Darcingtowne Wolves: The Flower Moon Games (Book 2)

Chapter Five: Allies

Desmond watched along with the gathered Alphas and several of their assistants as the she-wolves were brought into the assessment space. All the women looked frightened, though some were putting on a brave face. The rogue agent only had eyes for one woman though - Carrie. She was still dressed in her off the shoulder black gown, her red hair no longer sleek as it had been when she first walked into the Beltane Ball, and her eye makeup smeared down her cheeks from crying. Despite her rough appearance, she held her head high - almost defiantly staring at the observation room where the males were watching from. He couldn’t smell her from where he was, and knew that she was still unaware of him, but he felt a surge of pride seeing how well she was holding up.

He’d been terrified after hearing that one contestant had already been ‘put down,’ made an example of, though he knew it wasn’t Carrie. If it was, he would surely have felt it, right? Then again, their bond was weak. Since they hadn’t had the chance to look in each others’ eyes and form an imprint, it was barely there at all. Des was sure he could feel it, but since Carrie was out cold the entire time he had her in his arms, she might not feel it at all. That was probably a good thing. If she knew that her mate was nearby and had participated in her capture, she would probably reject him on the spot.

Des wouldn’t blame her, either. The longer he went along with this, the more he felt like he didn’t deserve a mate, much less one as strong and capable as Carrie. Oh, and beautiful too. He couldn’t forget that, especially now when she was so close that he could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. And her hair...it was so vibrant and full of life, just like her. Even when it was frizzy, he wanted nothing more than to brush his fingers through it and smooth it back into neat, smooth ringlets.

“Well, now...I do like a ginger she-wolf.” one of the Alphas observed, causing Desmond to refocus his attention on the conversation at hand. The Alpha leaned forward in his seat to get a better look and the ladies on offer, leering a bit. “I bet she’s a feisty one.”

Desmond grit his teeth, restraining the growl that threatened to burst from his throat. It was none of that asshole’s business if Carrie was feisty or not; she was his. HIS. He breathed out through his nose, centering himself, before acknowledging that she was not in fact his. She belonged to no one but herself unless she accepted him, and the chance of that happening was...unlikely. He’d be lucky if she didn’t castrate him before she sent him packing.

...And even that was Desmond getting ahead of himself. He needed to keep her alive until the agency could put together a viable exit strategy for them. When he asked his handlers to do an extraction, to grab Carrie but leave him in place, they balked. An extraction would be reckless, they claimed, and could cost more lives than it would save - and even if it went off without a hitch, it would tip the WIC Company off to the presence of a mole.

Not that that mattered to Des very much. He would gladly let the WIC Company torture and kill him if it meant that Carrie got away safe.

Carrie looked around the large lounge looking space that Tiffany and a platoon of big bad wolves had escorted the group of she-wolves to. It had a bar, a seating area, and a small platform-like stage where a microphone was already set up.

“Now ladies, why don’t you make yourselves comfortable. Have a drink and think, then we’re going to have you introduce yourselves one at a time to the Alphas so that they can get a feel for you.” Tiffany said, motioning the ladies toward the seating area. “I know you’re still feeling a little rough, but do your best to charm them, ok? If you can catch the eye of one of the Alphas, they might send you a little gift to help you along.”

Carrie took a seat at one of the small, round cocktail table as she mulled over Tiffany’s words. Charm them, eh? The thought made Carrie want to vomit, but she didn’t let it show on her face. A waiter came around, offering a drink, which she took. It was just water, thank the goddess. She wasn’t sure if her strained brain and senses could handle anything alcoholic at the moment, and her throat was parched from screaming.

As she ordered her thoughts, Carrie observed her competition, many of whom were milling about like kids in high school that didn’t know what table to sit at. Not that she knew much about that, having been homeschooled most of her young life. Damn, some of these women were built. She wasn’t going to win any physical challenges, so she had to play this smart, and if one of those Alphas could give her something that could keep her alive, then so be it. She would turn on the charm, and maybe use it to win herself some allies from amongst the other contestants as well.

So instead of grinding her teeth and glaring hatefully up at the skeezy group of knotheads above, Carrie set about doing her best to smooth her hair. It had grown frizzy as the heat treatment and smoothing serum she’d used to work it into glamorous waves wore off. She had no idea what her makeup looked like, but she had a vivid image in her mind of a drunk girl she’d once seen throwing up at the club, and knew that she probably didn’t look much better.

Carrie sighed a little, then spotted the brunette girl with the fishtail braid. There was no way to tell how honest the girl was being when she said she wasn’t going to hurt anyone, or how far she would go to help other people out, but it was worth a shot. She’d been kind to the lady with the glasses, which was more than could be said for the rest of them.

The red haired Delta waved her new potential ally over, and after a second’s hesitation wherein the fishtail braided looked back and forth to make sure it was her that Carrie was motioning to, she approached. She tilted her head inquiringly at the Delta as she took a seat at Carrie’s table. Unlike Carrie, she wasn’t wearing a gown. She was wearing a long, layered skirt with lace ruffles and a button down white top with a rounded peter pan collar. On her feet she wore a pair of sensible tennis shoes in pink and white, one of which had come untied, with socks that had lace ruffles. She was the picture of wide-eyed innocence, and although Carrie looked young she had the distinct feeling that this girl was younger than her by several years.

“I’m Carrie...Carolyn Prim. What’s your name?” Carrie began.

“Oh, uhm...I’m Sarah Stone.” she looked skittish, and was chewing her bottom lip nervously.

“It’s nice to meet you, even though it’s not under the best of circumstances. I was really impressed by how you helped that other girl find her glasses earlier.” Carrie said, starting out with a compliment right away. This had the desired effect; Sarah perked up a little, and offered a small smile. So, she continued, “You were so calm and kind. I feel like we’re going to need more of that attitude if we’re going to get through this competition.”

Sarah toyed with the end of her braid as she spoke, “It was nothing, really. If we weren’t all so mixed up, I’m sure you would have done the same. I’m sort of, uhm, accustomed to dealing with stressful situations.”

The way she spoke was a touch bashful, but when Sarah looked up Carrie saw the unmistakable flash of hardness behind her pale blue eyes. This girl meant what she said about dealing with stressful situations; she might look soft and fluffy like a newborn pup, but underneath that she was fang and bone. Despite her apparent youth, those eyes had seen some things.

“I like to think I would have done the same, and I’m sure I’ll have more opportunities to prove that as the competition plays out.” Carrie said, grinning a little as she swirled her straw in her water glass. “Would you like to be allies? Watch each other’s backs?”