Mateless: The lost series

The mating circle

A mating circle is a gathering of young wolves looking for their significant other. It's a big deal in the werewolf community—finding your mate is your purpose in life. After years of parties waiting to find mine and failing, I've grown tired of the whole spiel. Around the age of eighteen, instinct sets in and wolves gather to find their partners and mates. After being found five years ago, the alphas immediately took me in, raised me as their own, and taught me how to be human. But regardless of the years I've spent and the love I have for my adoptive parents, I've always felt like an outcast, like I don't belong. I know finding my mate will change that. Please, let me find my mate tonight.

A knock on the door draws my attention from the stare-down with my reflection. I untangle the brush from my sandy blonde hair, having aggressively brushed it to a static mess. Sighing heavily, I set my brush down in front of the vanity and yell out, "Just a minute!" Standing, I check my reflection one last time and tighten the rope of my robe, my blue-green eyes catching in the mirror as I turn. Walking toward my bedroom door, I give a sniff before throwing it open with a flourish to face my brother, who leans nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"What do you want?" I say curtly. He grins and shakes his head.

"The gathering has started." I glance at the clock by my bed—it's indeed past the hour. I turn back and stare at him as he stares down at me with his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. Why does he have to be so damn tall...

"What's wrong? Are you mad?" I say quietly. He looks me in the eye and says something I never imagined him saying:

"I really hope you find your mate tonight, Meadow," he says solemnly. We always tease and bicker playfully together—we never really talk outside of that, so for him to wish me well feels awkward and disconcerting. Pushing past my self-doubt and feeling of not belonging, I make a snarky remark instead.

"I get it, you can't handle my awesomeness—afraid you might lose that alpha title to your charity case of a little adoptive sister," I say, sticking my tongue out while sauntering past him, brushing his arm with my nails. Glancing back, I smirk smugly at the shocked expression on his face before sauntering away victoriously.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a mate to find." I say, descending the stairs and earning a deep growl from my still-frozen brother standing at my door. Leaving the last step, I turn left toward the kitchen. To the side of the large sit-in kitchen area is a boot room, used mainly for shifting and changing in and out of attire before entering or leaving. It looks more like a giant closet, various garbs hanging from hangers and chests filled with more attire. Closing the door, I slip off my robe, toss it onto the bench in the corner, and shift into my white wolf. Shaking out my fur, I trot to the door that leads to a large porch with pillars, which leads down to the large expanse of grass encircling the house and, beyond that, a large undisturbed forest filled only with creatures—hectare after hectare free from man. It was in this very forest, far to the north, that I was found: shifted, scared, confused, and naked. Pushing the handle with my nose, the door swings open, and I dash across the porch onto the lawn. Around the side of the house, a gathering of people stand and chat—relatives, friends, and families conversing—while those of age gather in their wolf forms to run, hunt, and fight. This is how we learn about our potential mates. Instinctively, we feel the potential bond throughout the evening, and as we play, the bond grows stronger until it becomes undeniable. Then courting begins, and a male shows his interest by rubbing his head and nose against yours. A lot of the time it's like a dance, where a pair walks side by side, brushing and snuggling with one another in a series of spins and turns, until it's acknowledged by the pack.

After a year of these gatherings, I'm still the only one who hasn't found my mate. As I approach the others near the tree line, a couple hundred feet from those chatting among themselves, I find a group of twenty wolves already gathered, some already gravitating toward their pairs. I approach the group, sit on my haunches, and look down in despair. I'm happy for those who've found others—one thing I've learned is that as a werewolf, your purpose centers around your mate; very rarely is there a single wolf. Why couldn't I find mine?

A sudden shiver raises my hackles, and I look up to scan the group. A dark grey wolf, slightly hidden, lies just inside the tree line, bright blue eyes watching me with interest. Just then, a large black wolf enters the group and comes to stand beside me, and the feeling quickly fades. My brother often leads us on these runs—he himself hasn't found his mate at twenty-one, an abnormality. With a howl, we take off sprinting into the forest. I scan for the grey wolf as we run, wanting to see if what I felt was real. I hang back, letting the others rush ahead, some in pairs, others in small groups.

A slight nudge to my shoulder has me stumbling gracelessly. The blue-eyed wolf runs beside me and takes a playful jump at me while running. I dodge and leap, batting him with my paw on his snout, playfully. This feels different, more promising—others have shown interest, but never more than that. If one mate is older, they'll often feel the bond before their counterpart, and an extended courting occurs until the other comes of age and feels it too. Then the bond is acknowledged among the pack. A bond is never left unacknowledged by the pack—the pack is a family, and if one were denied their mate, it would break that family, and the pack would cease to function like the smooth, oiled machine it is. Even though I don't feel more than curiosity and elation, I'd felt something stronger back there. Was what I felt the bond? Only time will tell.

We continue to chase and wrestle while running with the group, oblivious to the others, until my brother's large black wolf starts nipping at the blue-eyed wolf's haunch while shoving me with his shoulder. We sheepishly stop our play and peek at each other over my brother's back. Before we can make eye contact with him, he snorts and drops his nose to the ground, sniffing and pawing at a deer track. We're hunting now, and it's time for stealth, or we'll scare the animals away.

The group gathers around as we start tracking our prey. When we're a couple kilometers off from a family of deer grazing in a meadow, my brother breaks us into small groups to the left and right, circling around to ambush with simple gestures. The blue-eyed wolf and I stay behind with my brother while the others draw in and herd the animals toward us—he'll choose one, and we'll work as a team to bring it down.

I wait in anticipation. The sound of the deer snuffing has me tensing in preparation; they've caught our scent and start running. A howl lets us know the chase is on. The scared animals run right toward us, and my brother scans the herd and picks an older buck with a limp. We break from the tree line in a mad dash, my brother running just ahead as I flank his right and the blue-eyed wolf trails behind me, slightly to his left. My brother tags the old buck with his claws, focusing on its weak leg, while I snap at its opposite side to change its direction. The others loop around, closing in. Seeing no way out, the buck starts using its antlers, charging and dashing at odd angles to find a gap to escape. It leaps over one of the young wolves and runs for the tree line. I sprint after it, not wanting to lose my supper, passing the others in a blur, almost like they're standing still. I gain on the animal, its sole focus on living to see another day. Coming up on its side, I jump onto its back and bite down on its thick neck, ripping my nails into its haunches. It bucks wildly, swinging its head. The wild thrashing has me losing my grip, and with one swing, its antler catches me in the side. I fall hard, skidding through the grass to land on my side. I sit up slowly, watching my dinner flee into the tree line, escaping death.

The sound of paws beating against the ground has me sitting up. I probably look like a mess—why am I such an animal? My white fur is covered in dirt and grass stains, and a small patch of blood blooms where the stag's antler caught me in the rib. The wound isn't deep or life-threatening; I'm more annoyed that my dinner got away and embarrassed at my appearance. A lick to my wound has me jumping at the intimate action. I turn my head to see my brother looking at me with a worried expression. I draw my lip back and stand, shaking out my fur and ignoring the throbbing in my side.

Just then, the blue-eyed wolf comes trotting up. He steps between me and my brother, rubbing his nose against mine—a sign of affection commonly shared between mates. My brother growls, releasing a huff as he looks me in the eye, then glances at the blue-eyed wolf, pulling his lip back in warning before trotting off. The blue-eyed wolf had disrespected my brother by cutting in front of him while he was checking on a pack member. Ignoring my brother's growl of irritation, I bump shoulders with the blue-eyed wolf before following the pack and my brother. We trot leisurely through the woods behind them; some of the wolves play together, wrestling much like we were. We walk side by side, fur brushing against each other as we watch the others. Dinner long forgotten.

We make it to a clearing by the house. Some who haven't felt the mating bond return to the house to join their families, while others who have felt a potential bond stay behind courting, returning later. I follow the group back to the house, the blue-eyed wolf still by my side. Once we break through the tree line, many dash toward the detached garage that's been converted into male and female changing rooms and showers. I'd rather shower in my room, but Mom would kill me if I tracked through the house in my current state.

A gentle nudge to my jaw has me looking up in bewilderment—I can't believe this blue-eyed wolf is showing me interest. My heart flutters at the prospect of him being my mate. Nobody has any idea of my exact age or birthday, since I was found already shifted into human form for the first time. From that day, the alphas took me in, raised me as their own, and taught me how to speak and be a werewolf—which means none of us know exactly when I should feel the bond.

The blue-eyed wolf runs off toward the male section. I watch him disappear through the door before turning and making my way toward the only accessible shower. Of the twenty wolves, twelve returned—I'm the only girl not paired tonight, like most nights. I shift back, quickly look over my wound—just a scratch, probably a scar, but I'll live—and pick up a bar of soap, a towel, and a robe before heading toward the large open shower area.

I set my things on the bench outside and grab my soap, then turn the handle of the closest shower. Not bothering to wait for it to warm, I let the cold water run down my achy shoulder, easing the burn. I soap my body and hair thoroughly and rinse, then take extra care cleaning the wound with soap and water. I think about the blue-eyed wolf and feel a jumble of nerves—I wonder what he looks like, what his name is. Just then, the sound of footsteps has me peeking around the wall. My mom stands there, a first aid kit in one hand and some of my clothes in the other, smiling at me.

"Mathias told me your dinner got the best of you," she says with a smile that doesn't reach her worried eyes as she scans my body, looking for the injury. I duck back in, turning off the shower, and wrap my towel around myself, quickly drying off before twisting my hair into it. Stepping out, I flush with embarrassment—of course my brother ran off to tell Mom I got tossed on my ass by an old gimp stag. I bet half the pack already knows.

"Ugh, I'm starving!"

Mom sits on the bench outside the shower and beckons me over, opening the kit and placing it beside her. I stand next to her with my arms crossed over my chest as she inspects my side. She pulls out antiseptic, a needle, and thread—I grimace; I hate needles! She threads the wire and gives me a look that lets me know she's not playing. Instructing me to stand against the wall with my elbows braced, I tuck my face between my arms and lean my forehead against the cool surface.

"You're lucky, this could be worse." The stinging antiseptic has my heart pounding and my eyes watering as I dread what comes next. I try to distract myself with thoughts of the food waiting for me, and when that doesn't work, I think of the blue-eyed wolf. What should I say to him? He must have felt the potential bond between us to pursue me and show me such favor—he must be the one. When will I feel it?

"I also heard a wolf showed you his favor," my mom says, drawing my attention back to her. She sits, placing things back in the kit and gathering the soiled cloths into a receptacle. I stand, testing the stitches—they pull a little when I flex or turn. Stupid Mathias! I blush some more, butterflies churning in my stomach in a fit of nerves.

"I'm happy for you, just don't get your hopes too high. I don't want to see you get hurt if this isn't what it seems."

I frown at my mom. Am I reading too much into the interactions with Mr. Blue Eyes? Is my desperation clouding my judgment? Mom stands and embraces me in a tight, loving hug, then proceeds to dress me before sitting me down and brushing my hair. You might think it's awkward—eww, why am I standing around naked in front of my mom?—but having lived naked most of my life, clothes are still a new thing for me. I'm more comfortable without them, and Mom's never made me feel ashamed or self-conscious. She loves me and would never think me ugly or judge me; I believe that, even though she isn't my real mom. After braiding the front parts of my hair back into a braid that gathers at the base of my skull, tying it off with a piece of string, she stands. Turning to face her, she caresses my cheek in the most loving way.

"I'm so glad we found you." She always tells me this. I lean into her touch and close my eyes, placing my hand over the one resting on my cheek. In that moment, I'm overwhelmed with love for the woman standing in front of me. She took me in as a wild animal, raised and loved me like her own, taught me how to speak, read, understand my feelings and my body, and so much more. She's never yelled or lost her temper with me, even though at times I wouldn't have blamed her if she had—I was a difficult, wild animal that didn't understand what was going on. If it had been anyone else, they wouldn't have succeeded.

"I love you, Momma," I say, giving her a tight hug, my eyes burning with unshed tears. She holds me, resting her cheek on my head and stroking my hair until I pull away. We laugh as my tummy gives off an audible growl.

"Let's get some food in you before you start turning wild." Mom knows well that if I don't get food in me soon, I'll turn into the big bad wolf—huffing, puffing, blowing houses down, and eating little old grandmas. Not literally, but I do have a tendency to snap at them. I grin and follow her out of the changing room, immediately scanning the area, trying not to look too obvious about hoping the blue-eyed wolf—in human form now—would be waiting for me. Only to be disappointed. Maybe he's gone for food.

Without stopping, Mom pulls me toward the gathering of voices and the smell of food, eliciting another loud growl, this time from my throat. Drool could be running down my chin at this point and I probably wouldn't notice. My sole attention is on the buffet table, only to be disappointed yet again—it's been cleared, and desserts have been set out instead. I feel a hungry rage starting to burn in my stomach. In my peripheral vision, I see my concerned mother giving me a side-eye as she pats my forearm. Something blocks my death glare just as the urge to flip the table and scatter its contents rises in a fit. I blink and find myself staring at a loaded plate—rabbit, meat pie, ribs, mutton, rice, and much, much more. With a growl, I snatch the plate, holding it protectively against my side and out of reach of its previous holder, ready to brawl for it if that's what it comes to.

I stare into the shocked but smiling face behind a pair of blue eyes. Dark hair falls into his eyes, which long, slender fingers brush back. Thick lashes, a straight nose, full lips, and a round, boyish chin.

"For you—you must be hungry?" he says. The humor in his voice snaps me back to my senses as I stare at this boy on the cusp of manhood. My mom frowns, tugging on my elbow, then smiles politely at him.

"Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I'm Eva, lady alpha of the pack, and this is my daughter, Meadow. And your name is?" she says candidly.

"Daxton Farrow of the Alaskan pack," he says. That explains why I've never seen him around before—farther-out packs only send those of age a couple of times a year, and this year that was about five months ago. I didn't see him then either; maybe he wasn't eighteen yet. I take in his features once more, searching. I don't feel anything, but that doesn't mean he isn't my mate. I look at the full plate in my hand and glance back at him.

"You got this for me?"

"Well, I uhh—"

"Excuse me." Mom takes the opportunity to excuse herself, giving my arm one more pat and an odd smile before walking off. I blush, standing there staring at Daxton Farrow. A thought crosses my mind, and it has me blurting out:

"Have you eaten?"

"Uh, not really," he says bashfully. Glancing down at the mountain of food on the plate, I feel a guilty, giddy feeling—he offered me his plate knowing I hadn't eaten, giving up his own chance at a full stomach for me. I typically don't share my food, but again, my mouth speaks before my brain registers it.

"Let's share." Sharing one's food is a mate thing. My face feels hot, but he smiles brightly and takes my free hand, pulling me toward a table. He pulls out my chair for me, then sits beside me, producing a spoon and fork. Wielding my fork, I stab into the nearest mound and start shoveling. Only after several bites do I think about what I must look like—a wild animal scarfing down food. I pause, grab a napkin, and wipe my mouth. Flushing, I look up in surprise to see an equally ravenous Daxton stuffing his mouth. I giggle as he gnaws on a bone; he looks up and flushes. I pick up a rabbit and start chewing on my own bone, and we sit there in silence for the next few minutes, still eating but with far less gusto, before I decide to stop, my hunger replaced by butterflies and nervousness. Daxton must feel the same, since he's stopped eating too. He stands, picks up the plate, and holds out his hand to me. I stare at it for a moment before slowly taking it in mine. I stand, and he pulls me to the kitchen, where we place the leftover food in the fridge and dispose of the scraps.all three

"I'd like to talk to you, but I don't want to be overheard. I think we need some time to ourselves, to get to know one another." At his words, my heart leaps with joy, and I quickly nod. I try to think of where to go—taking him to my room isn't an option; my family would flip if they found out I had him up there, and I don't think they'd really approve of me being alone with him anyway. But I want to talk to him without being heard. Noticing my hesitation, he offers a simple smile before pulling me outside. We approach the tree line but don't leave the grass, still in sight of the house but far enough away to avoid being easily overheard. He sits, leaning his back against a tree, and offers a gentle tug for me to join him. I settle onto the damp, soft grass and stare up at the stars—it's truly a beautiful night—as I try to gather my thoughts.

"How old are you?" he asks. I look down, fidgeting with the edge of my dress, slightly embarrassed by the fact that I don't really know and can't offer him a definite answer.

"Well, you see, I was found by the alphas when I was young, newly transitioned. We're not sure at this point how old I am exactly, but very close to eighteen," I mumble.

"You?" I inquire.

"I'm eighteen," he states.

"Am I your mate?" I can't hold back the question I really want to ask, and in the end, I just blurt it out, much to my own exasperation.

"I believe so." He looks down for a moment before glancing at me from beneath his long lashes. Those words have me feeling breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I want to take these next couple of days to get to know more about you and build our connection," he says confidently, lifting his chin to look directly into my eyes. The way he says it, so confidently and with a wide smile, gives me renewed hope that what he's saying is true, that I've found my mate. In this moment I'm speechless. We just sit there in silence for a moment, taking it in, listening to the sounds of the far-off party and the forest around us, holding hands.

"What's Alaska like?" I whisper. He squeezes my hand.

"It's cold, the weather unpredictable and unforgiving. Alaska is a wild, untamable beauty, much like yourself. I love Alaska, and I know you'll love it too." He smiles as I blush. *Wild...* It sounds perfect.