Sacred Bond: A Human Mate for Beta

Chapter Two

JOE

Sitting in the lodge style pack house conference room, Alpha Andrew hands me the rolled up geological map of the new perimeter of our sacred pack lands. The new investment cabins are right on the borderline. We own the land they are on, but we won’t have the ceremonious induction of the land until the next Harvest Moon. For now, Alpha wants us to patrol our borders and get as close to the investment properties to check in on them.

Since it is a newer route, I am taking lead on it this evening. As the Beta of our pack, I keep an eye on our security strategies and the like.

I stand to unroll the map and lay it flat on the table. I place my hands on the flat surface to examine it closer. My eyes fall on the coordinates for the cabins and my heart rate quickens. Weird, I think to myself. Usually, I am the steady headed Beta, all logic and a calm presence in the leadership. I don’t have my mate link making me hot headed or losing focus. Don’t get me wrong, I am fond of Andrew’s Luna, Brittany, and the Gamma Female, Sara, that’s mated to Dawson, our Gamma. They are strong were-women with kind hearts. 

A mate bond can be a little distracting, to say the least. A permenant sensory attraction from scent to touch, it is divinely designed that way so our whole culture and species has stability in its existence. There are a few who deny their mates and choose their own, but those connections are not as strong as the bond from the Moon Goddess. At Crescent Ridge Pack, Alpha Andrew encourages to at least experience each other for two weeks before denying each other once a mate bond is established. Even those in previously committed relationships have chosen to stay with their mate, it’s that powerful. I used to be obsessed with finding my mate. The strength from the bond creates a stronger person, wolf and fighter all around. Especially in an Alpha or a Beta. After nine years, I haven’t quite given up hope, but just found it will happen when it happens. When I was younger, I dated women for companionship. They all ended up finding their mates, which left me slightly lonely and envious. After the Big Battle, four years ago, we lost a lot of good men and women. Their mates with their severed bond could hardly stand living without them. I created a support group for grief in the pack. Having never known the feeling of a mate, I ended up in several relationships that ultimately saved the girls’ lives as I was their bridge to the lessening the never-ending heartbreak side of their grief. Many of them are still here for their children and I take solice in that. I get s**t from the other unmated guys, but its noble work and someone's got to do it. 

“Did you think of something I have not? Why did your heart rate quicken?” Andrew asks curiously, again leaning over the map and touching the cabin spot. Of course his hearing and senses are refined to pay attention to that.

“No. No—I was just…lost in my thoughts for a sec. Sorry, Alpha.” I replied. I went back to examining the map. I stood up straight and rolled the sleeves of my flannel up to my elbow as I prepared the patrol route. Over the next two hours I marked up the map of the route and rest points. I brushed my thick dark hair out of my eyes and stretch my arms over my head. The beam of the ceiling catches my eye and I reach and jump trying to tap it. My 6 ft’3 in frame hits it easily, as I get my blood flowing.

I check my wrist watch. 5:10 pm. Our warrior wolves would be meeting me in the conference room in 20 minutes. I slide the map from the table and post it to the front meeting board. Our patrol usually runs for six hours to cover the border, that’s if we are going quickly. We do a brief two hours before so everyone knows what they are in for. Then the warriors have dinner with their families before we head out around 7:30pm.

The conference room heavy wooden double doors open and the omegas staffers come in with pitchers of water and glasses and begin to place them all around the large, live-edge, oak conference table. At the back of the room, there’s an antique buffet they set the remaining refill pitchers on. They nod submissively at me as they acknowledge me, “Beta Joe, I wish you well.”

“Thank you. And thank you for your services. Stay strong.” I say back hitting my chest lightly with my fist.

“Stay strong.” They each reply mimicking my gesture. We have always done this in the pack acknowledging each levels work and how we all depend on each other. It starts with strength all around.

Dawson is the first to arrive. Sara, his mate has escorted him to the meeting and I hear him murmur low and her giggle in response right outside the doors. The doors are virtually sound proof, my hearing is just very sensitive. The door opens and I see them share a kiss. Dawson’s arm has pushed open the door, the other arm wrapped around his mate who has her body pressed against him. Curtains of her dark hair cover her profile as her hands cup the sides of his face. Their hair color contrasts. Hers is long, dark and shiny. His is short, blonde and curly. She moans lightly, “I’ll see you for dinner.” She says suggestively. To which I politely clear my throat and walk to the front of the room where there is a locked closet for Andrew and I to store some belongings. I unlock the closet door as they part and she leaves the door way. Dawson rights himself. “Hey Beta Joe. How goes it?” He smiles and looks behind him in the hall, probably watching his mate walk away.

I’m used to this behavior. It’s animalistic and primal. The energy is not awkward for most as they have mates. The mate bond is very declarative. It is not meant to be hidden away and PDA is just part of that. One can tell who are mated and who are not by the Mark on each mated werewolf. The mark shows as a pink double dot scar on the base of the neck where the canines puncture the skin. The area is very sensitive…and sensual. Werewolves who’s mates have passed have white or silver marks as they scar over and are obviously not messed with anymore.

I am putting a mint in my mouth and checking my close trim stubble in the mirror subconsciously when Dawson speaks, “The new cabins have our first ever guests in them. There’s an older couple who seem pretty quiet; a family of four skiing at the resort and a group of young ladies on a girls trip. I think it’s a success!” He says and claps his hands together.

“Yes, it would seem.” I say closing and locking the closet door.

“Werewolf pack running a ski resort and a string of ‘AirBnBs’— who would have thought?” I chuckle.

“Changing with the times, here at Crescent Ridge Pack. Are you worried about the induction? We have no say on what happens on that land, as werewolves, for nine more months. That’s plenty of time for challengers to state their intentions.” Dawson says, seriously.

He is referring to the rogues. Rogue werewolves report to no one and cherish nothing about sacred werewolf traditions. Random ones will attack our borders out of their minds off their bad diets and staying in wolf form too long. The Big Battle was an exception. That was a rag tag PACK of rogue wolves that attacked.

“I know, Dawson. We will stay vigilant and protect our home.” I nodded at him, finishing the conversation as our warriors began to arrive.