With a polished suit adorning my frame, I meticulously straightened my tie and ensured the cuffs of my ebony dress shirt lay impeccably. My imposing 6'5" stature with neatly swept-back brown hair, contained in a sophisticated man bun, my face smooth and devoid of facial hair. This would mark my fifth attendance at a pack mating ritual, as I had yet to find a mate.
"Alpha Derick," a familiar voice cut through the quiet of my study. My beta, Matt, walked in, looking as relaxed as ever in his usual jeans and a worn tee. Five years he'd been happily bonded to his chosen mate from the Royale Pack, and that settled contentment always seemed to radiate off him.
He dangled a black mask between his thumb and forefinger. "Seriously, still rocking this monstrosity? Doesn't exactly scream 'approachable,' you know."
I snatched it from his grasp with a glare, the familiar leather cool against my fingers. "And why wouldn't I? If a female is only interested in my status or the fact that I haven't aged a day since my twenty-first," I retorted, the hint of a smirk playing on my lips as I tied the mask snugly into place, effectively concealing my features. "She's clearly not the sort of wolf I'm looking for." Blackwaters' Mating Ceremony was underway, and I'd gone to great lengths to ensure I was just another attendee. Registering under the Howlers Pack, my mother's pack, allowed me to shed the weight of my Crowned Alpha Prince status. Still, no female had yet chosen sit besides me.
Matt just offered a sympathetic shake of his head. My best friend since high school, my chosen beta when I finally inherited the crown, and yet, he simply couldn't grasp this longing I had for someone genuine. Someone who saw past the kingdom, past the power, and chose *me*.
"Look," Matt said, stepping closer, a good few inches shorter than me. "I understand not wanting them to know your royal status, but a mask? Seriously?" He sighed, giving my shoulder a friendly pat. "You're practically guaranteeing a lifetime of bachelorhood."
I rolled my eyes, batting his hand away. "You know everyone already knows my face, Matt. I can't just... show it. That defeats the entire point."
"Yeah, yeah," he waved a dismissive hand. "Alright, alright. Let's head out. Hopefully, this pack didn't stick us somewhere as dreadful as last year."
Last year, the Clearwater pack, with their disdainful glances at my relatively small pack name, had shunted us to a back corner row, effectively ensuring no eligible woman even caught sight of me. Honestly, I didn't mind. I certainly didn't want someone who'd just latch onto the first available alpha. Plus, by not actively turning anyone away, my father and the Council couldn't exactly criticize me. It was the perfect, albeit slightly inconvenient, arrangement.
With a dismissive gesture, I accepted the Howlers' wolf pack emblem, securing it to my chest. Such a marker was mandatory for outsiders participating in another pack's Mating Ceremony, a necessary testament to their affiliation.
Emerging into the open air, a weary driver stood beside a dilapidated SUV. Matt's derision was immediate, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Seriously?" he exclaimed, gesturing at the vehicular wreck. A knowing grin touched my lips, though hidden by my mask, "If anyone dares to sit next to me," I quipped, "this vehicle should turn them away."
The Mating Ceremony's stipulated that should the chosen pair remain unmarked by the following dawn, they would part ways. While such an outcome was a rarity, it remained a tangible possibility. What my loyal Beta and the rest of the pack failed to comprehend was the profound, unspoken purpose behind my apparent detachment. It wasn't a matter of avoiding an unwanted mating, nor was it a passive waiting game for some mythical, perfect woman to materialize. My quest was far more critical: I was awaiting my fated mate. The instant my wolf awakened at sixteen, a wild, primal energy thrumming through my veins, I was gifted a vision by the Moon Goddess herself. This celestial revelation illuminated a future where my fated mate would not only solidify my own strength but that of my wolf as well. Crucially, however, it also painted a grim picture of our kind's extinction should I falter. I could sense the deep, simmering displeasure of the Moon Goddess, an ancient celestial anger born from our races collective defiance and outright rejection of her invaluable gifts. It was a terrifying certainty: unless I set a powerful example, embracing my fated mate and guiding our werewolf population back into alignment with the Goddess's will, we faced an eternity of abandonment, our very wolves ceasing to exist.
This stark understanding has fueled my prolonged wait, compelling me to orchestrate these subtle "disguises." While I could have simply presented myself authentically, continued rejections would have irrevocably damaged the royal family's standing, inviting whispers of scandal and weakness. Therefore, this carefully crafted deception was the most advantageous solution for everyone involved, a truth known only to my wolf and me.
The hall hosting the Ceremony was reached without delay. It was a substantial venue, capable of holding over a thousand guests, as befitted the second-largest pack. As the car stopped by the entrance, several families turned to look, but their interest quickly waned upon seeing the vehicle. Some even directed disgusted glances at my mask, likely assuming I was too self-conscious to reveal my face, perhaps due to injury or perceived unattractiveness. My beta, Matt, gave me a nod as he exited. "I'll be with the other families," he announced. I nodded in return, watching him proceed to the family waiting area, where they would be seated in the galleries. Only those involved in the ceremony were permitted on the floor.
Pack ceremonies were largely predictable in their proceedings, with only minor variations. Before entering, tables were set up for seat number assignment and check-in. Although everyone had pre-registered, meaning my name and seat were ready, I still needed to formally check in.
My arrival was neither early nor late, so the line was considerable. While the check-in process should have been uniform, it was evident that the helpers were seizing the opportunity to scout the candidates before their daughters appeared.
As I approached, a middle-aged woman visibly scoffed, her voice sharp. "Rank, name, and pack," she demanded, offering no further inquiry. "Alpha Derick of the Howlers Pack," I replied. Her expression brightened at the mention of "Alpha," only to cloud over at the pack's name. While the position of Luna carried prestige, leading a small, unknown pack meant endless work, no comforts, and constant disdain from others. The harsh reality was that their children faced a higher risk of being killed in a pack takeover than living a life of ease. Most would actually *prefer* their child to be a common pack member rather than endure such a precarious existence.
After a moment of scanning her computer, she stated, "Row 100, seat 12." I took the card without another word and made my way into the hall. A private smile touched my lips; I'd pulled it off once more. I should be free of any partnership for this round. My smile widened as I realized my seat was in the middle of one of the very last rows, arguably the worst seat in the house. I settled into the chair, which groaned under my weight. I knew I was larger than the average wolf, a trait passed down through my family genes, but even so, I'd expected this pack to invest in sturdier seating.