days, and I'm running low on energy.

The odds are, my mate will be in Alpha Nicholas' pack. My gut tells me this with absolute certainty, and while I know it's paranoia, that every women felt that way, statistics agree with my gut. Three quarters of unmated males are in Nicholas' custody. I have only a quarter of a chance of my mate being elsewhere.

"Sweetheart, you've got to relax." My mother coos, reaching across the wooden table and taking my hand in her own. They're soft, smelling like her lotion, and while I might otherwise be calmed by her touch, I only feel guilty. If she loses me, she loses her daughter. "They'll look at you more if they smell the anxiety. These men are warriors, they feed off of fear." She tells me, voice soft and understanding, and after a minute, she stands up and picks up my plate. She walks to the microwave and sticks the plate in, fingers dancing across the keys until it hummed as the waffles spun round-and-round, heating up with the help of some friendly radiation.

My sister's flip flops smacked against the tiles as she sauntered into the kitchen, and I glanced at her, the corners of my lips tugging into a smile. Candy was twenty-three, and she'd played this game more than a few times. For a remarkably attractive woman, she could turn into an eyesore without too much effort.

For a week, she didn't shower, and she smelled foul and sour. She wore dirty clothes, her face greasy and lacking in makeup. The general thought was that the more unappealing you seemed, the less likely they'd be to look at you. Who would want anything to do with some slob, mate or not? I'm not sure it really works, but I play along well enough, leaving my hair frizzy and face devoid of makeup, with stained, baggy clothing.

"Please tell me you're not going to be eating down here!" Tyler moans, pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose, seemingly preferring the stench of his own nineteen-year-old-boy body over Candy.

Even my mother's nose scrunched up as the microwave went off, carrying the plate back to me. "Candace, you really do smell foul." She observes, but there was a degree of approval to her words. Candy and I didn't want to be taken, but I think mom's desire for us to not be taken was stronger. She'd lost her own sister to Nicholas' pack; I didn't remember much about Aunt Mila, I'd been eight when they'd taken her, but mom had loved her more than life itself. She didn't want to lose her only daughters as well.

"It's an art." Candace said with a confident shrug of her shoulder, pushing her hair back as she took a seat, reaching out to grab a muffin but stopped.

I glance at her and see her pupils dilate, her face go pale. She's the firstborn, and with the death of our father, Candace is technically the head of the family. She represents us in pack meetings in place of our father, and she makes some of the important decisions. With being the head comes another perk: heightened senses.

She can tell when they're coming.

After a moment, she snaps out of it, clears her throat. Her gaze flutters to her hands as she wrings them in her lap. "Uh, Darcy," she says, her voice quivering, "it's time to go."

My heart thumps in my chest like a war drum, and my legs feel heavy. This is the first year I'll be participating. The first year until the rest of my life, right up until I either find my mate, or he finds me. I know it's unlikely that I'll find him here, this time; I turned eighteen only a month ago, my body's pull for a mate is irregular, it isn't strong. I might see him today and not even know it. Really, the only way to guarantee is if he's older than me; his pull might make up for my lack of one.

"Darcy, come on, we'll get in trouble if we're late." She says quietly, though her tone is distressed. This is Candy's sixth year; her pull is stronger than ever. She needs her mate, mentally and biologically. She has more to fear than I do.

I stand up and take her outstretched hand, following her out of the kitchen and down the hallway. The walls are freckled with little pieces of our lives, pictures of our family at our happiest moments. Mom and Dad's wedding, birthday parties, school pictures. They're snapshots of small moments, small memories that made us who we are. Eventually, we get to the front door, and Candy's shaking as she twists the handle, easing it open as the hinges groan. We stand there, faces pointed toward the road, eyes on the ground, slipping out of our home and onto the weathered floorboards of the porch. If we don't make eye contact, we'll be okay. If we don't look at them, everything will be fine. Though it's explicitly against the rules to look away, almost everyone does. It's instinctual.

Minutes pass as they move down the road, a mass of men. I hear them laughing and chatting, shoving one another playfully. This is the best day of the year for many of them, regardless of how we feel. They'll find their mates, and how we feel isn't important.

A cheer rings out along the crowd, and my head snaps up, surprised. I spot a man pulling out of the crowd, running up the porch of our neighbor. I recognize Kelsey immediately, a girl I've gone to school with my entire life. She turned eighteen three days ago, she hadn't even celebrated. Her parents had been hopeful, scheduled her party for tomorrow. Surely she won't be taken, they'd thought, as hopeful as anyone might be in these circumstances.

He runs up to her and picks her up, twirling her around, clearly overjoyed, though her eyes are as wide as saucers. She's a tall girl, but this guy is massive and muscular, though he couldn't be much older than we were.

Suddenly, I feel far less confident in my age protecting me.

I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, my mother and Tyler are standing in the doorway, hugging one another tightly. My mother seems to gather the same conclusion, and tears fill her eyes, while Tyler hugs her to him. I try to breathe easily, I try to stay calm. I take my glasses off, cleaning them on my shirt, the same one I'd worn to bed, and place the frames on my face. I blink a few times, making sure they're clean, and that's when I see him.

Everyone knows about Nicholas. I'd been watching him from the doorway for as long as I could remember, since he was younger than I am now. He walks not to find a mate, but to keep track of how many of his men acquired them. He'd been made an Alpha at the age of eleven, younger than anyone before, and he'd embraced the power of that rank, for better or worse. Perhaps he wasn't loved, but he was powerful. He got shit done, and sometimes, that was what you needed in an Alpha. He had the strongest army, the largest pack, the most pups. His females didn't need to walk, because his male population was so high that they almost always found their mates in their own pack.

Everyone knows who Nicholas is, right on sight. Even if you don't know his face, you can tell him apart from the crowd. Power radiates out of every pore, danger showing in every easy step he takes. Nobody challenges Nicholas, despite the things he's done in his life. The people he's killed, the lives he's ruined. Because he could kill with his gaze.

I can't not stare at him, and once my eyes hit his face, I'm in a trance. He's terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time. He seems to feel my eyes, and stops walking, turning to stare at me.

Our eyes lock, and in that moment, I know I'm fucked.